High in the ramparts, Kane leaned against the parapet and looked out at Elfheim as the sun set. It was too early in the evening to be standing idly outside, the air still charged with the day's heat, but he wanted to be alone. The castle was alive again as those servants and courtiers who had fled the king's madness came flooding back. Many of the servants wore the green and gold livery of the castle staff, but Kane had seen others dressed in the colors of high elvish houses, working in the castle on temporary loan from the lords of Elfheim or in service to one of the courtiers. Most of them regarded him much as they would a bug in a box, uncertain of what to think of these "Warriors of Light" who had purportedly saved their kingdom.

He watched the elves move through the streets below, going about their business just as they always had. He wondered whether it made any difference to the day-to-day lives of the common people if they were ruled by a mad king or a kindly prince. Aryon was proving surprisingly capable for a man who had slept the past five years away. Trapped in his own mind, he had had nothing but time to think, and concern for Elfheim had been foremost in his thoughts. Kane respected that. At least Aryon was in a position to do something about his kingdom.

A movement from the corner of his eye alerted him to a person heading toward him along the castle's walls, and he turned to find his father approaching. He and Orin had turned up only a day after the events in the throne room, hauling a heavy litter full of elvish artifacts that they claimed to have recovered from the Western Keep. The two of them had been often in Aryon's company since then, guiding him as he worked to restore his kingdom.

"Thought I'd find you here," Redden said when he'd closed the distance between them.

"Just keeping out of the way," Kane said.

"You're a hero," his father said, shrugging. "You're hardly in the way."

"Some hero I turned out to be. I didn't do anything." He stood up straight, and the sweat dripping down his back itched beneath the borrowed finery he wore. At every official function these last few days—and there had been many: dinners, appointments, sessions of court—the Warriors of Light had been praised for their part in breaking the curse but Kane had found his own role in the events lacking. He recounted his failures, tallying them up on his fingers. "I wasn't the one who defeated Astos, I didn't retrieve the crown, I couldn't keep Lena safe-"

Redden grabbed his hand, stopping his counting, cutting him off. "You helped. You were there. No lone soldier wins a war, son. You're a Warrior of Light, one of four: you have to work together. The prophecy is clear as day on that point. Even if all you do is support the rest of them, it's enough."

"The prophecy," Kane scoffed. He looked down at the sword he wore on his belt, the one handed down to him by his father, the one with the mysterious jewel in the pommel that had turned out to be a relic of legend. "Is that what you're going to say in your letter to King Cascius? That the Warriors of Light saved Elfheim because of the prophecy?"

Redden sighed. "No," he said as he turned toward the parapet himself and leaned his elbows against it, folding his hands in front of him. "He needs to know there were agents of the Brotherhood here, operating out of the Western Keep, but I'm afraid I can't tell him the rest. Cornelia can't know how close they were to war."

Kane blinked in disbelief. It was one thing to feel as though he hadn't done anything noteworthy, but his friends had: Lena had kept the elven prince alive long after he should have died, and Jack had brewed the elixir that saved his life. The two of them had averted a war, and no one in Cornelia would know? "What good is that?"

"The war's stopped, whether Cornelia knows it or not."

"But they need to know! The mage council didn't want to send us out to begin with! You think I don't know, but people talk. A black mage, a thief, a low-ranking guard? No one believed for a minute that we were any kind of prophesied heroes. Don't they need to know we've done something worthwhile?"

His father sighed, long and deep. "I don't know what the prophecy means, son. I don't know what it will require of you, but this wasn't it. You're supposed to stop earthquakes, end the Rot, calm the seas - magic I can't even fathom. This was a… an interlude, nothing more. You, the four of you, did some good here, but it isn't enough." Without taking his eyes from the city below, Redden reached out to clap a hand on Kane's shoulder, squeezing it tenderly, as if the pressure could take the sting out of his words. "It isn't enough, son."

Kane stared at his father, but when Redden said nothing else, Kane leaned against the parapet once more beside him. The two of them looked out on the forested city below, as different from home as it could be, but yet so alike. The streets echoed with the cries of merchants hawking their wares, friends exclaiming greetings to one another, a mother calling her children in for dinner. They all seemed to know what they were about, how they fit into things, and Kane wondered what it would be like to be one of them, just as he often wondered what it must be like to be one of the nobles. He was neither, not a commoner, not a lord; he was a Warrior of Light, and he had no idea what that meant.

"So that's it then?" Jack said, looking over the table in Gollor's study where they had spread the potions and spell components they had been unable to identify. Elleth, who apparently had a knack for such things, had said she would be along later to have a look at them. "The whole of Astos's treasure to pick over and this was all the Brotherhood saw fit to take?" He picked up a jar containing a single, fluffy red feather, eyeing it critically, but set it down again, seeing no immediate use for it.

Gollor shrugged, standing over another table that had been brought in to hold the numerous non-magical artifacts they were packing away. The spell books, ten in all, had already been secured in Aryon's private library. "I'm sure the men Aryon sent will retrieve anything of historical value to the kingdom," he said as he carefully wrapped a pair of steel gauntlets in a cloth before placing them in a trunk at his feet. "I imagine I'll be tasked with cataloging those things as well. If you're still here when they return-"

"No," Jack said. "I told you, I need to leave." He hadn't cast anything in days, and though his reserves were full again, he no longer felt uncomfortably stuffed with aether. It was as if his soul had stretched. But there was something else now: a hollow that he had never noticed before, larger now that his reserves had grown. He knew instinctively that this was his dark magic. He pictured it as a hulking beast; it had been sleeping, but he'd woken it now and it was hungry.

This was the place the ice came from, and he knew it could only be filled by the aether he might draw from someone else. It was fine when he was alone with Gollor, simple enough to convince himself not to draw from the old man he'd befriended, but the castle was full of other people now, more arriving every day, bright spots of aether that seemed almost to reach out to him. He could see them even without his aether sight now, a constant reminder that he was no longer who he had been.

"My offer still stands. We could study this thing together if you stay. You needn't struggle with it alone."

"No," Jack said. "I'll be alright. Besides, I know a scholar in Melmond who might be able to help me with that book. I just… I need time."

When he had completed his work with Gollor, when the artifacts were carefully boxed up and the boxes hauled away by a passel of servants, Gollor tried once more to talk Jack out of going, but Jack remained firm in his resolve, so they said their goodbyes.

He headed toward the door near the kitchens, as it was closest, but as he turned the corner that brought him in sight of the servants' dining hall, he saw Kane and Redden ahead of him, arguing even as a passing maid politely averted her eyes and pretended nothing was happening. The two were never more alike than when they argued, Jack thought. Kane's mannerisms echoed his father's, the way they both motioned wildly with their hands as they spoke. Jack couldn't hear their words; they had not reached the point of yelling yet, but if Jack knew Kane, judging by his expression the yelling could not be far off.

Redden must have seen it too, for at a sharp word and a sharper gesture the older man ended the conversation and stalked away. Kane looked skyward, obviously muttering under his breath, almost as if he was praying to Bahamut for patience, but Jack suspected if anything was being said about the dragon god, it was likely sacrilegious. The guardsman looked over and rolled his eyes as Jack approached. "How much of that did you hear?"

"I was too far away to make it out," Jack said. "What's gotten between you this time?"

Kane sighed. "I'd rather not get into this right now."

Jack shrugged, meaning to show that he didn't mind one way or the other, but the motion only made more obvious the pack he carried.

Kane looked at it and his eyes widened. "You're leaving?"

Jack nodded. "Back to the ship."

Kane squinted suspiciously at him. "Why?"

"It's getting too crowded here," he said. The cook's apprentice, an elven boy taller than a human his age would have been, skirted around them on some errand, his dusky red aura drawing Jack's attention yet again to the hollow he was trying to ignore.

"Don't give me that. You've been closeted with Gollor for days, studying those dusty old things father brought in. It's not as if you're surrounded by admirers: half the elves in this castle don't even know you exist. What is it, really?"

Kane peered at him so intently that Jack looked away. He had stared down any number of bullies in his life, but found it much more difficult to meet his friend's gaze. "I've done all I can here, that's all."

"Bollocks," Kane snapped. "Have you talked to Lena?"

"It's not-" he began lamely, but Kane cut him off.

"Yes or no. Have you talked to her?"

"No," he admitted. "Not since I got back." One stilted, painful conversation where he couldn't get his tongue to cooperate and where the ice had nearly overwhelmed him just from being near her. He wondered if she could feel his struggle, if her soul sight would show her the hollow spot inside of him and she would know him for what he was. It had almost been a relief when Aryon came looking for her, giving him an excuse to flee. A chill ran up his spine at the memory and he pulled his coat closer.

"Jack…" Kane sighed again, a frustrated sigh, like a kettle letting off steam. "You need to talk to her." He turned, as if he would walk away, but instead he only paced a few steps, raking a hand through his hair, seeming unnaturally shy all of a sudden. "She missed you, alright?"

"What?"

"She missed you," Kane repeated sharply. "That was what father and I were arguing about."

"I don't follow," Jack said, truly out of his depth.

"Because she's a soul reader, remember? It's clear Aryon's fallen for her. If she thinks she loves him back, father's worried that we'll never get her to leave."

Aryon was in love with her: Jack had known it the moment the prince woke up, when his first word, even as he sputtered and choked on the elixir, had been her name. And then she had run to him, to Aryon, as if Jack hadn't existed. He didn't believe what Redden had told him. He didn't! He knew she had feelings of her own. But what if she does love him?

Kane grabbed Jack's shoulder. He'd been so caught up in worry that he hadn't even noticed the guardsman had stopped pacing and stood in front of him once more. "I told him he was wrong. Jack, I've changed my mind about her. She isn't just reflecting people's emotions back at them. Maybe she does love the prince, I don't know. But she missed you. I saw it." He stopped, staring at the air between them, and Jack realized Kane could see his own breath fogging in front of him.

Stupid, Jack thought, trying too late to squash down the riot of confusion and worry and hope that raced through him like a winter wind. "I have to go," he said, pushing away.

Kane still gripped his shoulder and wouldn't release him even as the temperature in the hallway plummeted. "You can't control it, can you?" the guardsman said quietly.

Jack closed his eyes, but the corona was already there, proving Kane right. Even with his eyes closed, Jack could see the guardsman's yellow aura, and he knew he need only draw a fraction of it to fill that hollow place inside him and bury the ice there for a time. The urge to do so frightened him, and the fear only made it worse.

"Please, I have to go," he repeated.

Kane released him, and Jack bumped him hard as he brushed past, eyes squeezed shut, as he ran blindly for the door.

It was days before Lena put on the white hooded robe again, days in which the summer reached its stride and the thought of adding another layer of clothing seemed ludicrous. She thought with wonder about how pleased Jack had been when she returned his coat shortly after his return. Lena was sure she'd imagined it, but he had seemed to be shivering. He'd donned the heavy garment immediately, and she hadn't seen him without it since. The heat was hardly unbearable, but Lena was uncomfortably aware of how much she was sweating as she walked through the royal wing, encountering servants who eyed her curiously and bowed as she passed.

Even the guards regarded her with a mixture of awe and fear, though those posted on the door to Aryon's study let her enter without comment. A few industrious maids had cleaned it with ruthless determination, but the room still smelled of dust and five years' disuse. Considering how much time Aryon spent in there though, Lena suspected the scent would right itself soon enough. He sat at a large desk made of a dark wood, its top spread thickly with papers. When he saw her, he stood, smiling broadly, while across from him Lord Orin rose as well, setting aside a tea cup as he did so.

"Excuse me," the old monk said. "I have things I must attend to." He bowed deeply to Aryon and ever so slightly to her, grinning as he left.

"Lena!" Aryon said warmly when they were alone.

She smiled, but it faltered when she felt his reaction to it, her heart fluttering in sympathy with his. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

He waved a dismissive hand at that. "Orin was just advising me on how to smooth over relations with the lords of Elfheim who haven't returned to the city yet."

Lena nodded, but squinted critically at the prince. Though he looked stronger all the time, today he had dark circles around his eyes. "Did you sleep last night?"

Aryon blushed. "A little. I know I need to, but I can't seem to relax into it. I dream I'm still cursed and wake in a panic." He shuddered at the unpleasant memory, coming around the desk to meet her, reaching for her hand casually, leading her to a padded seat beneath a high window so that they could sit together. "I didn't expect to see you this morning."

"You summoned me," she pointed out, sliding her feet from her sandals as she sat down.

"Yes, but I assumed you would come later. I know you've been seeing to my father."

She shrugged, remembering the king's aura as she'd seen it through her soul sight that morning: glowing like pale green starlight while the dark patches where the curse still held were smaller than they had been the day before, drying up like puddles after a rain. From the king's mind she had sensed only the steady hum of his dreams. "Not as much these past two days," she said. "We've nearly come to the bottom of the curse, I think. Even without my help, it would take the devouts no more than a week."

"That's wonderful news," Aryon said, his eyes drifting to the courtyard outside, but Lena felt conflicting emotions swirling around him, happiness and resentment in equal measure.

She squeezed his hand gently, bringing his gaze back to her. "You seem upset."

"I missed so much," he said, quietly. "It seems unfair that my father should escape the curse so easily."

"Not so easily. He wasn't himself while he was awake; he'll have to live with what he did," Lena said. Her thoughts flitted to Jack. She'd managed only one halting conversation with her shy friend, busy as they both were. He had seemed as awkward and quiet as he had been in Cornelia; the ease that had developed between them over the course of their journey together was lost. It was as Kane had said: Jack had done things he was ashamed of. Lena had felt his guilt, fierce and abiding, though she rarely felt anything from him. For someone who kept his emotions on such a tight leash to feel something that strongly…

She felt Aryon's concern, noticed him watching her, and reluctantly pulled her thoughts back to their discussion of the king. "Your father may continue to sleep even after the curse is finished," she said. "He's been so long without it, I don't know how his body will respond now that he's finally resting. You may have to take steps to wake him."

Aryon shook his head. "He shall sleep as long as he needs. It will give the people time to forget." He sighed, taking both of her hands in his. "But I didn't send for you to talk about my father. Actually, I needed your advice on something else."

"Oh?" she said, curious at his serious tone.

"I hear that your friend Refial has stated an intention to give up his life of piracy."

"Yes, he's said." Lena believed it, too. Whatever Refial had experienced while he was lost and alone in the groves had certainly changed him. He claimed to be done with adventuring for good.

"I'm sure you've noticed that the people think very highly of him, since he was the one who saved us from my father's madness." He raised one hand to stop her impending protest. "You and I both know it wasn't him. He knows it too. But you must admit it certainly looked that way from where the witnesses were standing."

He looked at her intently, awaiting her response. She could only nod.

He went on, "I intend to invite Refial to stay, to join Gollor as one of my advisors."

"Refial?" she said before she could stop herself.

"It was Gollor's idea. It's elven tradition for royal advisors to be mages, so he's technically qualified."

"But I'm not sure how much he knows about running a kingdom," Lena said.

Aryon shook his head. "I want… I need someone, an advisor, who doesn't have to obey my every command. I wanted your opinion of the man."

He watched her, waiting for her answer, and she found she had to look away from that unwavering gaze. His eyes were so like Jack's. Not in their color - they were not the same intense blue as the mage's - but in that the prince's eyes were the exact same shade of green as his aura, like she was looking into his soul every time he looked at her. "I read his soul before he joined us in Pravoka," she said, staring out the window. "He's had a hard life, but he's-"

Aryon stopped her with a single finger beneath her chin, lifting her head so that their eyes met before he grasped her hands again. "I didn't ask you as a soul reader. I'm asking you as a friend. His friend, and mine."

"I… I think…" she stuttered. "I think life in a castle would suit him." That drew a small laugh from Aryon, which flustered her. "Oh, I'm not the best person to ask. Jack knows him better than I do."

"Jack is gone."

"What?"

Aryon nodded. "He left yesterday, returned to your ship."

"But I thought he was helping Gollor with the cataloging?"

"He was. They finished."

She hadn't even noticed. Now that she thought about it, he hadn't been at dinner the night before. She hadn't wondered about it then - he often ate in private - but she hadn't seen him in the halls either. How had she not noticed? It wasn't as if they were parted forever - he'd only gone to the ship after all; she would have to join him there eventually - but had it not occurred to him to tell her he was leaving?

Her own disappointment gave way to Aryon's; she realized she had drawn her hands away from his, already planning her own departure. When her eyes met his again, his face was solemn. She took a deep breath, "Aryon..."

"You could stay," he said. "You told me once that you didn't want to go back to Cornelia. I would make you the same offer I make Refial."

"I can't," she said. "The prophecy…" She trailed off, not knowing how to express how torn she felt, not knowing why she should feel torn at all.

He only nodded, and though his disappointment remained, it didn't increase at her answer. "I knew what you would say. But I had to try." He stood abruptly and held a hand out for her once again. "Come with me. I have something for you."

She slipped her feet back into her shoes and let him pull her up. As the two of them walked out into the hall, four of the guards at the door promptly fell in step behind them. They soon left the royal wing behind, coming to a set of stairs leading up. Aryon gripped her hand tighter as they ascended, his legs still unused to such a simple movement after years of stillness, but his strength held. Lena sensed how pleased he was when they reached the top; she considered praising his recovery but didn't want to embarrass him by pointing out that she'd noticed.

He led her down a bright, many-windowed hallway, stopping before a heavy wooden door, and released her hand to fumble in his pocket for a key, jewel-encrusted silver on a golden cord. He slipped it into the lock, turning it smoothly, gesturing for the guards to wait outside as he took her hand again.

She didn't know what she had expected - a dusty attic, perhaps? - but when Aryon threw wide the room's heavy curtains what greeted her eyes was wealth beyond imagining: chests of gold and gems, stands of armor and weapons, cases of ancient spell books. She realized he'd brought her to the treasury itself.

"Choose something," he said. "Anything. It's yours."

Her eyes widened at the offer. "I couldn't possibly," she said, looking about the room in wonder. "White mage custom…"

"White mage custom allows you to accept a gift. I would give you the kingdom if I could - I owe you that and more. Please, take something."

She stared at the gathered riches, letting her gaze wander. She moved to the nearest bookcase, carefully pulling down a book, but found it written in Leifenish. "Would you know if any of these are white magic books? Perhaps Jack could translate it for me."

Aryon nodded, stepping in beside her and looking over the tomes, plucking one from a high shelf. "This one's three centuries old, and extremely valuable."

She reached out to take it from him, but stopped. She couldn't say why her eyes were drawn to the corner between the bookcase and the wall, but once she'd spied the white wooden staff leaning there, she knew no other treasure in the room would do.

"This," she said, taking it up. "Oh, this is perfect."

"Nothing else?" Aryon asked.

She shook her head. "I got to hear your voice. That's the best prize I could ask for."

He smiled, holding the book out for her. "This too," he said. "I insist."

She took it in one hand, and with the staff in the other her hands were full, else she might have stopped him when he gave her the jeweled key as well, dropping the golden cord over her head and lifting her hair so that it settled against her neck. "Aryon!" she said, shocked at the wealth this key alone represented.

"I told you," he said. "I owe you my kingdom and more."

She knew what he would do next before he did it. When his hands came up, so slowly, to cradle her face, she could have backed away, but she didn't. When a gift is given freely, you should accept it with an open heart, she thought, reciting white mage philosophy in her head. Aryon's lips brushed hers, feather-light, for only an instant, but he stood there much longer, bent down as he rested his forehead against hers. He said nothing, but he didn't need to: she could feel his mind as she had while he slept, and she knew there weren't enough words for this.

On a stretch of beach away from the harbor, Jack sat cross-legged in the sand, just as uncomfortable now as he had been when Orin taught him the meditation technique. Perhaps being uncomfortable was necessary? Maybe that was the part that took one's mind off of other troubles. Still, he couldn't stop thinking about the hollow, like picking at a wound, or poking his tongue into the gap left behind by a lost tooth. He knew that with a moment's thought that hollow could be filled, and he hated himself for even thinking it. It's always been there, he told himself. It isn't new. It's always been empty. It can stay empty.

He turned at the sound of footsteps behind him, and when he saw that it was Lena, his heart beat a little faster. She must have gone for a swim, he thought, because though she wore the white hooded robe again, her hair hung damply over it, a shade darker for being wet. She carried a large bundle in one hand and what looked like a staff in the other.

"My lady," he said, standing to greet her, but his sleeping legs wouldn't cooperate, and he fell on his backside in the sand with a truncated cry. Embarrassment rose in him, and the ice rose with it, and he fought it back.

She dropped her things as she hurried to kneel at his side, eyes wide with concern, and said, "Are you alright?"

He couldn't answer, concentrating on calming the aether, but managed a nod.

She smiled then, settling into the sand beside him, and the two of them faced the water together. Jack focused on calming his emotions, tried to be subtle about gripping the hilt of the little knife he kept in his belt to aid his focus.

He'd nearly sorted himself out when she threw him into chaos again by saying, "The prince was so grateful he offered me a position in the castle."

She's come to tell me goodbye, he thought, feeling his muscles tense in sudden fear, as if he would run away from the entire situation, but then he felt her hand light on his shoulder. When he looked over at her, her green eyes gazed into his.

"I turned him down," she said. "Our quest is too important to set aside."

His hand gripped the knife so tightly he thought his fingers might break, but still he could feel the cold rising, spreading out from his gut, which it seemed to him had dropped off and was falling somewhere bottomless and vast. Jack fought against the urge to shiver. He couldn't speak as he held the aether back, watching her watching him.

She smiled once more, looking away long enough to reach for something on her other side, among the things she'd dropped when she hurried over to him, and when she turned back she held the staff she'd been carrying. "But he did give me this."

Jack looked down at the thick, gnarled white wood. It was holly, perhaps a little taller than Lena was. He noticed a band of Leifenish carving that encircled it near the middle, but as he tried to read it, Lena moved, holding the staff out, and he understood then that she was offering it to him.

"For me?" he asked, finding his voice at last.

"I thought, since I broke your other one…" She looked out at the water again, twirling a strand of her hair with one hand, and he was surprised to realize that she was embarrassed. "I may not be a black mage, but I understand that a mage's staff is more than just a stick."

He'd never mentioned it, the broken staff. If he had, he felt he would have had to tell her what that Pravokan shopkeeper had told him about the power being drawn out of it. But it had never occurred to him that she felt bad for breaking it. He tried to read her face, but she was turned just enough that he couldn't see her expression.

He reached for the weapon, and the moment his gloved hand closed around it, the chill that had seeped into his bones abated. Amazed, he called up his aether sight and was greeted by the aura that had sunk into the wood, all that remained of the staff's previous owner. It matched his own. He turned it so that he might read the Leifenish carving. Unesdala, it said in a stern, angular script. Ice. He knew Lena didn't read Leifenish; it seemed that by sheer coincidence, she'd found him an ice mage's staff.

He noticed she was watching him again, her pale blue aura shimmering with nervous energy, and when his eyes met hers, she began to ramble. "I couldn't tell if it was comparable to your last one - I mean, the other had such lovely carving on it, not all blocky like this one's, and I know it's shorter - but when I saw it, I knew it was meant for you. It just… it just felt right. Do you like it?"

I don't think I've ever heard so many words from her in one go, he thought, grinning. "Can't you tell, my lady?"

"No, actually," she said, looking down at where she opened and closed her toes in the sand while her fingers continued to twine through her hair. "You're difficult to read. I really have to work at it."

He started to say something else but forgot what it was, stopping short as her words set in. "You don't know what I'm feeling?"

She shook her head, darting a glance at him, smiling shyly as she wrung her hands together in front of her. "Not generally. You hide it very well. And…" She ducked her head, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. "And I can't exactly go by your facial expressions."

He looked down at the staff, admiring the complexity of the focus spells woven into the wood. I don't have to hide it, he thought, not while I have this. Gripping the staff in one hand, he reached the other up to pull his scarf down so that she could see his smile, ugly though he thought it was. "This is the nicest gift anyone has ever given me," he told her.

She beamed at him.

Do you see, Lord Redden? he thought, smiling so broadly himself that the scars at his mouth were painfully tight. If she can't feel what I'm feeling, then that smile is certainly her own. Made bold by his happiness, he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss.

He worried he'd been too forward when she pulled away, blushing as red as her hair as she pushed to her feet. She cleared her throat and said, "Shall we join the others?"

"Others?" Jack asked, pulling his scarf back into place.

She nodded. "Everyone is at the ship."

"Oh?"

"Yes, it was very strange. I only mentioned leaving and Lord Redden seemed to take that as his cue to pack us all up. You know, I half think he was worried I would stay."

He laughed at that, but felt it best not to say anything. He stood, and his legs held him this time. He offered Lena his arm for the first time in what seemed an eternity, but as she took it and moved in beside him, her fingers brushed over the hilt of the dagger in his belt. Oathbreaker, he thought, and he found he couldn't stand the thought of her touching it, not after he'd used it for something so terrible.

He pulled her hand from his arm, gently, and held the holly staff out to her. "Would you hold this for a moment please?"

She took it, though her brows drew together in confusion.

"Thank you," he said. He stepped toward the water until the waves lapped over the toes of his boots, drew back his arm, and threw the little dagger as hard as he could. It spiraled away, turning end over end, glittering as it arched up and fell, hitting the water blade first with hardly any splash at all. He stared at the place where it landed for the space of a breath, then turned back to Lena.

"What was that?" she asked, looking so lovely and confused that his smile returned again at the sight of her.

"Just something I don't need anymore," he said, walking to her side, holding his arm out for her. She still carried the staff, but he was close enough to use it. He sighed as he felt its effects, relaxing properly for the first time since Pravoka.

Lena squeezed his arm as they walked, and when he looked at her, she smiled up at him. "I missed you," she said.

"I missed you, too," he told her. He hoped she could feel how sincerely he meant it.

Author's Note: 10/14/16 - Finally the reunion you've all been waiting for. I hope you liked it. That's one ship that's getting ready to sail (and I'm not talking about the Sahagin Prince, if you know what I mean).

I spent a little time on FFVIII recently and it really hit me how much of Jack's character came from Squall. You have this shy, quiet young man, with a depth of feeling that he can't even begin to express, and suddenly this beautiful girl comes into his life and turns his world upside down. He has no idea how to handle these emotions he's feeling, torn between keeping them inside as he's always done or risking the aftermath of acting on them. Obviously, as this story takes the form of a novel, you and I can see inside Jack's head and know that he has these feelings, but it's harder to get something like that across in a video game. A lot of people don't like Squall. They say he's flat or wooden. I think they just don't get him.

Of course, he's not sarcastic and sassy like our Jack is.