Crescent Lake, Five Months Ago

Jack woke in his room well before dawn. A lifetime of nightmares had made him an early riser, though he hadn't had one tonight. He simply had somewhere to be. Using his aether sight to navigate the dark room, he went to the window, flicked the curtains aside, and tried to gauge the hour. The window faced east, and he could see faint eddies of aether on the horizon where they were warmed by the distant sun. Plenty of time to reach the harbor before first light.

Plenty of time indeed, since he'd slept in his clothes. He'd started preparing to go as soon as Bayard said he'd take him. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull his boots on, then cracked his knuckles before he picked up the gloves he'd left on the bedside table. Tired as he was, he had trouble getting the gloves on straight, had to take off the left one and fix the stuffing in the two outer fingers, but years of daily habit won out and he soon had them right.

He finished dressing in the dark, but lit a candle to check over his things, to strap his staff to his back, and to check himself in the mirror. Only his eyes showed above the folds of his yellow scarf and below the wide hat brim; when he focused on them in the dim light, he thought of his father. He had a vague memory of kindly blue eyes looking up at him as he was lifted in the air, but he couldn't remember his father's face, and he only thought of Cedric when he tried. The coat had been Cedric's, the scarf was from Iris, and the orb that rested in its pouch in his pocket was his mother's. He hadn't thought of his father in years, yet for some reason he felt a sudden regret that he had nothing of his father's to take with him on this new journey.

He snuck through the dark and silent house, stepping carefully over and around those places where the floor creaked, but his precautions were useless, for as he passed the parlor a voice from within said, "Leaving without a word?"

He turned and faced Lukahn, his guardian, who waved a casual hand to bring a lamp to life from his usual chair beside the front window. Jack squinted against the sudden brightness. "What words? I can't think you'd have anything to say to me… Not after all this time. You would have said it by now."

"No," said the old man. Simple, direct, but still it hurt. Lukahn never cared for him. He never will, Jack thought. The only people who cared for me are dead. "Where will you go?" Lukahn asked.

He already knows, Jack thought, and he felt the unspoken disapproval in the old man's tone. His shoulders tensed from the effort not to writhe guiltily under Lukahn's steady gaze. "To find someone to teach me the things I can't learn here."

"Why?" Lukahn asked, that one word a sharp bark that echoed through the silence.

Jack didn't answer. It was an old argument, but it was over now, and that knowledge lent him the calm he needed to see this moment through. The aether settled around him like a blanket of snow, thick and numbing; all too often it smothered him, pressed in on all sides, and it took all his will to block it out. He couldn't seem to make Lukahn understand how hard it was, like learning to write with the wrong hand. Nobody understood. Was it just him? Or were there others like him who struggled the same way?

Lukahn waited for Jack's answer, but when he received none, he spoke again, more composed this time. "So you're abandoning your training?"

He couldn't keep the pride from his voice. "It's finished. I swore the Oath yesterday. Master Randell stood witness."

It was something to be proud of, something to be celebrated, and Jack childishly hoped Lukahn might be pleased with him at last, but Lukahn only scoffed. "Randell doesn't know what you are."

"Neither do you," Jack said. He walked calmly out the door, heard it close quietly behind him, and realized only then that he wasn't angry enough to slam it, wasn't angry at all. He felt only a vague sort of disappointment. Even that faded as he walked through the dim morning, guided by the aether and the fading starlight before the sun rose on a new day.

Asura's Tomb, Present Day

The air surged in to fill the spot Grifford left behind, ruffling Kane's hair as it passed. His sword whiffed through the nothingness as he stumbled to a halt.

"Where is he?" he shouted.

"Teleported," Jack said, leaning wearily against the slab behind him.

Kane roared in frustration. "Damn it! We had him!" His hands shook as he resheathed his sword, the fatigue he'd felt before rushing back.

"Lord Orin?" Jack said.

"I will be alright," he heard the old man mutter. Orin picked up the torch he'd dropped during the fight, and the light flickered, playing across a prone figure, white-haired and dressed in red, eerily still.

"No…" Kane breathed, rushing forward. "Father!"

Jack held him back. "Calm down."

"Let me go!" Kane said. He pushed against the mage, but Jack held firm as an iron bar while his own limbs felt slow and heavy once more.

"He's alright," Jack said.

He continued to struggle, making no headway. "Swear to me!" Kane demanded, ashamed that his voice broke on a sob. "Swear to me he's alright!"

"I swear, Kane. Please calm down."

Kane nodded. He didn't immediately hurry to his father's side when Jack released him. Instead, he tried to control his breathing, slowly counting to ten. His voice was steadier when he spoke again. "What happened to him?"

"He's empty," Jack said. "You've seen it before, with Lena. Hagen drained him, but then he used the last of his aether to cast a spell. I don't know what he was thinking."

Kane remember his father's hand, warm against his back when he had felt so cold and helpless. He groaned, closing his eyes. "He Cured me. He Cured me so I could fight back."

"That would do it," said Jack.

"It is well that he did," Orin said. "I would be dead now if you had not recovered when you did."

"We all would. They would have killed us, Kane," Jack said.

Kane rubbed his face with his hands. "I couldn't move. You three kept fighting, but I… I couldn't do anything." His body had never utterly failed him before. Muscle-memory from countless hours of training had always seen him through, even when he'd been too frightened to think straight. Without the ability to fight, there had only been fear. His heart still pounded with it.

"I have fought the Brotherhood before," Orin said. "I am familiar with the sensation. But I will admit to reacting similarly the first time I experienced it." He stooped, picking up a dropped torch that had gone out, lighting it again on his own. "We should go, while the torches last. We do not want to be caught down here in the dark with no magic to light our way."

"We failed," Jack said, speaking aloud what Kane himself was thinking.

"We survived," Orin corrected. "And we know where our enemy resides. That is not failure."

It took longer going out than in. They were all weakened from the fight, and Redden needed to be carried. Kane and Jack hoisted him between them; Orin, in a rare show of his age, was too worn to help. Kane's legs seemed on fire as they climbed stair after stair, but then the circle of daylight at the cave's entrance came into view, growing fractionally larger with each step.

Jack's eyes glowed when they passed the markings that held the aether shield - he breathed deeply in relief - but as they ascended, the mage began to gag. "Oh, gods," he moaned. "I forgot about the Rot."

"You're welcome to go back, if you like," Kane said.

"Hello?" Refial called, peering over the edge above them. "Guys? Is that you?"

"Who else would it be?" Jack asked.

Refial seemed oblivious to Jack's sarcasm. As they struggled up the last few steps, he paced nervously, quivering with agitation. "Thank the gods! I didn't know what to do! I think I might have done Grifford some real damage here!"

Jack's eyes glinted with more than aether. "Grifford? Where?"

Refial pointed. The black-robed mage lay flat on his back some little distance away, sleeping peacefully on one of the tilted stones. Jack transferred his half of Redden's weight to Kane and hurried over to investigate.

Refial rambled. "I'm so sorry! He just appeared right in front of me! I didn't know it was him. I panicked! You know I can't control that spell. I think I overdid it, though. I haven't been able to wake him! I've tried! Do you suppose he'll be angry? I mean, it's been at least an hour. Gods, we don't have to tell him that part, do we?"

"Quiet," Jack snapped. "Let me think."

Refial shrank back from his tone. He turned, eyes widening at the sight of Redden's condition. "What's going on?"

"Hagen and Grifford attacked us. They're dark mages," Kane said, evoking a gasp from the thin pirate. "Is the crown safe?"

"It's safe," Jack said, but he stared at the gold and gems much the same way one might stare at a letter delivering bad news.

"Why do I hear a 'but' coming on?" Kane asked, moving his hands to grip his father under the arms and drag him out of the stairwell.

"It's not cursed."

"Hold on," Kane said. He wasn't angry. His mind reeled, but his body was too tired to respond with its usual vigor. Instead, he found a relatively flat stone, up out of the Rot, and set his father down gently, grabbing one of their packs from the pile they'd left with Refial to serve as a pillow for him. Then he walked to where Jack knelt over Grifford. "This crown isn't cursed?"

"No."

"We've been searching for more than a week."

"Yes."

"Because you cast a spell to find the cause of the curse."

"I did."

"And this isn't it? Even though your spell led us right to it?"

Jack sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in that long-suffering way of his. "I keyed the spell to the cause of the curse, not its source. I think whoever cursed the king did it to get their hands on this crown. The spells on it…" He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut as though his head ached.

"The spells that protect the royal family?" Refial asked. "Were they corrupted like Redden thought?"

"No," Jack shook his head. "No, they're still intact."

"What, then?" Kane snapped, losing his patience.

"The protective spells are the source of the Divine Right of Kings."

Refial's eyes widened. "Wait, what? So whoever takes the crown becomes king?"

"It's complicated," Jack said. "But if someone was a member of the royal family, had a genuine claim…"

"Someone like the king's cousin, perhaps?" Orin put in.

"Bahamut's balls…" Kane said. "Astos is trying to usurp the throne."

"It is worse than that," Orin said. "He is doing so with the aid of dark mages. Cornelian dark mages."

Kane froze. "You think the Brotherhood is behind this?"

The monk looked grim. "I think it cannot be a coincidence."

There was the anger he hadn't been able to muster a moment ago, a cold, sinking feeling that settled over him like a weight, but it wasn't anger that made his stomach churn when he looked down at the sleeping Grifford. "Jack, are you sure he's a dark mage?"

Jack looked up at him, eyes flat behind a green corona. "I'm sure. He drew off of both of us. I saw it."

Kane nodded. His hands felt light and useless as he reached for his sword hilt. I won't be able to draw it, he thought. It's too heavy. I'm too weak. But the steel whispered as he unsheathed it, the sound loud in his ears as though the world had gone quiet to listen to what he did next.

"What are you doing?" Refial asked, horrified.

"We can't leave him here, and we can't let him go," Kane said.

"But the man is unconscious!"

Jack pushed to his feet, backing away, giving Kane space. "Kane's right. If he wakes up, we may not be able to defeat him." He nodded to Kane, then turned his back and walked away.

Kane held his sword in front of him, point down, as he stared at the sleeping man. Again he felt like he couldn't move. One quick thrust, he thought, but this wasn't like it had been with Hagen, wasn't a real fight. This was murder. This is my enemy. This is what it takes to save the world.

A hand gripped his shoulder gently. "Turn away," Orin said. "I will do it."

"Orin…"

"I am old, young master Carmine. If I regret this thing, I will not regret it as long as you would. Turn away." The monk knelt beside Grifford, grasping the mage's chin in one hand and the back of his head in the other. He looked up at Kane, waiting.

Kane turned, his sword hanging at his side in a posture that should have been casual, but every muscle in his body tensed and his fingers were numb from their tight hold on the hilt. He faced Refial, whose face was pale as he stared past Kane toward Orin and Grifford. The pirate opened his mouth as if to protest.

Kane winced at the sudden dull "crack" that sounded behind him. Refial fainted.

The others rested as the afternoon wore on, but Jack couldn't calm his mind. He paced as the others slept, walked a wide circle around their makeshift camp and the mouth of the strange cave, keeping his distance, and his mind played over everything Hagen and Grifford had said to him over the course of their journey. Suddenly, their probing questions made sense. They were trying to figure out if I was one of them, he thought.

He still felt drained. He drew the aether and held it to ease the yawning ache of his empty reserves but it didn't help. The aether he drew from the air swirled through the hole in his soul without filling it. It will grow back in a few hours, he told himself. A dark mage wouldn't wait: a dark mage would draw from the souls of his companions. Jack focused on the emptiness and waited, as he always did when he was running low.

He had released his ice spell during the fight; the last of it was wearing off, the heat making the scars across his shoulders itch. He went down the stairs again, studying the ancient writing on the cave walls to pass the time in the cooler air until he could cast it again. Open to the aether as he was, he sensed Kane's aura before he heard the guardsman approach, knew it was him without even turning to look.

"Aren't you tired?" Kane said.

"No. Thinking."

"Me too." He sat on the stairs a few steps above where Jack stood, and his disordered hair indicated he had had at least a small nap. "If the Brotherhood is behind this, it could be that they're trying to put a man on the elven throne who sympathizes with their cause. If they frame Cornelia for the curse in order to start a war, if the war goes the way father predicted…"

"They'll conquer two kingdoms with a single coup," Jack finished. Kane would think of Cornelia first, but he wasn't wrong. Jack's own concerns were more immediate. He sighed, sitting sideways on the step below Kane's to lean his back against the wall. "Astos told us his contacts in Elfheim often sent him human mages. Do you remember?" He waited for Kane's nod, then went on, "The elf who sent us to Astos to begin with, Cotto, was the king's own advisor. What if he's in on it too? Kane… what if I left Lena at that castle with a spy?"

Kane ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a long breath. "We'll get her out of there. If we cut east through the hills to the north, we'll hit the groves. We'd be two or three days from Elfheim, at most."

"That won't solve anything. What of the curse?"

Kane arched an eyebrow. "What of it? We have the crown now. The protective spells-"

"The spells didn't prevent the curse from being cast in the first place. From what I've pieced together, the king hid the crown after the curse fell. He knew someone was after it."

"Astos," Kane said. It wasn't a question.

Jack nodded. "The protective spells are still working, Kane, just like the Divine Right still works. It doesn't matter where the crown is. I think it's not curing the curse because Astos is still casting it."

"Holding it, you mean? Like your ice spell?"

"Exactly. That's why I'm going after him."

"Of course we're going after him. That goes without saying."

"No," Jack said.

Kane frowned. "You can't mean to go alone."

"I do. There's no time. He knows how to find the crown now. As soon as he realizes his men aren't coming back, he'll come for it. We can't wait for your father to wake up. It might take hours, days, for his aether to recover."

"We'll carry him."

"Be serious. He's nearly twice Lena's size. It took both of us to haul him out of this cave. You and Orin aren't recovered yet either."

"Neither are you," Kane said.

"I don't have to be. Even if I can't kill him, if I distract him enough, he may lose his hold on the curse. Meanwhile, the rest of you can get the crown back to Elfheim so the elves can keep it safe."

Kane nodded. "Alright. But I'm coming with you." The guardsman stood and strode up the stairs.

Jack hurried after him. "Kane! Astos is a black mage, maybe even a dark mage. You can't-"

Kane whirled on him, grabbing the front of his coat and pulling hard. His face was calm, but his eyes blazed. "You listen to me. I may not be able to read the aether like you, or to cast any spells, but I can use this sword. I can fight. And I promised my princess that I would protect you. So if you're off to fight someone, I'm going too. Is that perfectly clear?"

Jack could stop him. One simple Sleep was all it would take, but he couldn't make himself cast it. He didn't want to go alone. And he didn't have to.

He nodded. "If we leave within the hour we can be past the Rot by nightfall."

"Good," Kane said, his smile predatory as he released Jack's coat. "I'll be ready as soon I've told Orin the plan. Get your things."

It was only later that Lena remembered Aryon's door was open. It was usually closed when she arrived in the mornings. She should have noticed something like that, but she'd been tired.

The healings weren't getting any easier, and that wasn't a good sign. Every morning she followed the same routine, and every night the curse undid her work. Day after day after day. She was growing to dread it, and the guilt of that realization weighed on her even as she entered the room.

A man stood beside Aryon's bed. To her, he was tall, though she considered that perhaps he was only of average height for an elf. His hair was long and lank, the blond streaked with gray. His face was worn, with deep lines of worry etched into his forehead, but his straight, pointed nose and the angles of his cheekbones were unmistakably familiar. It was Aryon's face, only older: the face of the elf king. The mad king.

"Oh, excuse me, your majesty," she said. She dipped a quick curtsy and carefully backed away.

"Stay," the king said.

She stopped, suddenly afraid, but the king's emotions were calm and lucid. How long will that last? she wondered. She could feel a bright spot of joy from Aryon - he was glad of his father's presence - and that gave her strength.

The king regarded her curiously, taking in her too-large livery. "You are the servant in charge of this room? I don't remember any humans working here."

"No, sire, I'm…" She hesitated, wondering how to proceed without breaking her Oath on a lie. Perhaps the gods would forgive a lie in these circumstances. I'm what? A solution came to her and she plowed ahead. "I'm only working in this room temporarily. But I assure you, I'm taking my duties here very seriously."

The king seemed satisfied with that answer. "How old are you, child?"

"Seventeen, sire."

"Seventeen? Hmm. Not a child after all. I never can tell with humans. Aryon was eighteen when this curse struck." He turned his gaze back to the sleeping prince, his emotions peaceful and calm, suffused with love for his son. For a moment, he seemed to have forgotten her. She stood quite still beside the doorway, waiting, hoping his mood didn't change, hoping he asked her no questions she couldn't answer with a clear conscience.

She squeaked in surprise when another man burst into the room. Dressed in black mage robes, he was shorter than the king, and marginally younger, with a thicker build and thinner hair. He smiled at her alarm, and Lena felt his cruel amusement.

"There you are, your majesty! We've been looking everywhere for you," he said.

Hatred, sharp and hot, lanced through her in such startling contrast to this man's concerned tone that she nearly cried out again. He despises the king, she realized, focusing on the man's mind; it felt… oily.

The man continued speaking to Eldarin, leading him toward the door. "There are just a few matters of state we need you to attend. May I escort you back to your rooms?"

"Cotto…" said the king. "Yes, I…" He looked about the room, confused now, as though he was unsure where he was, but then he shrugged. "I seem to have lost track of time."

"Of course, sire." His voice didn't match his emotions. Though he sounded like any loving caretaker, he felt disgusted with the king, resentful and… pleased? Pleased that the king was not in his right mind?

Quickly, she called up her soul sight. She didn't dare touch him, but she thought she might be able to do a soul reading as this Cotto passed by. He walked beside the king, his hand on the king's elbow lightly steering him toward the door, but he walked on the side opposite Lena. She worried he was too far away to read properly, but when he was a few steps away, she realized a proper reading wasn't necessary.

This man was evil, his aura twisted and turned inward. This was a man who cared only for himself, and would stop at nothing to achieve his own ends.

She took a step back, instinctively trying to get away from him, but her long skirts tripped her feet and sent her stumbling. A gentle hand righted her again, and she looked up into King Eldarin's smiling face. His soul was that of a kind, clever man with a fair nature, a shade of green more yellow than his son's, but equally pale, besieged by the same darkness.

"Careful, now," he said. "See that you get that skirt hemmed up. Temporary or not, I would have you work comfortably."

"Y-yes, sire," she stuttered. "Thank you, sire," but Eldarin and his frightening keeper were already out the door.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching them go, and was still leaning there when Gollor swept into the hall. She could feel his relief when he saw her and hurried toward her. "I heard the king had left his tower. Are you alright?"

"You didn't tell me," she said. "That he was cursed as well."

He glanced up and down the hall quickly, as though checking that they were alone. "And what good would telling you have done? You can't reveal yourself to him; it's too dangerous."

"He was kind. He wouldn't hurt me."

"Eldarin would not. But Eldarin is not always in control." Gollor guided her toward the edge of the bed and motioned for her to sit. His sadness as he sat beside her was heart-wrenching. "He was awake when the curse fell - he often had trouble sleeping. When we couldn't wake the prince, we found Eldarin in his study, analyzing trade agreements. The curse had already taken hold. If he falls asleep…" Gollor sighed. "The devouts realized they could keep his body awake, but they can do nothing for his mind."

That was the cause of the madness, Lena realized. The mind needed sleep.

Gollor stared at the floor, the horror of his next words overshadowed by the weariness he felt. "He ordered another devout killed last night. One of his most faithful attendants. She'd done nothing wrong, but the order couldn't be disobeyed. The guard who did it… We found him this morning, dead by his own hand." He stood then. Without looking back, he said, "I'll leave you to your work. But be careful of the king, should you see him again."

Lena squeezed her eyes shut but couldn't stop the tears that welled there. She still needed to tell Gollor about the man who'd been with the king, but Aryon needed her now. She felt grief from him - how hard it must be for him to hear about his own father in that way - and she reached down to grip his sleeping hand in hers, to lend what comfort she could, but she couldn't find the words to speak to him as she usually did; she didn't want to burden his already troubled mind with her own fears.

She was so tired.

Jack and Kane were gone when Refial woke from his faint. He'd been left alone in the marshy wilderness with the unconscious Redden, the very dead Grifford, and the murderous monk. The monk didn't act murderous: he had been sitting cross-legged in that weird meditation his people practiced, as if he hadn't just killed someone. He wasn't nearly so frightening as Redden had been when he woke up a full day later and Orin told him where his son had gone. The Cornelian had flown into a rage that rivaled any temper Captain Bikke had ever conjured, but still it was the monk who made Refial nervous as they crossed the hills west of the groves.

Refial couldn't fathom why the memory of Grifford's unceremonious end disturbed him so. He was a pirate, or played at being one. Some of his best friends were murderers. He and the crew had used his Sleep skills for exactly that purpose. It was just that, as a rule, the crew didn't spend several days hiking and camping with the people they killed before they killed them. It was not the natural order of things. Near a decade sailing around on various pirate ships, and this was the first time he felt like he'd fallen in with bad company.

"Refial!" Redden snapped. "Quit daydreaming and keep up."

"I can't keep up!" he whined. "For Titan's sake, man! Can't we rest?"

The bard ignored him, pressing on with grim determination. Even when he'd still been weakened from the fight against the dark mage, he had trudged on, relentless as a tonberry. Though Orin had talked him out of tearing off after Kane, he seemed set on the idea of raising an army to hunt Astos down as soon as they reached Elfheim. Absurd as it seemed, Refial had no doubt Redden could do such a thing.

Likewise, Refial had no doubt that if he fell behind, Redden wouldn't wait for him. He sighed, only groaning a little bit, and picked up his pace.

They continued in near silence. Though the budding summer heat continued, a west wind carried a hint of sea breeze from the Mondmer. The hills began to slope more downhill than up, and Refial had an easier time of it. At last they left the hills behind and entered the shaded groves. The forest sounds were loud after the quiet of the hills, the calls of birds and insects carried by the wind that swept through the treetops. Soon, one sound rose above the others, the hooting "Kupo! Kupo!" that they had heard before as they traveled north. The sounds grew louder, more frequent.

"What are those?" Refial asked. "They sounded close."

"Ignore them. Keep walking," Redden said.

The strange sound repeated ahead of them, but was answered by an identical call from behind.

"I do not think they will ignore us in return," Orin said.

The older men stopped suddenly. The undergrowth rustled with the movement of some creature. Refial yelped in alarm, cowering behind the monk, as a small, white, furry animal stepped into view. It walked upright, standing no higher than Refial's hips, but its face was not unlike a cat's, with pointed ears atop its head. Those ears were laid back as it regarded them suspiciously through narrowed eyes. Refial noticed the spear it carried, and the sharp claws on the fingers of the hand in which it carried it.

Redden reached out and grabbed his arm. "Refial, listen to me, do not try to enspell them. You'll only make them angry!"

"Kupo!" another of the creatures chirped from off to the side. Refial's head whipped around, and he noticed that they were surrounded: a whole cadre of the furred beasts hemmed then in, each armed with a short, stout spear.

"But they already look angry!" he cried.

Redden spoke slowly, calmly, and without moving his head. "They're only curious. If we don't harm them, they may let us go."

"May?" Refial squeaked.

"Grow a backbone, man! They're only moogles!"

He remembered a story his governess had told him when he was small, of tiny winged creatures that delivered messages for noble heroes. Though he noticed now that the animals in front of him did have wings, he couldn't reconcile them with the story he recalled. "But moogles are a myth!"

Redden made a frustrated sound. "Fine, they're a myth. They're also highly resistant to magic. Don't. Cast. Anything," he said, enunciating each word with care.

The moogle that had chirped at him moved closer, spear gripped in both hands. Refial stood stock still as it came right up to him, its nose twitching as it sniffed the air. Another moved in on Orin. Refial was afraid to turn his head, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see others moving.

Don't panic, he thought. Don't panic, Refial.

But then the one nearest him poked him with the butt of its spear. The moogle leaped back a step at his strangled cry, but the Sleep flew from his hand before he could stop it.

It fizzled off the soft, white fur of the moogle's belly. The moogle looked down at the spot, as if it could see the aether dispersing back into the air. Slowly, it panned its eyes back up at him, growling deep in its throat.

"Refial! You fool!" Redden snapped.

The moogles attacked.

"Honestly, Jack, I feel like you've almost got it. The difference since yesterday is phenomenal."

"Hmm," Jack said in reply. How convenient for Kane to think it was the ice spell, Jack thought, when it was only the aether getting the better of him again. His fear of the fight ahead of them, too many days on edge, were overwhelming his efforts to keep the ice out of his veins. At least Kane was comfortable in the climbing heat; Jack wore his coat still, and he was freezing in it. The guardsman didn't seem to have noticed that Jack was wearing two of his scarves, layered double. He pulled his hat down to cover the tips of his ears.

"But still," Kane went on. "Is it really safe? What happens if we need that power for something, you know, important?"

There was no short answer for that. He couldn't very well tell his friend that he needn't worry about the nonexistent spell, but even if he had been casting it, Kane's concern was unnecessary. Jack's jaw tensed with the effort to keep his teeth from chattering as he spoke. "It's never been a problem. When I'm holding the spell, I hardly notice it, but as soon as I release it… It's like I have all this power I didn't have before."

Kane pursed his lips, then nodded. "I can see that. At the guardhouse, we train in full plate sometimes. When I take it off at the end of the day, once that weight is finally gone, I always feel like I could run farther and faster than I could before even though I'm exhausted. Is that what it's like for you?"

"Yes," Jack said.

The cold bothered him more as the sun set and the heat of the day began to fade. He resisted the urge to shiver, and pulled from his pocket the seeing stone he'd retrieved from Grifford's robes before they left the others. It was a useful device, allowing a competent black mage to not only read the aether from over a mile away but to see that far as well. It could see through walls, behind closed doors, and under cover of complete darkness. He suspected they were coming up on the Keep based on how long they'd traveled, and he was not mistaken: Astos's castle lay just on the edge of the stone's reach.

The sun was gone when they reached the Keep, though the moon hung full and round in a sky as black as ink. Jack consulted the stone again when they were still several yards away. "He's in the throne room."

Kane nodded. "How close would you have to be to use that sleep spell?"

Jack thought of Grifford. Only three days ago, Kane had been unable to kill a sleeping dark mage in cold blood, yet the two of them had decided that was their best plan. The curse had to be stopped, and they still didn't know if Astos was a dark mage. "I can cast it from the doorway, but Kane… if he's reading the aether, he'll know we're coming."

"We'll just have to hope he's not reading it, then," said the guardsman, unsheathing his sword, pushing open the Keep's heavy wooden door. Jack followed, and when they found the castle hallways lit by the torches set into the walls, he felt sure Astos expected them. Fear assailed his mind, but Kane pressed on as though unconcerned. "Keep that stone out," he said. "Tell me if anything moves."

They proceeded quietly, walking the convoluted halls until the door to the throne room was open ahead of them. Jack held a finger to his lips as he edged up to the door frame, peeking inside. Astos sat at the table by the window in the corner, just as he had on the day they'd met him. His back was to the door as he leaned over the open book in front of him. Jack drew the aether slowly, not wanting the aetheric currents to attract attention as he shaped the Sleep inside his soul. When he felt it was ready, he took a deep breath, exhaling on a pang of guilt. To build, to guide, to guard, but never to harm my fellow man, he thought. He tried once again to justify it to himself - It's only Sleep. It's not the same as using aether to harm him. - but he knew he was splitting hairs. We have to do this, he thought. I have to do this.

The spell flew swiftly and easily toward its target, who slumped forward in his chair.

"It's done," Jack said.

"Alright." Kane stepped forward, sword ready, but his face was pale. "I can take it from here. You don't have to watch."

"No," Jack said, drawing the little dagger he carried. "We do this together."

Kane nodded once, decisively. "Together, then."

They stepped softly across the thick carpets. The torchlight stretched their shadows along the walls, long and menacing blades held out in front of them. Jack still held the aether, from fear more than any intent to use it; he'd never killed a man before.

Perhaps if he hadn't been so preoccupied with the unpleasantness of the task he would have noticed the subtle shift of the aether sooner. Too late, he opened his mouth to sound a warning, but all that came out was a wordless cry of pain. His aether reserves tore away from him even as he continued to draw aether from the room, which slammed into his suddenly empty core with a force that sent him to his knees. He saw Kane stagger as Astos drew from him as well. The guardsman kept his feet, but his sword dipped to the floor, as if he could no longer lift it.

"Did you think it would be that easy?" Astos said, rising fluidly from his seat, brushing off the delicate net of the sleep spell as though it were a cobweb. He'd been waiting for it - it hadn't taken hold.

Kane rushed forward, teeth bared in a snarl. He raised his sword, swinging it with more control than Jack would have expected, but Astos swatted Kane's blade away with a sword of his own, a slim, one-handed weapon. With his other hand, the elf lashed out. Weakened as he was, Kane fell after a single rough push. Even from his prone position, he brought his sword around again, but Jack knew it was useless. Astos was stronger and faster. His counter-blow sent the guardsman's sword flying.

Jack ran towards Astos the second he regained his feet, but the elf raised his hand, eyes glowing, and a wind swept through the chamber, snuffing several of the torches on the walls. It flung Jack backwards; he landed hard on the carpeted floor, but he had no time to dwell on the pain as Astos drew from him again, ripping the last shreds of his reserves away. His head swam.

Astos reached down, picking Kane up by the front of his shirt in one hand as though the guardsman weighed no more than Thad. "I don't suppose you brought it with you?" he asked, his voice as velvet smooth as if they were conversing around the dinner table. "My crown? Eldarin tried to hide it from me; he never has been one to lie down quietly."

"It was never yours," Kane growled, struggling feebly against the elf's hold.

"It's been mine for years," Astos said, easily carrying the guardsman toward the room's center. "The people just don't know it yet. I had thought to take it by force when I cursed Eldarin, but seeing as he's gone quite mad, I won't have to. Do you know how many elves will die in the war against Cornelia? The people will rejoice when I turn up with the crown and order them to take his head."

He dropped Kane in a heap. Kane grunted as he landed; he immediately tried to rise again, but Astos drew from him once more and kept drawing, pulling against Kane's soul even as the guardsman cried out, immobilized with pain. "Considerate of you to arrive on the full moon," Astos said, chuckling. "I had hoped the rest of the Brotherhood would be here before it came to this, but perhaps I'll save master Ashward for them, seeing as he's no use to us."

He doesn't know, Jack thought. He thinks a dark mage would have fought back by now. He doesn't know what I am.

The elf snapped his fingers and an open book appeared in his hand. He began to read from it, reciting a rhythmic incantation in heavily accented Leifenish. No, high Leifenish, Jack realized. The aether of the room shifted, flowing toward the dark elf in the center as he stood with his sword raised point down over the helpless guardsman. The floor began to glow in a way that could only be possible if there were a ritual circle there, hidden beneath the carpets. The elf continued to draw from Kane, chanting all the while, pulling against that last little speck of power that Kane's soul refused to release.

The seed from which all power grows, Jack thought, remembering the words of Morgan back in Cornelia's Black Hall. Can you imagine what it would do to a dark mage's power if he was able to rip the seed out? He hadn't been able to imagine it when the old man told him, but he knew with a certainty that if Astos killed Kane now, he would see it. He had to stop the ritual.

Jack struggled to his hands and knees, struggled to push to his feet. Astos thought him drained and beaten, no longer a threat. Had Jack been an ordinary black mage, Astos would have been right: Jack's soul was practically empty, his reserves nonexistent. But Jack wasn't limited to his own soul.

He drew from Astos. It was not like it had been when he drew from Gollor back in Elfheim. Gollor had been willing. Gollor had been incapable of pulling back. Astos stuttered, dropping the book in his surprise, turning to Jack with a look of pure hatred, but even as his incantation stopped, the aether began to move, swirling around the circle. Jack was too late. Astos slammed his sword downward, but Kane was no longer there; the guardsman had taken advantage of Astos's distracted state and dragged himself to the circle's edge, trying to reach his own fallen sword. Astos screamed in rage, summoning the aether to haul Kane back into the circle.

Jack stabbed him, once. He didn't remember stepping forward to do it, but suddenly he was there, clinging tightly to Astos as he forced the short blade of his dagger into the man's gut. Astos gasped, facing Jack with utter betrayal in his eyes before the corona in them flared as he formed another spell. Jack drew from him again, cutting it off.

The Oath echoed through his mind: Never to harm my fellow man.

What have I done?

Do you know what we do to Oathbreakers where I come from? His first words to Refial.

Astos glared at him as the corona faded, a glare of disgust and contempt. He knows what I am now. Oh, gods, help me, he knows.

Never to harm my fellow man…

Oath-breaker.

Dark mage.

But even as Astos died, the aether didn't stop moving. Jack screamed as it rushed into him.

Author's Note: 9/9/16 - The Astos fight was one of those scenes I couldn't wait to do. Like, way back when I started chapter 1, my inner fangirl was fangirling so hard over that scene, couldn't wait to get there. As soon as I started writing the Elfheim stuff, I got excited – I was so close!

And then it was written.

And I had to write the scene after that. It was so anti-climatic. Is this what writing is, guys? Is it always like that?

Before I go, let me just say: moogles. Look, I love moogles, but I fear the moogles are too much. Even in a Final Fantasy fanfic, full of Final Fantasy in-jokes, I can't help but feel that adding moogles is taking it too far. But of the five people I let read these chapters before I post them, four of them said the moogles were perfect.

The fifth one said the moogles needed more screen-time.

What do I know? I'm just the writer.