A/N: First off, I'd like to thank GronHatchat and Moogli for reviewing and keeping up with this story. I was beginning to think I had a dead one here…not a good feeling at all. You guys are awesome!

Also, I now have some artwork up for this story. You can find it here: ( art/Seymour-s-Rescue-Illustration-for-Second-Chances-446027495) and here( mysticaqueen . /art/The-Sphere-444815357) by copying the address, pasting in your browser, and removing the spaces since doesn't like links. If there's any moment in the story that you would like to see illustrated, please feel free to make requests, as I've been drawing poor Seymour a lot lately. Sorry about the poor quality of the pictures, by the way—I promise to replace them with better scans as SOON as I can. The first link is a sketch of Melody getting Seymour out of the Via Infinito and the second one is her holding a sphere up for him to examine.

Chapter 5

Even in the aftermath of the epic failure known as "Operation Mi'ihen", Seymour had never seen so much pandemonium. Despite there being wounded to care for and dead to Send and bury, people and machina alike were pursuing him. Despite Melody's hard work in trying to keep him disguised, there was no mistaking his hair color, his eyes, or the blue veins on his cheeks. He had no choice but to flee—all around him were bullets and spells alike. Feeling an enormous sense of desperation he hadn't felt in a long, long time, Seymour fled blindly into the woods. They were hot on his heels. As much as he wanted to call for Melody, he didn't dare do so for fear of losing the tiny bit of ground he'd managed to gain. His "new" flesh resisted—despite having been in excellent shape when he'd been killed, his muscles were throbbing and beginning to cramp. His lungs burned like Hellfire and his stomach gave a warning bubble of acid. Only when he managed to lose them completely—as in he couldn't hear or smell them—did he drop to his knees and throw up. When the spell had passed, he took a shuddering breath in and willed himself to get to his feet. Shaky and pale, he drew his hood back up over his head and looked around for Melody. He didn't see her anywhere—surely as oddly colored as she was, she'd stick out in this green, green forest. He wondered exactly how far he'd sprinted—he couldn't hear any people and their scents were very, very faint. The grinding, whirring, clanking sound of the machina had faded as well.

Just as he was about to entertain the fact that she might have been killed, he saw something twitching in the grass. He picked it up and examined it. It was a white feather with an iridescent sheen that the wind had been blowing. He breathed a sigh of relief. She had to be close by to have shed this thing—the wind wasn't that strong. It was a decently sized feather, too—it was at least a foot long. Clutching the feather by its quill in his palm, he willed his trembling, cramping legs to keep moving. It was the first time he'd entertained the possibility—the very real possibility—that he could die without her.

Another feather appeared after he'd walked about ten feet. It was a relief to find this one too, as he'd been afraid he was going in circles. He strained his ear, listening for any sign at all that she was here. He heard a rustle nearby and hurried towards it. The pack was beginning to get heavy as the adrenaline and the coffee both wore off—what little had stayed in his stomach, anyway. He doubted he'd ever drink the stuff again.

When he finally found her, what he saw was disturbing. She was still in that eerily beautiful, yet very frightening form. Dead fiends, presumably some that had come after her once she'd flown off, lay all around her. The pack lay a few feet away. It was somewhat damaged but still usable. Melody was still hovering in the air. At first, he didn't understand why, but when he got closer, he saw that someone had impaled one of her wings with their sword. The attacker, thankfully, was nowhere to be found. She looked exhausted if such a thing was possible and it looked as if it took all of her energy to stay aloft. When she heard him, balls of white fire erupted from her palms. Seymour cast Nulblaze on himself just as a precaution (though he honestly didn't know what spell she was using) and revealed himself.

"It's only me, Melody," he said cautiously, "they're all gone for now."

She stared down at him with her green-ember eyes. He could sense waves of wariness and hostility coming from her. He found himself wondering if she could be reasoned with when she was like this—she'd become quite violent with those fiends and a couple of people had gotten hurt in the process because they were too close. She probably hadn't meant to do that—he was somehow sure she hadn't. The image of her almost weeping when she realized she'd left him alone too long came to mind. He made sure to move slowly so as not to set her off. Her eyes flashed slightly more yellow than green and he hoped it wasn't some sort of warning.

"I know this hurts," he whispered to her, "but you have to let me pull it out or your wing will tear."

He felt ridiculous at the tone he was using—it was as though he was talking to a child instead of a potentially dangerous monster. She watched him wrap his long fingers around the blade's hilt. Bracing his feet against the tree's thick trunk, he yanked as hard as he could. The blade came loose with a metallic hiss and he tumbled backward. Pearly white blood sprayed from the wound and Melody dropped into the grass. An unearthly shriek emitted from her just before she changed back into her human form. Gasping and panting and clutching at a place that was no longer there, she could only lay in the grass and cry. After that initial terrible scream, however, her tears were silent other than the frantic hitching of her breath. Seymour was completely puzzled: if she no longer had wings, why was she crying? He got his answer when he looked down at the blade: there was a slight black mist coming off of it. It was enchanted with Darktouch.

Seymour didn't know what to do. He knew a spell called Esuna for removing various magic-based ailments and poison, but would it work? He knew he had to try or risk the crowd chasing after them coming back and getting her while she was weakened. He placed both hands on her arm and cast the spell. As the white magic worked its way through her, he felt her sobs becoming less intense. Tears still continued to stream down her face, but she didn't look as though she'd stop breathing. He repeated the spell over and over until she'd finally gone still. Just to be sure that she'd be all right, he also cast Cure. She was still shuddering as she struggled to regain her composure. Seymour opened his mouth to give her the same "being strong" speech as he had Yuna, but the words died in his throat. Instead, he placed one hand on the back of her head. For being such a tangled, frizzy mess, her hair was surprisingly soft. He saw the muscles in her throat constrict and heard her sniff, but her back wasn't shaking anymore. Slowly, awkwardly, he ran his hand over her hair the way his mother had done when he'd been upset by something as a child. The gesture worked wonders—he saw the tension leave her body entirely after a minute or two and her breath began to regain its steadiness. The salty smell of her tears began to fade. The cooling wind and the shade helped as well. Her breath actually slowed enough that he was afraid she'd fallen asleep, but she turned her head so that he could see part of one green eye.

"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice still roughened from the earlier tears.

He said nothing, but offered his hand to help her up. When they were both upright again and had their packs back on, they walked in silence in the direction she'd been going.

"I wish we could go back to the inn," she said quietly, "it was nice there."

"I know," he said bitterly, internally cursing his half-Guado genes. If only he hadn't had such a distinctive face, he could have been anyone. But now, it had probably gotten back to Yuna that he was back from the dead—AGAIN—and causing trouble in Spira—AGAIN. He didn't know if he was ever going to catch a break. And here was his guardian stumbling around because he hadn't been able to get rid of all the effects of the Darkness spell for her. He hated to push her so hard when it seemed like she was barely staying upright, but he simply couldn't risk anyone catching up to them. His own strength was giving out before long and by the time late afternoon got there, they were both desperate to just lie down and close their eyes. By the time they reached a familiar-looking river, Melody tripped over something and fell. Her voice thick with unshed tears, she struggled to try and get up, but her body wouldn't let her. Staying on her knees, she sighed at her scraped palms. Once again, Seymour hauled her to her feet and kept hold of one arm because she staggered.

"We're staying here tonight," he suggested, "this area looks fairly safe for now."

Her expression was one of immense gratitude. She scrubbed the dirt out of her palms and knees and drank deeply from one of the canteens while Seymour got the fire going. He offered her food, but she didn't want anything. Laying a few feet apart from each other, they both fell asleep straight off. Despite his best efforts to keep awake, Seymour simply couldn't do it. They had both been through far too much today. As he drifted off in the hazy late-afternoon heat, he dreamed of his parents for the first time in an eternity. He saw his mother and father standing side by side in the Farplane, united in death as they had never been in life. Their hands were joined, fingers laced together, and Seymour saw them both just floating there, watching him with impatient expressions as if to see what he would do. When he woke, he felt disoriented and troubled. It was already night-time—judging by the chill, the sun had gone down hours ago. He started to roll over and his body jerked with a start. Right next to him with maybe an inch or less to spare was Melody. He wondered how she'd gotten over here when she'd been so far away at first. Shaking off the strangeness of it, he nudged her awake.

"Huh?" she asked sleepily.

"Go back to sleep if you want," he told her, "but I thought you'd like to see this."

She slowly rolled onto her back and sat up. The effect was almost cartoonish—she saw the Pyreflies gathering in the Moonflow Lilies and her eyes widened. Still mid-yawn, her jaw snapped shut and she grinned.

"Ooh! Pretty!"

She had forgotten about the blanket and got her legs tangled up in it. Kicking it free, she stumble-ran towards the opalescent orbs and the flowers, splashing right into the water. Seymour chuckled when she let out a yelp at the coldness of it. Still shivering, she hiked her skirt up to her knees and tied it in a knot so that her clothes wouldn't get so wet. She let out a half-squeal half-laugh when the Pyreflies all scattered when she tried to catch them. It was like watching a small child at play.

She acts as if this is all completely new to her, he thought, as if she's never seen a Pyrefly before.

Giggling, she twisted this way and that, ran and leapt and splashed until her clothes were all soaked anyway. When she got too cold to continue, she hurried for the warmth of the fire.

"Have a nice bath?" he asked casually. Melody cracked up laughing.

"Good one," she said, shivering, "you're actually really funny when you aren't being all full of yourself."

It was hard to believe that the beautiful, cold, deadly creature was the same being as the child-woman. She rifled through their packs for a bite to eat, winced at the damaged one, then crammed bites of food in while she patched it up as best as she could. They didn't really talk much while they were eating or after. He noticed that Melody was now adding more of the fiends to her "catalogue".

"You need to learn some offensive spells," he told her.

She looked at him as if he'd half-lost his mind.

"I can barely do a shield," she reminded him.

"Not in that other form."

At the mention of her "other form", Melody squirmed uncomfortably.

"That's different."

"How is that different? I saw you destroy an entire army of fiends just by looking in their direction," he pressed, "why do you not use such immense power? Your potential is wasted."

Melody put her chin in her hand.

"Seymour…I can't control that," she said quietly, clearly embarrassed, "I only shift into that form when I'm in serious trouble and I haven't got any sense when I'm there. I had to fight against attacking you. My senses don't distinguish between human darkness and demonic darkness in that state—or in this case, fiend darkness. And the trouble is that you have so much of it that you're in serious danger when I'm like that."

She hid her face in her hands for a moment.

"I was hoping it wouldn't happen," she lamented, "because no one's ever seen something that looks like that. I scared them—I could see it. It's not my job to scare people."

He thought about how much that Darktouch sword had hurt her. She must have felt very threatened.

"Then you should learn black magic in this form," he suggested, "then you won't feel so threatened. We will be encountering more fiends with elemental aspects—you need to know how to find their weaknesses."

They were near water, so he led her out to the shore and showed her how to manipulate it. She could only make the water wave slightly at first, but even he hadn't managed that during his first try as a child. He showed her how to move her hands as though she was pushing and pulling. The waves grew a little stronger.

"When you get better at this," he told her, "you will be able to produce water out of thin air."

She smiled, imagining a cold drink in the midst of the desert.

"Now," he said, "you also must learn to shield from it."

He showed her the Nultide spell. The orb of blue light that circled him would draw the water towards it instead, leaving him completely dry no matter how much someone might try to drench him. Just to test it out, Melody retrieved a bowl and tried to dump some water on his head. It completely missed him no matter how hard she tried.

"Your turn," he said, grinning evilly. Of course, the poor girl ended up soaked all over again.

"Can we stop for now? I'm freezing," Melody objected.

"The good news is that you can't possibly get any wetter," he told her, "again! This time, push it away. Refuse to let it touch you."

He cast Water on her again. The only noticeable improvement was that she felt as if it were raining rather a full-blown waterfall. Sighing, she slumped in the grass, careful to step out of the mud puddle she'd been standing in.

"Absolutely hopeless," he muttered.

"Hey!" she protested.

"Well, you are!" he huffed, "You're the slowest person I've ever had to teach."

"I am not! You try getting the hang of all this stuff in two weeks!" Melody argued.

"I had to," he told her, "I had no choice. It was learn or die."

"Why are you so tough on me?"

"Because a dead guardian is of no use to me."

He cast a Fire spell, being careful not to let the flames actually touch her. She screamed bloody murder only to find that the water that weighed her clothes down and plastered her hair to her neck and forehead were steaming dry. When he stopped, they were still a bit damp, but she wouldn't catch cold at least. He didn't care for the thought of sneezing every few minutes.

"I know what your problem is," Melody said smugly.

"Do you? By all means, enlighten me," he shot back.

"You're scared that something's going to happen to me, aren't you?"

"Absolutely terrified," he said sarcastically, "it keeps me awake at night, you know."

"That's it," Melody said accusingly, "or you wouldn't give me such a hard time. If you didn't care, you'd let one of those darn wolves eat me."

"I will if you don't shut up."

She was grinning, which made him tempted to throw one of the nearby rocks at her. She wouldn't be laughing then!

"I'm sure you will…that's why you came looking for me earlier and pulled that sword out of my wing and healed me and sat with me while I was crying and—"

"As I said, you are no good to me dead."

There was something hard in his tone that made her lose her desire to goad him so much. Her expression turning more serious, she came to kneel at his side.

"You've lost a lot of people in places like this, haven't you?" she asked quietly.

"A few," he answered, "but they have all found peace in the Farplane. It does no good to concern myself with them now."

"Don't you miss them?"

He was getting annoyed.

"How can you miss something taken from you so long ago? Dwelling on it only prolongs the pain."

Ah, there it was. She could always hear a mental wall going up. Seymour Guado never grieved for anyone either because he had lost too many people or because he didn't let himself deal with it. Instead, he preferred to shove everything to the back of his mind and suppress it. She stopped pushing him and instead placed her hand on his. As she expected, he pulled away. Though he crouched close to the fire, she could see that he may as well have been made of ice. His very presence chilled her in the moment. He was beyond the simple comfort of a human touch.

These things take time, she reminded herself, though she ached for him. She went back to her sketches until she felt tired enough to fall asleep again. When it was her turn to keep watch, no communication of any kind was exchanged at all beyond him shaking her shoulder to wake her up. She patted the grass where she'd been laying, still warm from her body, and sleepily trudged over to a nearby stump to sit. It wasn't as comfortable as the grass, but that worked to her advantage. While she kept watch, she foraged for food. They didn't have many of the pastries left, so she had to find other things. Remembering a few of the berries, fruits, mushrooms, and nuts that she'd seen in the discarded packs she'd found before, she searched carefully, making sure to keep part of her attention on her surroundings. The Pyreflies came in handy as impromptu flashlights, illuminating the landscape so that she could see a little better. Reaching into some of those memories, she drew on the wealth of ancient knowledge to help her avoid making a fatal mistake. It wasn't easy learning to live off the land, but people had been doing it for thousands of years, so she was sure it would all work out. Piling her finds on her stump, she had managed to find a handful of mushrooms, a small pile of berries, and a fruit tree that she managed to climb with great difficulty. It was easier to pick the fruit and let it fall to the ground than to try and carry it down herself. The things that she found vaguely resembled plums and they released a sticky-sweet juice when she bit into their thick skins. Feeling quite accomplished, she gathered them in her skirt and hauled them back to camp. After doing this repeatedly for a couple of hours, her back, knees, arms, everything ached something terrible, but they would be able to survive for a few more days. When she'd gathered all the ripe fruit off the tree, she boiled a bunch of water in a sauce pan and refilled their canteens with it. As the moon sank lower in the sky, she finally gave in to her exhaustion and roused Seymour.

"Someone's been busy," he muttered, seeing the new additions to their camp. She smiled proudly as she tucked in for the rest of the night.

I know you haven't trusted many, but you can trust me to help you out, she thought as she heard him crunching one of the plum-things.

While Melody and Seymour had their quiet night next to the Moonflow River, Yuna, Rikku, and Paine were back onboard the airship. After the attack of the fiends, they didn't much care for the idea of staying in town. It was mostly Yuna's idea, but as she was pale and even more quiet than usual, they didn't question it. The flood of fiends had been very sudden, but something else entirely seemed to be bothering her.

"She'll tell us when she's ready," Paine had said in her dark voice as Rikku kept vigil outside Yuna's room that night, "she always does."

"You're right," Rikku sighed, "it's just that she's been through so much. It must be big if she feels like she can't tell us."

And something big it was. Yuna had turned on the shower full-blast and made the water as hot as she could stand it. Though she lingered there for at least an hour with the steaming water beating against her skin until it turned a bright red, she couldn't seem to get warm at all. It was as if ice had coated all of her insides and then spread to her very soul. Trembling with her arms clutched tightly in a hug to herself, she stood there with wide eyes and dripping hair as her heart continued to pound loudly and quickly. For the four-hundredth time that night, she tried to convince herself that she hadn't seen whom she thought she'd seen.

It can't be…it just can't be…

Though his hair and clothes were different, there was no mistaking those eyes, the color of the hair, the sheer size of him, or the face-veins in their tear-track patterns under his eyes. There was no mistaking that high, cold voice that had shouted to the strange iridescent creature that had been a happy woman adorned in flowers only seconds before. It was her worst nightmare brought back to life: Seymour Guado was back from the dead. Again. It was something she'd had nightmares about constantly for the last two years. Though she'd Sent him herself, she knew people could still come back from the Farplane because Lulu had said their attachments kept them from leaving Spira in peace. If Jyscal's convictions to reveal Seymour's actions had been strong enough to hold him there, then how much more were the half-breed son's? His hatred for Spira was so intense that any number of Sendings might not keep him away for good!

She shivered violently, her stomach still churning. And she had been less than two feet away from him. She had been right next to him within arm's reach. In fact, she was quite sure that she, Rikku, and Paine had been staying in the room right across from those two.

Why didn't I know something wasn't right? She scolded herself.

Because I wasn't looking for it. I never imagined this would happen.

She turned the shower off; the water had faded from its steaming intensity to a bland lukewarm that only made her feel colder. She toweled off as quickly as she could, then tugged on a very thick, fluffy robe made from Behemoth fur. Everyone would probably think she was crazy, as it was in the middle of summer, but it was the only thing that made her feel remotely safe. Pacing back and forth, she wondered if she should tell Rikku and Paine of her suspicions. She didn't want to worry them and what if it wasn't really Seymour after all?

Back and forth, back and forth. She barely slept at all that night, having nightmares of Seymour and that scary winged creature coming after her, of doing terrible things to Spira and even killing more people. She had barely slept at all and was feeling quite worn-down when the next morning came.

"Rough night?" Paine asked.

"Very," Yuna sighed, pouring some coffee. She didn't really like the stuff, but she needed to stay awake. She didn't want more nightmares.

"Oh, my goodness! Yunie, you look awful!" Rikku exclaimed, "What's wrong?"

Unable to bear the burden by herself anymore, she told them of her suspicions and the resulting nightmares. Paine had never gotten a good look at Seymour, so she had no way to really recognize him, but Rikku had helped Yuna battle him personally. Her spiral-shaped pupils dilated in horror as she listened to what Yuna had to say.

"This is terrible! I really, really hope it was just a long-lost brother or something," Rikku lamented.

"I don't think he had any siblings," Yuna sighed, "besides, wasn't one enough?"

"So, what do you want us to do about it?" Paine asked. Anyone who didn't know her would say she sounded careless, but Yuna knew she'd only ask if she was offering her help.

Yuna gulped against the acid rising in her throat.

"If he's really back…we need to stop him. Seymour Guado isn't a safe person to keep around on Spira. I don't know what I'll do with him once I catch him, but there's always the hope that I can Send him again and that he'll be gone for good this time."

"Then that's what we'll do."

Yuna let out a sigh of relief. It was so good to know that her closest friends believed her and didn't think she was crazy. Though Paine had never witnessed the fights with Seymour in which he kept taking on awe-inspiring and terrible forms, she had heard all the stories and she clearly didn't want to risk people being hurt either. And Rikku…Rikku knew far too many people that Seymour had hurt to risk it as well. He had wiped out most of the Ronso, several of his fellow Guado, far too many humans to count, and probably other intelligent non-humans as well. It certainly wasn't the first night that Yuna had awoken screaming from nightmares.

"They'll have fled Djose by now," Yuna said, "the minute he realized he'd been seen, he ran. I don't know if that…thing…was still with him or not."

"He didn't actually hurt anyone besides the fiends—what's up with that?" Rikku wondered.

"He didn't want to draw attention to himself," Yuna guessed, "especially if he knew I was there. I'm one of the few people he can't stand up to."

She gave a great sigh.

"I'll need to get another Summoner's staff. Mine's back in Besaid."

"Let's go get yours, then. We'll be there in no time with this ship! Besides, Wakka and Lulu will be happy to see us!"

While the trio of girls and their airship-mates were on their way to the Isle of Besaid, Melody and Seymour were trying to figure out their next move. Walking side by side in the hot sunshine, Melody wiped the sweat from her brow and asked, "Where are we going?"

"We're going to Guadosalam," Seymour said irritably, wondering why her memory seemed so short, "to my home. Though I do hope my reception there is a little bit warmer."

"What do we do if it isn't?" Melody asked.

"We hope we can outrun whatever machina abominations they send after us," Seymour grumbled, "or we might be sent to the Farplane together."

He thought of his house once again, of the cool, pleasant space there, the comfortable trappings, and sweet fruit that he was so fond of. For the first time, he thought of Tromell. Tromell would, hopefully, be happy to see him even if he was hurt. Seymour realized he'd have a lot of explaining to do to the poor old father-like Guado who had tried to make up for the years of neglect. He had never once had anything but good things to say to Seymour to the point of embarrassment. The poor old man had probably suffered horribly since that awful day that he'd been killed in battle. And for the first time, he actually began to regret what he'd done. It was only a small pang, but he wished he had not brought this all on to the poor old man.

"I can't wait to see Guadosalam," Melody said warmly, "especially your house."

She looked at him hopefully, clearly wanting him to talk about it, but he didn't. So she retrieved a big stick and used it as a cane to help her get up the very steep hill they were climbing. There were a couple of times she tripped and had to use the stick to right herself again. They traveled up and down those hills for at least three days before they neared his home. Just as Seymour was gearing himself up for the sight of his kinsmen, his stomach felt as if it was dropping into his thighs.

Melody's wide-eyed gaze was just as shocked as he felt.

"Umm…Seymour? Where are they? I don't see any—"

"Quiet," he snapped, dragging her behind a particularly large tree root, "stay down and don't move or make any noise!"

Something was wrong. He could smell it. The cold, steely smell of machina flooded the place. The once earthy-wooden smell of his people, something akin to pine shavings, was replaced by the warm salty smell of humans. He closed his eyes and placed his hands over his ears and just concentrated on smell. With his other senses out of the way, his keen nose was even stronger. There was a trace of another smell: Ronso.

"Follow me," he whispered, "but stay close behind. We can't be seen. Something's very wrong here."

The smell of magic was also thin. There were people walking around in uniforms—some were pink, some were olive green. A sickeningly artificially sweet smell, clearly a woman's cheap perfume, tainted the air. As they got closer to the Maester's mansion, Seymour's ire began to rise. Humans, humans, humans. Nothing but humans and machines. Where had his own people gone?

"Seymour, wait!" Melody sprinted to catch up with him. He motioned for her to follow him and descended into a very-well-hidden trap door. Watching him weave in and out of the shadows impressed her—she wondered how much practice he'd had actually doing this. It wasn't long until they'd reached his old room. He let out a very not-nice string of Ancient Guado curses. Melody didn't know what they'd meant, but she could guess by his tone.

"Oh, what's this? You must have wanted to see me very badly to get all the way up here," a voice purred. Melody and Seymour both whipped around in surprise to see a woman in a very revealing pink body suit.