"When?" Kefka snapped sharply, striding into the lab and turning to the doctor.

Dr.Sarkutin stood up, dusting off his robes. "About an hour ago. She won't...she's not in a catatonic state or anything, but..."

Kefka knelt in front of the chair. Lyren had strapped herself into it, and was looking straight at him as if looking at a dead reflection in the mirror. Tear stains streaked her cheeks and she looked almost translucent, as if the blood was drained out of her.

"What the hell Lyren?!" he screamed into her face.

No response.

"Why didn't you undo the binds?!" he yelled at Dr.Sarkutin, and for a brief second the doctor thought he saw panic flicker across Kefka's face.

"She attacked me whenever I did."

Kefka uttered a low growl and slid out a knife from his jacket. "Go get her rooms ready," he informed the doctor. "I'm cutting her loose.

"You're putting her in that prison?!"

Kefka set to work on the binds, which Lyren had tied so tightly they had dug into her pale wrists. He said nothing to the doctor, who already knew what the answer was and left.

Lyren's eyes blinked as she watched him, but she made no move to attack. Kefka watched her intently as he undid the last bind, sneering delightfully at her. "What were you trying to do, my dear?" he asked with a gentle hiss.

He wondered why her eyes looked so opal; why she looked so white? "Lyren..." he began, finding himself surprised to feel a lump in his throat.

It was when he snatched up the binds he felt it.

Sticky, wet...

They were soaked in blood.

Dr.Sarkutin came dashing back into the room as he heard his name being screamed, and he found it hard to breathe as he saw a kneeling Kefka holding Lyren. "What...what?"

"She needs a transfusion! I need...get the neutralizer pack..." Kefka was already tying a strap above her elbow.

The doctor handed it to him, seeing the cause of it all...deep slits on both of Lyren's wrists. He looked from them to Kefka's face, and then checking her heartbeat. God, but it was faint. "I hardly hear..."

"Shut up," Kefka whispered, firmly but gently as he snatched the neutralizer pack and sterilized the needles. He held his arm out to the doctor, clenching his fist so the vein would show.

Dr.Sarkutin watched his face as he drew the needle into Kefka's arm. There was no flinch on the young man's face - cold and invulnerable to inside pain. And yet...why did he look near to tears?

*******

Relm wouldn't touch the food.

He had set the stew down in front of her nearly an hour ago, and had sat across from her, silently watching his daughter staring at the bowl as if it were nothing but space. So quiet, yet in her face and eyes he saw everything. Thousands of fractures. So…so reminded him of her.

"Eat something, please," he pleaded, his voice hushed like wind whispering among desolate trees.

She looked up at him, her large amber eyes taking in his looks. He had removed the scarves about his face, revealing a beautifully etched face. He must have been young when she was born; he looked at the most to be in his early thirties, but his eyes told that, not his boyish face. She had gotten her hair from him - a rich coppery brown that waved gracefully about his neck and face. His eyes were a deep green, like sea foam.

So beautiful…and he had abandoned her.

"No," he murmured, as if he had read her mind. "I never wanted to abandon you. I was afraid, and no, that is not an excuse." He slowly got up, taking her bowl and going into the kitchen to heat it back up.

"I don't care about you," she lied. "Tell me about my mother."

Her words stung him, and the mention of her mother worsened the pain. He was quiet for a moment as he stirred the stew. "Your mother…was quiet and gentle, but she had the exuberance you so possessed." Here he managed a small grin. "You look exactly like her; her face, her eyes, everything but the hair. She had long, beautiful red hair. Curly." He coughed as he turned off the stove and ladled the stew back into the bowl. "There's…there's so much I would like to tell you…"

"I don't care to hear it," she snapped, but her voice trembled, and tears sprang to her eyes.

He set the bowl down before her, and kneeling down so he could face her he firmly but gently took her by the shoulders and tilted her chin up. "I didn't leave because I hate you, I left because I didn't want to bring danger to…her…"

He couldn't say her name.

Relm just looked at him, tears sliding down her cheeks.

He gripped her shoulders. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you!"

*******

"You have a visitor, Your Majesty. Someone by the name of Gogo?"

Edgar jerked up in his chair, shaking off the remnants of a needful nap. Gogo? Of all people, he least expected a visit from that guy. Edgar sighed as he rose, nodding to the matron and heading out to the hall.

He saw Gogo, or what he assumed was Gogo. He wore no headwrap. But there he was, in his colorful attire, bareheaded, sitting near the balcony window. He was young, no older then twenty-five, with an unruly mop of brown curls and big brown eyes like a deer. He turned to Edgar as the king approached.

"Why are you here?" Edgar asked, wrapping his cloak tight about him.

Gogo stroked his forehead, as if trying to find the answer in the pale skin. "I have been the cause of your dreams," he murmured.

Edgar inhaled sharply, not sure if he was feeling awe or anger, or perhaps both. "Kefka…" he breathed.

Gogo nodded, averting his eyes. "I…am a telepath…and I sent you those dreams for a reason. I needed you to understand…"

"Understand what?!" Edgar exclaimed, swinging his arms about. "That I'm crazy! That Kefka is…what is Kefka? Why the dreams Gogo?"

"My name…is not Gogo." Here he finally looked up to meet Edgar's eyes. "I am Farest. And…like I said, I needed you to understand."

"Understand what?"

"Kefka." Farest stared off, over the mountains beyond the desert. Edgar saw his features grow sad; wearied. "Kefka was…he wasn't always liked that. He…changed."

"You knew him?"

"Yes. And I…helped you destroy him, or so I thought. I…almost didn't want to go with you. I didn't want to kill him."

Edgar leaned against the wall, feeling a bit overwhelmed. "I don't understand…"

He was staring at Farest's face. Amongst the shadows he couldn't tell, but now…something was there; a feeling he could relate to…

"When did you know?" he suddenly asked.

Farest looked up at him, his eyes glassy for a second, then it was gone. "Fifteen years ago…I was ten," he began, and the pain in his voice could not be hidden. "Vector…they were running these experiments…tests…whatever. They took him…and he changed."

"Changed…you mean he became the Kefka I saw…the Kefka I knew…"Edgar slumped against the wall, realization hitting him. "Unlike the Kefka in my dreams…the Kefka you showed me…"

"The Kefka that could have been. The Kefka that knew…and regretted what had…" Farest paused, and continued quietly. "They did those tests on him…and five years later…I saw him with the Emperor. I saw…the child was gone." Farest lowered his head, but no tears came. "That's when I knew I lost my brother."

Edgar closed his eyes. "My God…" he whispered.