A/N: Thank you Lunammoon (Haha, yes, indeed.), Mokki Takashi (Ah, Link. He's doing what he thinks best. Oh, Ghirahim's flipping, all right. Thank you!), Moon ninja Luna (Time will tell if things will go right. You stay safe too!), cheesepotassium (It's not just Stockholm Syndrome in play here. The answer lies in Ghirahim.), Bluebadger (Wow, I had good timing then. I'm glad you see it as a present!), SerenityWest (Thank you. I wish you the best too!), nofilter (How, indeed. Kya's walking a tight rope.), Othaeryn (Haha, glad my attempt at humor isn't failing. I'm glad you like it so!), Branded Lunacy (Haha, Link could use a thank you for sure. Time will tell.), Kyoki no Megami (You'd think Kya would have brain damage at this point, right? Link needs all the luck he can get. Thank you.), Hyrulian Narwhal (I'm glad you liked it!), MinMinette (Aw, thanks!), Annielen (I'm happy you find it good enough to binge!), Ninja Squirrel (Thank you! I'm glad you like it so!), Noble Toes (Thanks. I try to update in a timely manner. I'll do my best.), Guest (It makes me happy to hear it's your favorite!), and Exhale Vanilla Lace (Wow, thank you for all your kind words. I read them mutiple times. It means a lot!) for your reviews last chapter!

Chapter 30

I dream I'm flying.

Reality soon catches up with me, and I find it too real to be a dream. I feel the softness of feathers beneath me. I feel the wind gliding over me, its chill sending me further into the downy softness of my Loftwing. And there's a warmth at my back, a pair of arms circled around me. I open my eyes briefly to glimpse the green of Link's tunic, to see his hands gripping Turk's feathers. He speaks to Turk, leaning his body this way and that, trying to get my bird to listen. Turk flies higher, higher—he knows where to go.

And I…I have no choice but to go with them. It is too late to fight or jump off. The clouds are below us. So I let myself drift off little by little, the ache and disorientation in my head welcoming sleep. Or simple unconsciousness, for that matter. Never mind sleep. That is too peaceful a word.

In the dark of my subconscious, I hear him. My little brother. He's singing one of the songs we used to sing together, whether at home with the radio on, or in the car as I drove him to and from school. Oh, brother, I'd start, and ask in song if he still believed in humanity. Oh, sister, he'd return in tune, and ask if I still believed in love. Together, we'd sing about the road we had yet to discover, about how there wasn't anything we wouldn't do for each other. Blood thicker than water.

If the sky should ever come falling down…

I'll hear your call…

I'll help you…

Tears press against the backs of my eyelids—I can feel them in the waking world, but there's nothing I can do to ease them.

Memories from another life. They grieve me, put me in a state of wishful yearning. Those days are long gone. That was before the busyness of life took over, and money took precedence over family. Not to mention my death and removal from all that I knew and loved.

What if I'm farther from home than I've ever been?

What if I've lost everything?

How could you possibly hear me now?

Up above in this world so high…

When I open my eyes the tears readily fall, dripping from my face and onto Turk's dapple-gray feathers. My lips tremble, my throat closes up…and the jewel fastened at my neck tingles desperately.

"Just up ahead," Link says to Turk. "That's a good boy. Let's land."

As if he senses my fragile state, Turk does his most gentle landing ever. He glides in, fanning his wings out against the wind, and touches ground light as can be.

Link calls out to someone, and I don't know who it is. Don't care either. Time passes and I let it.

The next I know they're pulling me down from Turk's back. Gaepora's there. Eagus. Pipit. Karane. Orielle. As word spreads, more and more people show up, crowding around. Everyone. I realize it's just about everyone from the main island. They've come with concern and bewilderment, asking questions, offering help. The only one absent is Groose and I know why.

He's down where I want to be.

Someone asks if I'm all right, another saying how glad they are I'm alive. Voices mix together as the people talk at once, all of them kind.

I want to be thankful. And I try to speak, to give them thanks and assurance. But I can't. I can't. Because they're not my people, and this is not my home.

My legs wobble, knees buckle, and then Link scoops me up in his arms.

"Not my home," I whisper through my tears as Link carries me. It continues as a mantra in my mind. Over and over until he's set me on my old bed in my old room. But it's not mine anymore. Mine is down below now.

After they've left—and posted knights to guard both door and window at Link's request—I move to the floor. Can't stand the bed. Can't stand anything. A jail cell disguised as a place of comfort and familiarity.

I'm fine, I try to tell myself. It's fine. I lie on the floor, tears sliding down to the hard stones silently.

And from my low angle I see the sailcloth I made but never got to use.

I sit in the dark, mulling over the evening's words.

They came to speak with me. Link stepped in after Gaepora through the open doorway, both solemn faced.

I had picked myself up from the floor a few minutes prior to their arrival and glad I had. My mind was clearing and I didn't want them to see me sulking. Instead I sat on the bed, hands gripping the sheets on either side of me, anger still swirling in me.

Gaepora stood near me, his large presence taking up the small room, and once again I felt like a mouse sat before a great horned owl. "Kya, my dear," he started, and I was surprised at the emotion in his voice, "it's good to have you returned safely to us. Link has told me many things. You have been through much. Too much. I have prayed for you to daily, you and my daughter. I cannot begin to express my relief that you and she are out of reach of that evil man…"

My heart twisted at Ghirahim's mention. I wanted to contest the evil…but in the end knew I couldn't. So my jaw stayed clamped shut, and my hands moved to clench each other in my lap.

"I wish," Gaepora continued, "my daughter were here as well." He looked to Link. "However, I am assured she is out of harm's way."

"And I wish I could explain it properly," Link said, looking downcast. "But know she's safe and I'll bring her home as soon as I'm able."

Gaepora nodded somberly. "I believe you. But now," he returned his attention to me, "now we will focus on the good news that you are home safe. You are safe," he repeated it firmly, like I wouldn't trust it otherwise. "Rest now, my dear. And don't worry. Things will return to normal as they should."

Normal. What is normal anymore? I'm left thinking that long after Gaepora's departure. Do I want normal? If normal is how things were before I fell from the sky, then no. No, I do not want normal.

Link lingered in my room, standing quietly. It seemed a long time before he spoke. "I…hope you don't stay mad at me," he said. I gave no response, so he went on. "I couldn't leave you with him. I couldn't."

I stayed silent. And as if his actions required no more explanation, Link said no more of it. Instead he brought up the past.

"About what you said, about being from another world…and knowing about this world. Back then, when we were sparring and you caught my stick in your hand and said I might fight demons who could catch my blade. You knew…and so much more."

"Yes," I affirmed, "I knew."

"Why didn't you tell me? Before all this started, I mean."

I glared. "Would you have believed me?"

Link looked at the floor contemplatively. "I might have."

I scoffed.

Silence grew between us once more.

"Is…is there anything you can tell me now?" he asked.

"Other than that you really need to temper your sword and that Zelda is your goddess? No, not much."

Though that wasn't exactly true, so after a short span of more silence I explained quickly the locations of the three flames, the dangers he may face, the flooded woods, the volcano eruption, the fruit of life in the desert…

"But your goddess will explain the rest," I finished.

"I don't understand the goddess part."

"You will when you meet Zelda next. She'll tell you all about it."

Silence was our third companion that night. Link, me, and the quiet.

Then…

"How did you die?"

For the first time that evening I met his eyes directly. "What?"

"The Knowing Realm," he said. "You told me you were from there. You said you died. How?"

Tears seared into my eyes. I stared at him, watched his image go blurry. "I don't know," I whispered. "I don't know. I just…went to sleep. Never woke up in that world again. Instead I woke up here. I lost…everything." Anger rose to engulf despair. "Everything," I hissed.

Link regarded me with sorrow. "Why didn't you ever say—"

"Like you would've ever believed me?" I snapped, turning my head so he wouldn't see the falling tears. "Like you or anyone could have understood, or done anything about it?"

"Kya, you didn't have to be alone. You could have tried—"

"Just go," I snarled. I was taking my rage out on him and knew it wasn't fair. But the black river of malice that sliced through my heart was surging and it needed somewhere to go, and Link, who'd taken me against my will, was convenient. "Just go save your precious goddess. Well? Go, get out!"

Link stared gravely, paused for a few moments, but ultimately did as I asked. But not before informing me of my bird. "I'm taking Turk. He's the only Loftwing that'll go down, and I need him. I'm sorry."

He turned to go.

Sense returned to me at a realization. "Wait."

Link looked over his shoulder, locked those blue eyes on me.

"If Ghirahim catches you…"

"I know."

"Do you?" I pinned my glower on him. "'Cause I don't think you do. I don't think you have a clue when it comes to Ghirahim. Know this: he could have killed you from the very beginning, and without breaking a sweat. The only reason you're alive? Because of his arrogance. Why should he expend energy on a puny little human? After all, he as to maintain his 'semblance of dignity,' or whatever."

Link paused, then nodded. "Okay. So that's changed?"

"Yeah," I said. "You've made him angry. How angry I can't say…but probably angry enough to kill you. If you meet him again…" I hesitated, fear striking through me. "…Just, just don't come across him. Whatever you do. If you see him, run. Run to Turk and fly as fast as you can."

The gold and jewel collar at my neck kept tingling, like ants were crawling underneath, looking for a way out. I scratched at it.

"He likes me," I continued, "I don't know why, but he does. He took care of me."

Link's brows drew together, his eyes narrowing on my dress, with its flowing pattern and rippling silk more beautiful than anything Skyloft could produce. "I see. But, Kya, that doesn't make him good."

I didn't argue. I couldn't even try.

We discussed Ghirahim some more; I informed Link of his various forms, and what the final looming dark form could do if he caught him. One hit, I said. That's all it would take. And the Goddess Sword won't hurt him at all. Not even to drive him back. Not until it's tempered into the Master Sword. Ask Fi. She'll tell you. And the blue sword spirit jumped out to confirm just that, percentages and all.

We ended our discussions with promises to stay safe.

"I'll avoid him," Link said. "You stay up here."

I said nothing, only nodding. We'll see, went unsaid. I thought of the sailcloth hidden under my bed.

And now I sit here, in the dark, unable to sleep.

Link said he'd depart in the morning, and I hoped to get a chance to see both him and my Loftwing before they go. The knights they sent to guard me couldn't do so forever—their duties were required elsewhere, near the edges of the floating isles, ever watchful in case anyone should fall. Once Link realized I wasn't going to bolt, and couldn't because he was taking my bird, he didn't protest them going.

The dim gray light of dawn floods the sky, and it's in that light I exit my room, stretching stiff muscles and stifling yawns. I meet Link in the hall; he was coming to get me so I could say goodbye to Turk. Together we head outside.

It's there, on the edge of a wooden platform, with the sky turning pink in the eastern horizon from the sun's imminent arrival, that I see them off.

"Take care of him," I say.

Link pulls himself onto Turk's back. "I will. I promise."

I walk up to Turk and the giant bird lowers his head to me. I pat him. "You take care of Link, too, all right?"

A soft caw is his reply. Then he stretches to his full height, unfolds his wings, and leaps into the air. The pressure from his takeoff funnels a breeze around me, tussling my hair in my face and whipping about the loose folds of my dress.

I watch them go, my arms wrapped around myself, a measure of self-comfort to battle the worry gnawing at my heart. I watch them until I can no longer see them, the clouds having enveloped their silhouettes.

I don't know how long I stand there. A long time. Enough for the sun to fully emerge, bringing bright blues to the sky. The gentle winds stir around me, and I hold myself tighter, suddenly feeling cold.

The wind blows harder, and I step to the edge, listening to its call from down below.

Do I stay or do I go? The question returns again and again, afflicting my mind—which is now clearer than it has been in a long while. The 'spell,' as Link called it, ebbs with distance and time.

I'd be crazy to go back, the one sensible part of my mind tells me. Yet every other part of me wants to. Why? That's what I try to figure out.

Days go by. I spend them walking the island, sometimes alone, but more often with someone at my side. I don't know if that is their own decision or if they were encourage by Gaepora or perhaps Link before he left. The townspeople watch me carefully. Worry eclipses pity. I both hate and love them for it…though I lean towards the former.

The iron mountains threaten to encase my heart once more.

I said—no, I promised—I'd be better. Promised I wouldn't be cold or hard, promised I'd love the world, and its people, like my God commanded. But the iron mountains loom, trembling beneath the surface. They want to rise up. Rise up and block the malicious black river, and the gentle green valley along with it. I feel like I'm falling into the same trap all over again. The ewe and she-wolf are pulling against each other like they used to. How easy it is to make promises. How easy it is to say I'll do something, but when it comes down to it, saying and doing are completely different things.

I don't mean to hate them. The people of Skyloft were and are good to me. But I… I resent being on this floating isle. I resent being trapped in a world that was never meant to be mine. Emotions build up in me. Negative ones. It makes it hard to control my thoughts and actions into charitable ones.

I want to lash out. I hurt, and that hurt spills out, pooling around me like a dark miasma. I hurt. Therefore I want to inflict hurt. Barely, I manage to keep those feelings under wraps. I try. Dammit, I try.

But when I look in the spiderweb-cracked mirror in my old room, I see her. My reflection, distorted and damaged.

She hurts because she hates.

She hates because she hurts.

Round and round they go, chasing the other's tail, both the causes and effects of each other.

All the while the golden choker at my throat prickles relentlessly. No matter how I pull or rub, it persists.

Until one day it ebbs, the prickling flickering in and out.

Karane walks with me that day.

"What's wrong?" she asks, stopping to look back at me where I had halted in the path.

"Nothing," I say, rubbing the collar. Though that couldn't be farther from the truth. Everything, I should've said. But I force a smile and walk on. "What were you saying?"

"About what's below the clouds," Karane pauses, like she's not sure she wants to know, "what's down there?"

I smile, a real one this time. "Trees, and great pools of water, and sand, and mountains on land farther than the eye can see."

I don't think she could believe me. Or if she did, scarcely so. I guess it sounded too fantastical to her pointed ears.

She wasn't the only one I told. The word of the surface spreads and as I wander around, I hear them talk of it. Some of the Skyloftians whisper with awe, others snort in disbelief, some quote legends, or chalk it up to myth. Such reactions are more than I ever saw in the game—within which they did not react to anything regarding the surface. And to think I called them nothing more than data on a screen. Well, they aren't anymore. Never again.

I tell of the surface, whether they believe me or not.

Other days I'm not so talkative. Walking with Orielle one afternoon, the only thing I can manage to say is, "I'm sorry." I walk slowly, miserably kicking at pebbles. "I'm sorry," I say again. Sorry I was cruel; sorry I was harsh towards you.

She tells me to knock it off and I do, and we walk the rest of the short path in silence.

Link returns some nights. It's only at night, as he spends the days trekking the surface. Sometimes he makes it back to Skyloft, other times he has to find whatever outcropping of floating rock he can get. It becomes too dangerous on the surface after sunset, he tells me.

"It's too dangerous period with Ghirahim around," I state, leaning against his work desk.

Link grunts. He's sitting on his bed, pulling off his boots. He gets one off, then goes for the other. "Yeah, when you put it that way. But some of his monsters get explicitly stronger at night. Not to mention my sight's diminished."

"You're better off up high."

"Exactly." His other boot pops off, and he sets them neatly to the side of his headboard. Then he flops back on his pillow with a tired sigh.

"You haven't run into him at all?" I ask.

"Almost. There's been a couple close calls—but Turk's been closer. If it weren't for him…" Link left that sentence hanging. "There's more monsters swarming the surface than ever. It's like he's got his entire army out there."

I frown, my gloomy gaze sticking to the floor. "…I see."

"I'm glad you're not under his spell anymore."

"…Me too." But my voice doesn't carry any happiness. "I'm going out to see Turk. Goodnight."

"'Night, Kya."

I leave Link to his rest.

Outside, where the stars twinkle brightly up above the world, I find Turk perched on an edge of the island. I go to him, push my hand through his thick feathers. He's staring off into the distance, that faraway look glazing his eyes like it used too. I wonder if it has anything to do with me. Because that glazed look is coming back to me as well. That mood of not being mentally present is taking hold. My body is here, my mind is not. I try to fight it, but as each day passes and I'm left penned up here, it gets harder and harder.

Instead of looking up, I look down to the cloud barrier below and wish…

Then I realize now's the perfect time. My hand clenches in Turk's feathers. He brings his great head around to me, looks at me calmly. Waiting. He's waiting to see what I'll ask of him.

The temptation pulls at my heart like wire in all directions.

Footsteps thud behind me, padding swiftly, closer and closer until the hush of disturbed grass gives a sigh near me.

I smile. I think I know who it is. He's realized. Unlike other Loftwings, Turk has no problem flying in the dark.

"Kya," Link says.

I turn to regard him, crooked smile slanting my mouth. "I wasn't going anywhere," I say, and laugh roughly, rougher than I intended. "I'm not under his spell anymore, remember?"

Relief washes over his features. He smiles more warmly than I ever could. "Good. Thank goodness."

"Good," I repeat, voice coarse with hidden emotions. "Go back to bed, dingus. You came out here with no shoes on."

Reluctant at first, he goes. And I stay with Turk. I look up at the giant Loftwing. He is bigger than any other breed. No one's seen his kind before. None knew a Loftwing of his size existed. His dapple-gray feathers shine under the moonlight. Maybe he's like me. Maybe he wasn't supposed to exist in this world.

I sink to the ground and cross my legs, resting my forearms on my knees. With Turk I look out to the horizon. Together we sit, together we wander with our minds. I don't know where his mind goes, but mine is all too clear.

I remember my life from before I died. Remember my life before I fell. And now I remember my life with Ghirahim. With Shii. Essil. Bob the Bokoblin. The twinkling stars don't take my mind off it. Neither does the breath-taking moon or caressing breezes. After all I've been through in this world, the truth reveals itself.

I was freer with Ghirahim than I ever was up here.

The thought repeats itself. I cannot scrub it form my mind.

He did not treat me well in the beginning, and I swore I'd never forget that. And I haven't. I remember the blades that came at me, the blows to head and body, the cruel laughter, the cold of the high tower…

How did all of that change to gentle touches and whispering kisses? How did it change to soft words and warm laughter?

I can't remember an exact turning point. Can't recall where it all began. But better question: Why? Why did it change?

Ghirahim is not a good man. I couldn't argue otherwise. He can't even be described as a 'man' as I know them to be. He is a demon, more accurately a sword spirit. A living weapon melded with a man's body. His elegant visage disguises his cruelty and brutality. He hails from a people who welcome war and revel in bloodshed. Violence is their language of choice. Ghirahim outranks them all, excluding his master, the king of demons.

He is vicious. He is ruthless. He is insane.

How can I want to go back to that?

Many words come to answer, but one echoes above all others.

Freedom.

But as I search myself, I find it's more than that.

Ghirahim was careless with me when he first took me in. And there is a special sort of cruelty in carelessness. He forgot to provide me with water. He didn't think of me when it came to meal times. He didn't mind the cold, so why should I? But I am human, prone to hunger and thirst and exposure. He battled with me—no, not battle. He played with me, the game of blades. And I played his game, enjoyed it even.

Somehow he grew to like my presence.

And I grew to like his.

It wasn't just the freedom—because even in shackles I am freer on the surface than I ever could be up here—it was him. Being beside him was refreshing. There is a part of him that is similar to me. A similarity that the people of Skyloft could never possess. It's not his one rounded ear.

The black river of malice that splits down the center of my heart. He has one too.

Actually, no. Whereas I have a river, he has an ocean. An ocean of malevolence with maybe a few green islands of mercy scattered here and there.

And, somehow, I managed to land on one of those islands…

Trapped in the pen, the wolf and the ewe go in circles.

Round and round they go, chasing the other's tail.

I can't stay up here for much longer.

The necklace clasped snugly at my throat tingles less, like the magic held within it is growing weaker. There is a desperation to the prickles when they rise. A helplessness coupled with insistent determination. Maybe the magic isn't growing weak. Maybe it's the cloud barrier.

Hello? Is anyone there? I can't hear you. It's the clouds, I think. They're interfering with the signal. Are you looking for someone? Are you looking…for me?

I find myself wishing I could talk to him. I want to see him. I realize my mind was made up before I ever pierced the clouds upon ascension. Stockholm syndrome or not.

It's crazy. But then, I've never been known for being exactly sane.

I'm going to immerse myself in his world again, but this time I would be going into it of my own free will.

I'm in my room, running plans of escape in my head when a knock sounds at my door. Opening it, I find Fledge on the other side.

He fidgets under my hard stare. "Um, hi, Kya. Master Gaepora told me to tell you he wants to see you in his office."

I don't waste time with conversation. I go straight to where I'm wanted, all the while thinking of that sailcloth and my leaving. I'll have to jump. The mere thought galls me, shakes me to my core. How am I going to do it? Not to mention the knights that patrol the edges of this small world. How am I going to prevent them from catching me?

I pass Owlan in the hall, and give a polite nod to my former teacher as I go. I used to doze off in his class, or zone out and imagine him as Legolas. Heh. Maybe I would've done better on the surface had I paid attention.

I manage to focus my attention once in Gaepora's office. I sit in the chair before his desk, looking around at the books on their shelves against the walls. I wonder how many of those texts told of the world below.

"How are you?" he asks.

I hesitate, sudden guilt rising. "…I'll be all right. Don't worry." I say it softly, hoping he'll think of those words when he finds me gone.

He nods. "Good. That's good."

An awkward quiet grows between us and I soon make excuses to go.

He called me in just to check on me. I leave his office with a guilty heart. His concerns were always good at instilling guilt, unintentionally or not.

I'll be all right. I'll be all right. It repeats in my head. Am I trying to convince myself? Must be, 'cause I'm not sure if I really will be.

It's still early, and I realize I went to see Gaepora in my nightshirt and pants. I return to my old room, heading to the wardrobe to change into dingy white leggings and a frayed blue tunic. The blue dress Ghirahim gave me lays over the back of a chair, still drying from the washing I gave it earlier. I'd been up half the night, so I thought I might as well do something.

I rummage through the room, finding one of the old whistles I used to call Turk. I roll the instrument between my fingers. I don't know what use it'll be, but an odd sense of nostalgia bids me not to leave it. I find nothing else to take. Not much I could carry anyway. I'll be going with my blue Skulltula-silk dress donned, a whistle, and a sailcloth.

Over and over, I run my plan through my head. Over and over my gut balks at the jump.

During the day I lay in the meadow with the Remlits that brought me comfort before the fall. They do so now too. Their softness, their purring, the little headbutts they give me… It helps the lessen the pain in my heart. In the evening I pet them goodbye.

When night creeps its darkening veil over the sky I go to see…him. A friend I've been meaning to talk to.

I find the secret entrance in the graveyard, climb down the ladder, and with my throat tight and stomach flip-flopping I travel across the planks that separate me and the great fall. I make it to his door. I knock.

Batreaux answers, and as soon as he sees me, he gasps. "Kya! Whatever are you doing here? I thought they said you'd fallen. Oh, I was wrought with worry! I'm so glad you're here. Come in, come in!"

"It's been awhile," I say, taking my usual seat. "And, yeah, I did fall. It was a doozy."

It's not long before the tea and biscuits are brought out. Batreaux sits across form me, his own teacup in hand. Next I know we're talking about the surface and Link and Gratitude Crystals.

"He's been so kind as to collect them for me," Batreaux says. "Why, if he gathers me enough, I won't have to stalk around at night anymore. I'll be able to walk out in broad daylight! Imagine that! It would be incredible."

I smile softly. "I'll be happy for you when it happens. And it will, don't worry." I pause, taking a sip of tea. "Batreaux…"

He brings his cup to his lips. "Yes? Go on."

I struggle for words. "…If a demon were to be good, I mean, if there was a chance they would choose differently… I mean… I…ugh." I put a hand to my temple. "Never mind. Hey, where'd all these paintings of you come from anyway?" I gesture to the numerous pictures hanging on the walls.

Batreaux takes my change of subject in stride. "Oh, those. You see, to pass the time I took up painting. However, I had no one but myself to model, therefore…" He shrugs. "They are all of me."

I crane my neck to look at them all. A smirk tugs up a corner of my mouth. "I'm surprised Ghirahim doesn't have a million paintings of himself."

Batreaux's teacup topples to the floor, clattering, tea pooling. "Ghirahim? Did you just say…? You—you weren't with Ghirahim, were you? Tell me you did not come across that beast."

My smirk takes on a dark edge. "He took me home like I was a stray puppy and fed me." Not the whole truth, but I don't feel like getting into it.

Batreaux's red tipped claws flutter about with his hands, before finally coming to rest on his chest, just over his heart. "And you are still in one piece? Oh—oh, my dear, you could have been… He could have…"

"He didn't," I say firmly. "And don't ask me why because that question has been eluding me ever since I came across the guy."

The golden collar around my neck pickles slightly, persists. I scratch at it.

Batreaux follows the action. "That's…"

"So," I interject roughly. "He doesn't have paintings of himself, but, boy, does he have a lot of mirrors. I wonder why. He's so full of himself, surely he'd have, like, a million images of himself, right?"

It's a while before Batreaux responds. "…Ghirahim was never known for his patience. He wouldn't have sat still for a portrait. He wouldn't need of one, anyhow. You see, portraits were and are a human custom, designed to immortalize ancestors. An immortal demon would have no use of one—they are there in the flesh, not painted memory."

I sit there, taking in what he said. I think of my mother, my father, my brother, my two best friends—try to conjure up their faces in my mind's eye. Some parts are blurry now. How I wish I had tangible pictures of them with me. After all, images in wooden frames is all they'd have left of me. Did they ever stop to look at one? Or did they throw themselves back into their work? I'll never know the answer.

Then I wonder if I'd think the same of Ghirahim. If I'd want a picture to remember him by.

I stare into my cup, lost in thought. "If there was some kindness in him…" Tears gather, my voice weakens. "If there's any way he'd choose life over death with his master…"

"Kya?" Batreaux leans forward.

The tears slice down my cheeks. Suddenly it's like a dam breaks. "I want him to live," I blubber, incoherent. I don't want a portrait to immortalize him—I want him to live! I regress into a fit of sobs. An emotional wreck. When did I become one? Maybe I've always been one, at least in this world.

Batreaux, at loss for words, puts a comforting hand on my knee.

And there, in the rippling auburn liquid in my cup, I see her bruised face. Aunt Pitty. Don't worry, I tell her. I won't end up like you. I'll fight. I promise I'll fight to the end.

The ewe lowers her head, horns at the ready. The she-wolf within me growls, fangs baring.

"You're safe," Batreaux says. "You're perfectly safe up here. Don't trouble yourself about whatever has happened on the surface. Please, no more tears…"

He gets up to get me a handkerchief. While I dab at my eyes, he gathers his fallen cup and gets us both a refill.

"Now," he says, sitting in his chair across from me, "tell me what happened down there. Start from the beginning…"

I told him. Of my fall. My struggle for survival. Of Ghirahim's strange journey from careless cruelty to careful compassion.

"I can scarcely believe it," Batreaux replied.

"Whether there's good in him or not," I whispered, "I want to know what his choice will be."

"His loyalty to the king is unwavering. It has always been so."

"…I know." I could barely speak.

"It doesn't matter now"—he handed me a biscuit—"You're here. You don't have to worry about it any longer."

I didn't tell him I was going back. That I had to see this through to the end. Ghirahim is the darkness, and it is darkness that the light requires to shine. Even if my light is small and flickering, I wanted Ghirahim to see it. Even if it's unlikely he would follow that light into life…

In the pale dim of dawn I put on my blue dress, tuck the little whistle down its bodice. Once outside, I sneak through the lingering shadows to gather wood, kindling, and green leaves. I pile them behind Eagus's sparring hall. With a flint I stole from the kitchens, I light a fire. Once it gets going good, the green leaves help to darken and thicken the smoke.

I want them to think a building's on fire. I'm not mean enough to actually set one ablaze, though. So hopefully this proxy fools them.

The distraction turns out well. Knights and their Loftwings circle above the smoke.

I rush to the other end of the island. There, I stand on the ledge, looking down…

There is nothing below the clouds, they said. They consigned themselves to a world that was flat and limited, bordering extinction with their dwindling numbers and resources. None dared to venture through the sea of mist that hung beneath their perpetually floating slab of rock. I couldn't have stayed. No, not I, who had already known and tasted the winds and rains of a round world, limitless and free. If I had not fallen when I did, it wouldn't have been long before I jumped.

Like right now.

My heart pounds, tries to crawl up my throat. My stomach twists in all directions with fear.

I have to jump. Have to.

An image of Nikki's face comes to mind. Her teeth are bright against the warm dark skin of her face. She's laughing at me, teasing me for being afraid. Then there's Lezzie, her hands moving calmly. She speaks without words, encouraging me as she always did.

I turn my eyes above…

I don't wanna be afraid, I pray to the one God I've ever known. I don't wanna be afraid. Be with me. Be with me, please…

I turn my eyes below…

I take a deep breath and, with sailcloth in hand, I step off the edge.

A/N: The first half was smooth writing, the second half not so much. I hope it turned out okay. Thank you for reading!