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Locke forced himself to walk back inside the cave slowly and with some manner of dignity. He shook his head from side to side, snow falling down from his white cloak, as he tried not to show how cold he really was.

"Well?" Sherwood asked with a smirk on his face.

Locke glared at Sherwood. The dark-haired Imperial soldier was giving him an irritating quizzical look.

"It's a nightmare out there," Locke sighed.

"Colonel Ferdinand expected as much," Sherwood said while he stroked his beard.

It was strange how Norris' men acted around him. When he was within earshot, the men would use his first-name and act as if there was no rank difference between them. The moment Norris was gone though, he was Colonel Ferdinand again. It was the opposite of what Locke had expected and he found it incredibly peculiar.

They had wandered across the cave the day before, and not a moment too soon. The winter storms that Norris had warned them about were ferocious and intense. The winds cut through their cloaks and froze their leather armor, making it torturous to travel the mountain trails. Snow fell in great heaps and winds were fiercer with every passing hour. Soon, they could see no more than ten paces ahead.

Even Terra, bundled within her silks and the warm embrace of a wolf mantle, was shivering uncontrollably by the time Clarkson had found the cave. Nestled safely deep within the Strachan Mountains, they had retrieved firewood from their packs and warmed themselves with a hearty campfire. Ifrit still hung from Locke's neck, and the former fiery Esper's skills had been more than up to the task of searing away its eternal foe.

"The storm continues to rage," Sherwood declared when they returned to where they had camped. Although it was close to the entrance of the cave, it was also down a passage that twisted and turned many times. The result was a small bit of light from the entrance but none of the frigid air.

Norris chuckled softly. "Like I said Locke, the storm will last probably a good while longer. You should not question my abilities."

Locke shrugged. "I didn't realize you learned spells to tell the weather. I'm sure they're really useful," he grumbled sarcastically.

"Not magic," Norris gave him a wrinkled grin. "Just the wisdom of many winters."

Locke scoffed as he took a seat next to a pile of blackened logs. They had not bothered with the campfire after the first few hours. Norris had taught Terra how to keep their clothes warm with the use of magic, and the two had gone about enchanting their garments. Locke had tried to cast the spell too, but he just didn't seem to grasp the concept. He simply couldn't control the magic and ended up with a beginner's fireball. Norris had suggested Locke try to warm a stone first, and when the pebble had glowed dangerously red for the umpteenth time, Locke gave up.

While Norris left to speak with some of his men, Locke made himself comfortable against the cavern walls. They were frozen to the touch, but it was nothing his spelled tunic could not mitigate. He ignored his sore back and bandaged ribs thanks to the encounter with the behemoth. From within his pocket he retrieved a small piece of wood; something he had picked up a few days ago. He began to whittle away with his knife while he thought about what he should carve.

Time passed quickly as Locke shaped the wood into the rough form of a figurine. He enjoyed the feel of working with his hands, letting him pass the time while also being productive. It also let him forget how poorly he fared against the behemoth.

"Locke," Clarkson waved at the self-styled treasure hunter. Though he was amongst the shortest of Norris' handpicked men, he was still taller than Locke and quite a bit beefier. "Norris is gathering everyone at his tent. We're being briefed."

Locke nodded and brushed the wood shavings off his clothes. He slipped the piece of timber back into his pocket and followed Clarkson deeper into the cave. They were a small group, thirteen in total, and everyone was waiting for Locke and Clarkson's arrival.

"And so they finally show up," Norris said from the center of the circle. "Take a seat and I'll finally reveal to you the reason why we're suffering like this." He waited until all were settled and their attentions on him. "I don't normally keep you guys out of the loop like this, but it was the General's orders."

Miles, the second-highest ranking officer and the unofficial speaker of the group, nodded. "Don't worry sir, we didn't mind at all."

Norris smiled. "As you all know, we're headed to Fanshaw." There were a few nods accompanied by grim faces. "I could tell you that much because the General didn't see any reason why our destination had to be kept in the dark. That and the smart ones could have figured it out, not you Gossman, but at least Sherwood and Miles."

There was laughter and a few of the men slapped Gossman on the back.

"Now Fanshaw isn't just deep in the Core. Miles, you were stationed there a few years ago. Everyone else has passed through once or twice. You should all have an idea of what to expect, but the Major here give you the ten-second summary of our target."

Miles was a heavily muscled man that reminded Locke of Danielle's bodyguards, Valerio and Baldric. He had lost his left eye in a heroic act to save a comrade's life once, and the stories of the soldier's selfless acts were told with awe. Locke had heard a few from Anthony, the soldier that had bandaged his ribs after the behemoth's demise.

"Fanshaw is built like a castle," Miles began. "There are no tunnels or sewage drains that go underground; it's built on top of mountain bedrock. The walls are higher than anything aside from those of the Imperial Palace. There is a quality garrison there as well, men with experience guarding the border against anything that might come from the mountains. If we're going to be sneaking in, it will be a challenge."

Norris waited until everyone had digested the facts before continuing. "Now if you remember anything farther back than three months ago, you'll remember the Magitek Factory scandal with the rebels." There was a chorus of heads nodding up and down, and Locke averted his eyes considering his involvement. "When Tilton was put in charge of the labs, he instituted a variety of surprising changes. He's a smart one, devious and clever, and began the construction of an ambitious weapon."

Locke blinked. He swore Danielle had said something about a new weapon.

"The Aegis?" it was Sherwood who asked.

Norris shook his head. "No, that was one of his sane ideas and now nearly all Magitek pilots owe him their lives."

"Aegis?" Locke repeated in confusion.

"The name for the clear enclosure," Sherwood replied. "You have seen an Armor before, haven't you?"

"I've never seen any glass on any Magitek," Locke replied. "Doesn't sound very safe."

Sherwood shook his head. "It's not glass, it's just transparent. It protects the pilot from arrows," he explained. "I'm surprised you haven't seen them, they're practically everywhere now. You can't pierce the shield with a short-bow unless you're stronger than-"

Norris cut Sherwood off with a grunt. "You'll see them soon enough, Locke," he said. "And while the Aegis is a problem, it's nothing like Project Camiel. What we're handling is far more dangerous; like comparing a candle to the sun."

Norris readjusted his seat, smoothing out his pants and giving everyone time for his words to sink in. Although Locke and Terra did not see the significance of Norris' words, the soldiers did. They had dealt with the Aegis-enhanced Magitek armors and knew how incredibly dangerous the simple enclosure had made the machinations. If their commander considered the Aegis insignificant in the face of whatever existed in Fanshaw...

"Details are highly classified, and even the General doesn't know everything," Norris continued. "The weapon is an enhancement to the Magitek armors though, like everything Tilton has ever dreamed up. Although it was not yet functional when our last reports came from the Capital, that situation may have changed in the last couple months. General Lilienthal feels we cannot allow this weapon to continue development in Fanshaw for any longer."

"Unfortunately," Norris sighed, "if an army even remotely approaches Fanshaw, then Tilton will merely move his weapon somewhere else. Either that or we'll be the first demonstration of the destructive potential of Project Camiel. Since neither is a choice the General willing to chance, we're going to personally take care of the development labs and all the scientists working on the project."

"What is it exactly?" Clarkson asked. The shortest soldier was sitting closest to Norris.

"I don't know. But it was designed to make the Guardian obsolete. I don't think I have to elaborate."

The Guardian was the newest prototype Magitek Armor that simply dwarfed every other Armor in existence. The guns mounted to it had been numerous, and it had massive cannons on the front that turned it into a walking siege platform. It was completely shielded in thick metal armor, capable of turning aside even elemental weaponry. Locke had seen the machine defending the Imperial Palace before. Still in the experimental stages, great cables had been strung from the underground power facilities of Vector and attached to its mighty arms, feeding beam cannons directly.

It was the greatest war machine in existence. To make the Guardian obsolete would require the creation of a weapon unimaginable.

Locke's nod of understanding accompanied the nervous chuckles of the soldiers. Their faces were grim as they understood exactly how important their mission was. The lives of many of their friends depended on this weapon being destroyed.

"Why Fanshaw?" Clarkson, the blond-haired soldier that had guarded Terra throughout Albrook, frowned. "It's far to the south, away from the heartland and even further from the Magitek Labs."

"Anson Tilton was born in Fanshaw," Norris answered. "He has many loyalists there as well as a personal laboratory dating back several years. The location is perfect for developing a top-secret weapon like this."

"How exactly are we going to destroy something that we know nothing about?" Terra asked. While Norris' threat was no longer on her mind, his presence was a constant reminder that her hesitation had nearly killed Locke. She preferred avoiding him when possible, but the description of their mission didn't make any sense. Remiel had told her nothing about this. When would she be helping the citizens that needed her?

Locke grimaced. He had an idea how they were going to stop Project Camiel.

Norris gave Terra a thin smile, his lips pressed so tightly together that they were almost white. His expression was all the answer they needed. It was the pained look of a man that had borne too much responsibility for too many years of his life.

The Empire would do what it did best, as it had done in the past to Doma, South Figaro, Castle Figaro, and attempted twice in Narshe. Only this time, Locke and Terra were no longer on the receiving end. No matter what kind of reasoning was behind their assault -- destroying the weapon would help not just Lilienthal and his armies, but the entire world -- they would become the very thing they hated.

Terra went white when she realized what Norris had not said. "I was told this mission was going to help people, not kill them," she whispered.

Some of the soldiers exchanged uneasy looks with each other. Even had they not been told that Terra was a powerful Magitek Knight specifically chosen by Lilienthal for their mission, they were few enough that one person's anxiety could cause the entire mission to end in failure.

"We are helping," Norris' voice was lifeless. "Their deaths will prevent Project Camiel from ever bearing fruit. That would save thousands of lives directly, and perhaps indirectly end the Civil War sooner."

Terra couldn't bear to look at Norris anymore. She was being used as an assassin! How could this have happened?

Norris' attention lingered on Terra for a moment longer. "Now get some rest," he said as he turned away. "Fanshaw is only two days march from here and the storm will end tonight. Be prepared to move out; we've already wasted enough time."

---

Cyan and Strago took it much better than Edgar had expected.

Admittedly, they did threaten to skin him alive and let him bleed to death. They also stormed out of Lowell's house enraged after nearly coming to blows. In the end though, they settled down and stopped cursing every time they spoke his name.

Though they were angry at Edgar's actions, Strago and Cyan were more than happy that Relm, Terra and Locke were alive. Strago was especially ecstatic that his granddaughter was not just alive, but in the city as well. Even the fact that she was in the hands of Imperial soldiers did not detract from that simple relief.

Cyan was suspicious of Edgar's source of information, and his suspicions did not pass even when Edgar explained why he believed Danielle was telling the truth. Edgar judiciously spoke ill of Danielle and tried to appeal to Cyan's hatred of the Empire. He referred to her as depraved, devious and scheming, thus leading to a conclusion that she would not bother with pleasantries. If their friends were dead, she would simply tell them so. If they did not cooperate, she would just threaten to kill them and Relm.

That did not bolster his decision to help the General though; indeed it had the opposite, though delayed, effect.

But after many hours, Edgar managed to convince Strago and Cyan to put on a friendly facade for their visitors that night. Strago was willing, especially after Edgar explained the situation and their lack of options, to pretend that they were happy to help the Empire. Strago was going to voice some conditions -- seeing Relm in person and a personal guarantee of his granddaughter's safety -- but he was mostly acquiescent.

Cyan was willing to let the soldiers live, for now.

Edgar understood Cyan's reluctance. Considering his history with the Empire, it was difficult for Cyan to believe that any part of the Empire could be benevolent. In his mind, the entire situation was a trap deviously crafted to end with their deaths and the Empire's rule. To imagine that the Empire would wish to assist Edgar in taking back his kingdom to ensure peace between the two powers, it was beyond lunacy. The Empire existed solely to conquer other kingdoms. Edgar was being tricked by a wolf in sheepskin, and Cyan would not have any part in such unbelievable stupidity.

A part of Edgar believed the same. He knew the risks. There had been very little else on his mind all day. He had come to the conclusion that even if Danielle planned treachery, she would not strike until Daggart was disposed. However, if she moved then, Edgar would have the army protect them. Certainly it was a better option than three tired men in the midst of an Imperial Capital city.

To say that their dinner was awkward was an understatement. Edgar felt terrible about how they treated Lowell. They were horrible guests and Edgar apologized as such. He also explained to the old librarian that they would be leaving that night, and that they appreciated all that he had done for them.

Lowell just smiled and thanked Edgar again for his efforts, and those of the Returners.

Five soldiers were their escort. Edgar noticed immediately that the men were all heavily armed and wore plated mail. They were all extremely experienced, beyond veteran. Men like these were the cream of the crop and worth fifty times their number.

The man in charge introduced himself as Brigadier-General Farin Starson. He shook hands with Edgar and seemed to be friendly. The rank implied that he was probably second only to Danielle, though Edgar wondered how someone so prominent could have been assigned to escort duty. No matter how important the three of them were to Danielle's goals, it made no sense to have a Brigadier shepherd enemies of the Empire.

Unless Danielle felt the five men were more than a match for the three of them, Edgar realized. Knowing her aptitude at collecting information, Edgar wondered if their escort could actually be their equals. It was very possible given the quality of the guards, and certainly the kind of subtle action Danielle would take.

Edgar chuckled softly to himself. An unlikely coincidence this was, to meet the very man whose name struck such fear into the mansion guards. The blond-haired girl had said that Farin Starson was incredibly dangerous with his swords and had a short temper. Edgar decided that it was in everyone's best interests if Cyan and Farin did not speak.

They quickly strolled through the near-empty streets of Tzen; there was a curfew in place. Edgar assumed they were headed in the direction of the Zarren, the great river that ran north of Tzen and made its way towards the ocean. That river was the reason why Tzen was so important to the coastal defense of the Empire. With a huge port that was protected from the vicious seas, Tzen was the launching point of any major fleet.

Farin Starson actually tried to make conversation with the three Returners, though by Edgar's subtlety he never spoke with the brooding Cyan. Eventually, Strago entertained the General while they walked, ignorant of the man's reputation. Edgar remained deep in his own conflicted thoughts.

The harbor was busy when they arrived. Hundreds of men were working underneath the moonlit sky, lanterns carried by hand dancing amongst the great port like fireflies, as they prepared for the departure of five monstrous warships. Edgar counted at least another dozen battleships of the same size, their broadsides bristling with well over a hundred cannons each. By Danielle's recounting, the Imperial Navy had been mostly demolished by the Floating Continent's crash into the ocean, but obviously that had not been the whole truth. Or perhaps the Empire had been very busy rebuilding their fleet.

There were at least another ten ships of the line, slightly smaller than the triple-decked warships that were being prepared at the moment. Edgar could see many other vessels suited as convoy escorts, scouts or patrol ships. The frigates were too numerous to count and it did not help that Edgar could not see the entirety of the great harbor.

It was a tremendous collection of naval power. Fleet action with any similar foe would take days to resolve, and Edgar wondered how Figaro could possibly be a danger to Danielle if she had this kind of navy at her beck and call. They had never been capable of building such numbers of battleships. The facilities for such an endeavor simply weren't there.

Regardless of the trivial nature of his mission, it appeared that Farin Starson was well-known and suffered no loss of dignity. Within seconds of their arrival at the port, men that had been too busy to wipe the sweat from their brow went out of their way to thank the General. Word quickly spread of Brigadier Starson's arrival and before long, Edgar could make out two giant men making their way through the crowd.

Valerio and his twin, Edgar presumed. That meant that she was here as well.

The man on Edgar's left, his head shaven bald but his chin sporting a great beard, headed in the direction of the two bodyguards. Edgar exchanged a worried look Strago and Cyan, the latter glowering at the Imperial Army's presence.

That attitude was noticed by their escorts. One in particular, who was also had his head shaven bald but was clean-shaven, kept a close eye on the Doma Knight. The Brigadier noticed as well, but chose to ignore it. Edgar could feel the confidence emanating from the warrior general.

Flanked by her two bodyguards, Danielle arrived to meet them. Edgar's jaw dropped when he noticed whose hand she was holding.

"Relm!" Strago exclaimed.

"Fussy old man!" Relm cried back.

Strago grimaced, but that was soon lost as Relm jumped into his arms. Strago laughed wholeheartedly, his joy infectious as even Cyan smiled upon seeing the family reunion.

"I thought he might want to see his granddaughter," Danielle said quietly.

Edgar turned around. The General had snuck behind him without his notice, a smile on her face as she gestured at the grandfather struggling to deal with his grandchild. Relm was in fine form, teasing both Strago and Cyan with her usual barbs.

"That's thoughtful of you," Edgar replied as he tried to stifle the cocky comments that came to mind.

Danielle chuckled lightly as she watched Relm gesture at Cyan's hair. "I presume you have convinced your friends?"

Edgar laughed out loud, but it was unnoticed as everyone had their eyes still on the reunion. "In a manner of speaking, yes. I did not expect to be leaving tonight though," he said quietly.

"And why would you assume that the preparations of these ships are for you, King Edgar?"

Again, that annoying way of pronouncing his title. Edgar barely stopped himself from scowling. "You don't have to test my mettle, General Meras. I am neither blind nor am I dimwitted."

Danielle raised her eyebrows. "Oh?" she replied. "Then I'll admit you're correct."

"You're sending quite the escort for me though," Edgar said.

"Two ships of the line and a scouting curtain?" Danielle asked. "You certainly have a strange way of expressing confidence in the quality of the Ethelben Ship Yards."

Edgar scoffed. He had thought all ten battleships were his escort, but he was not going to admit his error now. "I have an inflated view of your ships from seeing them in action. It's a different world, being on the other end of the targeting sights."

Danielle chuckled softly. "You were not lying about your quick wit."

Before Edgar could respond, Farin interrupted them. "Danielle," he said. "They are ready to receive passengers."

Danielle's face took on a serious look immediately, the hard edge that Edgar had forgotten about instantly returning to her expression. "Prepare him," she said crisply.

Farin left without saluting.

"It appears preparations are complete. If you and your friends would follow me, there are a few things all three of you must know and I would rather tell you now, while there is time," Danielle held out a hand. "This way, King Edgar."

---

They passed by one the biggest of the warships docked in the harbor. Huge flags bearing the standard of the Empire flew from the masts, leaving Edgar no doubts that it was anything but Danielle's flagship. It was massive, with four decks of deadly cannons ready for action, and had hundreds of men preparing the ship for her voyage.

Their destination was a small cabin near the center of the port. They were led by her two huge bodyguards and flanked by three of Farin's soldiers; one had been tasked with returning Relm to the mansion. Considering their situation, Edgar felt strange that they were not being led into the dungeons. Or since they were near so many vessels, Edgar corrected himself, sent to below decks and chained to the oars.

Danielle waited until everyone was seated comfortably and the soldiers were positioned at the door. The cabin was a single room, boxes of supplies haphazardly stacked against the walls with a desk set in the center. "I'm sure King Edgar," she spoke his title without her usual inflection, "has already told you why he has agreed to cooperate. Since I will not be going personally to oversee your success, there will be a few clarifications."

Cyan folded his arms. The gaze in his eyes was deadly.

Danielle did not wither under that murderous rage but instead shot a glare at Edgar. Apparently, she was unhappy. Edgar shrugged back nonchalantly.

"You will be on the lead ship, the Tiernay. I have given King Edgar overall command of the fleet. However, that can be instantly revoked and the Captain has orders to throw you in the brig if you abuse your position," Danielle explained. "One of the most dangerous tasks will be to land upon the shores of Figaro. King Edgar, I have no doubt that with your capable command and the quality of our vessels, you will easily accomplish that goal."

Edgar swallowed. Now he wished he had paid more attention when he was being tutored naval warfare.

"To completely ensure that this mission is without trouble, I am sending a personal advisor. Overseeing your actions shall be Valerio."

The statue of a man folded his arms behind Danielle.

"He will be on the Diodorus along with one of my best Admirals," Danielle continued. "They will keep on eye on you, Edgar," Her tone grew harsh. "I don't have to explain the consequences should you choose to neglect your duties."

She referred to Relm of course. It was about time she threatened the little girl's life, and it made Edgar feel strangely comfortable. Finally, Danielle had shown her true colours.

At that moment, Farin Starson entered the cabin with little ceremony. He tilted his head slightly and Danielle nodded in response. The dangerous Brigadier-General leaned against the wall. Edgar observed that Farin's hands remained near his sword the entire time. The General hid his intentions behind a thick grey cloak, but Edgar was not fooled.

"You should know that one of the vessels assigned to the scouting curtain holds someone that you might take exception to," Danielle said. A deadly smile came to her face. "Consider it a gift from me; a small reward for your cooperation and a reminder that I am not your enemy."

Edgar narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Danielle leaned back in her chair. "Aboard the sloop of war is former Major Ethan Nairne. I believe you have reason to know him quite well."

Edgar nearly shot out of his chair and would have succeeded had it not been for one of the soldiers forcing him down. "That bastard?!" he shouted. "You would have us work with him?"

While Strago was confused, Cyan's murderous rage was strengthened ten-fold. He was not directing that anger at Danielle anymore though, despite his gaze still being in her direction.

Ethan Nairne had been one of Kefka's closest and most trusted officers. He had been in command of the Imperial Guard that had protected Gestahl on the Floating Continent, but that had not been the reason why Edgar and Cyan hated the man.

Their hatred of Nairne was second only to Kefka, for the Major had been in command of the Imperial attack on South Figaro. Nairne had been Kefka's loyal dog, the man that took orders blindly and was always behind the scenes accomplishing what Kefka had deemed to be beneath him. While his General had been overseeing the poisoning of Doma, Nairne had lured Celes to South Figaro without the protection of her loyal battalions. Then he stripped of her rank, tortured, and almost executed her for crimes she never committed.

But that was only the tip of the iceberg. Though only Locke had seen Celes in her condition within the secret dungeons beneath South Figaro, Cyan and Edgar had been privy to her sorrowful tale. Shortly after her ordeal, Celes had withdrawn emotionally. Her world had been turned upside-down and the Empire she served had betrayed her. Cyan had treated Celes like a daughter and eventually she had revealed everything to him.

As for Edgar, the moment he met her he had been afraid that Celes was unstable, depressive and suicidal. He had also tried to calm her down in his own fashion. Edgar had always had a way with women, and though it took him a while, he coaxed the story out of her. Between her tortured sobs, labored breaths and tears of grief, the two men had heard what Nairne had done to her.

What he had his men do to her.

Edgar's eyes were ice cold as he glared at Danielle. "You-"

"-have not yet executed him," Danielle interrupted him. She smiled slightly when he saw that he was caught off-balance. "I do not execute people that may still serve some use, and even Ethan Nairne was not an exception."

Cyan was confused as much as Edgar was. Both men lost their righteous rage as they tried to comprehend what Danielle was telling them.

"Nairne will be aboard one of the most expendable vessels in the history of the Empire. When his airship crashed within my territory, most of his men were killed. Those that survived will also be on that frigate, though many of them are missing limbs and other crucial parts," Danielle explained without emotion. "I trust you will put that vessel to good use, Edgar."

Edgar nodded, though he had no intention of being so barbaric.

"About my granddaughter," Strago interrupted.

Danielle turned to the sage. "She will be treated with more respect than a princess," she answered. "But she will stay here in Tzen."

"A prisoner," Strago frowned.

"A safe, highly valued friend of the Empire," Danielle gestured dramatically with her hands. "Your journey is dangerous. You will venture across a treacherous ocean and into a Kingdom where you will incite a counter-revolution. I cannot, in good conscience, let her go with you."

Strago frowned. "This is-"

"I give you my word she will be unharmed. I even brought her here tonight as a gesture of good faith. The Empire holds no animosity to the people of Thamasa, and her presence stems from my own instinct to protect a defenseless child," Danielle tapped a finger on her desk. "If you have a safer place for her to be, tell me and I'll make arrangements."

"Thamasa, send her back home," Strago answered immediately.

"I don't have the men to spare or the ships available. I am fighting a war, Strago Magus. This also ignores the fact that sailing the seas is incredibly dangerous ever since the Floating Continent fell. Between that and the civil war, Tzen is the safest place your granddaughter can be," Danielle concluded.

Strago was silent for a while, contemplating the General's words. He nodded slowly, muttering to himself about landmasses and tidal displacement. Finally, Strago sighed dramatically. "I see your point," he pretended to relent. He had gotten everything he expected.

"And perhaps after helping King Edgar with his situation, I can assist you with something else that has been bothering you."

"What would that be?" Strago asked, cautious but curious.

A thin grin was on Danielle's face. "The Statues, of course."

Edgar hid his surprise well, but the look on Strago's face spoke volumes.

"You..." Strago started.

"Yes, I know of them. I would like to offer you the assistance you will need to correct the balance."

Edgar suddenly realized that she had tipped her hand. She was power-hungry. She wanted their trust so that she could take the power for herself. This was a deal with the devil.

"I'll... think about it," Strago stuttered, utterly confused by what had happened.

"Very good," Danielle said with a wave of her hand. "Then we have no more to discuss. Valerio, take-"

"Stop," Cyan interrupted.

Everyone's attention focused on the Doma Knight.

Cyan folded his arms and redirected his lethal gaze towards Danielle again. "I do not intend on boarding a ship for Figaro, nor do I intend on ever assisting the Empire."

Danielle's eyes flickered to Edgar for the briefest of moments.

"I will not help King Edgar. I belong here, regardless of thy consent, and shalt protect Relm and ensure her safety. I do not trust you or thy honeyed-tongue," Cyan finished dangerously. No one could ignore the threatening tone of his voice.

One of the soldiers guarding the door to the cabin drew his sword.

Danielle held up a hand. At the same time, Farin shouted an order for the soldier to replace his sword. Cyan remained motionless, despite the threat behind him. His aggressive attentions remained on the red-haired General, who had leaned back in her chair and was apparently considering his words. While she thought, her hands traced elliptical patterns upon the side of her chair.

Edgar was in disbelief. Cyan had not hinted at his intentions, and Edgar had thought the knight would never act so irrationally. If Danielle refused, what would Cyan do? Fight his way to Relm? This was an extremely delicate situation and his selfish actions could lead to Relm's death, to say nothing of their own.

Cyan Garamonde was risking everything!

"What are doing Cyan?" Edgar whispered through clenched teeth.

On the opposite side, Strago subtly evaluated their odds of survival.

"A creature not of logic, but of emotion," Danielle mused. Her quietude was a stark contrast to the wrath of Cyan Garamonde. "Intelligence was wrong. You, Knight of Doma, are not a credit to your people. You bring shame upon all who followed you."

Cyan took the bait without hesitation, his exotic longsword drawn in a heartbeat. The action was expected everyone in the room. Valerio and his twin had battle-axes at hand a heartbeat after Cyan, and the ringing of four more swords being drawn added to the symphony of steel. Edgar and Strago had both risen to their friend's defense, but they were both unarmed.

Edgar felt shivers run down his spine. His spear lay against a pile of boxes, but it was too far away. There was no chance he could stand and retrieve his weapon before being cut down. He didn't know what Strago could do, but he seriously doubted even a descendant of the Mage Warriors could affect the outcome by more than one cadaver. Sweat dripped down his back as the minutes passed quietly. The cabin was surprisingly isolated from the outside world, not a sound from the docks could be heard.

Surrounded by deadly blades, as well as the guarantee that both Valerio and his twin could hold long enough for Farin and his soldiers to stab him in the back, Cyan paused. He was biding his time.

"Motivated by pride and vanity, only the argument of the sword can speak to him," Danielle tapped at her mahogany desk. The rhythmic thumping of her finger was the only sound in the room.

Danielle's finger continued to tap in the tense silence. Cyan's eyes flickered from side to side. The dangerous look on his face, the grinding of his teeth, and the white knuckles around the hilt of his sword told Edgar that the situation was moments from becoming very bloody. Cyan was ready to pounce the moment anyone's guard dropped. From the looks on the Imperial men's faces, that wouldn't happen anytime within the hour.

Her finger stopped tapping. Edgar tensed.

Deadly blue eyes regarded Cyan Garamonde. "I do not see the use of a man like you on this mission. Your stubbornness and imprudence would only endanger everyone else. Your reluctance is expected after considering your reputation," Danielle started.

She was going to execute him. Edgar could see it in her eyes: Imperial to the core.

"You ignore the needs of your own allies, blinded by hatred. Furthermore, you aspire to nothing more than the murder of Imperial men and women," Danielle continued.

Edgar readied himself. They would fight and die together. After all, he could not stand by and let Cyan be cut down. How could he return to claim leadership over his people if he was such an immoral soul?

How could he throw his life away for nothing, when his people were being subjugated by a bloodthirsty usurper?

"I would not allow you aboard an Imperial vessel even if you wished it," Danielle pointed at Cyan. "You are a deadly danger to my people. A creature like you might bring harm upon innocents. I will not let that happen."

"You dare insinuate that?" Cyan growled.

It was clear to Edgar that Danielle did not intend on executing Cyan. That gave him some hope, but if this was Danielle was being diplomatic, Edgar did not want to know how she threatened her enemies.

"I think the only solution here is a promise, sworn on nothing less than your dead wife and son, that you will not harm any of my people." Noting that Cyan was about to respond, she raised her voice, "in return, I will let you see Relm unfettered."

That silenced him, but only for a moment.

"There is more to this," Cyan said. "Treachery is in your blood, Imperial."

"There are restrictions, yes. I won't let you stay with Relm, but I will let you see her once a day; under guard of course. She's my insurance that you won't break the terms of our bargain."

"And what guarantees your terms?" Cyan replied back. The grip on his sword had relaxed, but the anger in the tone of his voice remained.

Danielle smiled. "Nothing. You will get nothing better from me, and this deal could get quite worse."

Edgar could see that Cyan had calmed down, but was unwilling to commit. He saw his chance to negotiate and jumped in. "Wait a minute," Edgar spoke up. "Cyan, enough! You've gotten your wish!"

Cyan shot a glare at Edgar.

"She's already given you everything you asked for," Edgar faced his friend eye-to-eye. "What could you accomplish by swinging your sword now? We'll die right here, tonight! It might not be right now, perhaps not even in this room, but there are thousands of Imperial soldiers in this city. You kill her, and the best we can hope is for Relm to be crying at the news that both you and her grandfather are dead." He put a hand on Cyan's shoulder. "I don't have to elaborate on the worse case scenario."

Cyan sighed deeply. He broke eye contact with Edgar and turned back to Danielle.

"You have your promise, Imperial. Mark my words, if you do not hold your end of the bargain, you will rue the day you crossed Cyan Garamonde," Cyan sheathed his sword in one smooth motion, somehow still imparting a deadly threat with that act.

Danielle sank back into her chair and said nothing in response.

Edgar turned back towards Danielle. "Now is everything settled?" he asked.

Farin and his men replaced their swords. Between the sound of steel and the look on Danielle's face, it was obvious that everything was most certainly not settled. This night would not be forgotten.

A period of silence, and then Danielle spoke at last. "Farin, get them out of my sight."

---

They had been led to the Diodorus and the Tiernay without ceremony. Farin left them and stepped on board the lead ship, intending to make a few final checks and to introduce Edgar to the Captain of the Tiernay. Soldiers stood guard off to the side, respectfully out of earshot.

The docks were still busy; giant cranes could be seen loading cargo onto several of the larger warships off in a distance. But Edgar, Cyan and Strago found themselves isolated at the very edge of a pier. They brooded quietly, each was thinking about the events that had transpired that night.

"Strago," Cyan said at last. "I should apologize. It should not be I keeping your granddaughter company."

Strago stopped staring into the vast waters of the Zarren River. "It's alright Cyan. I know your heart was in the right place. It worried me that Relm would be staying here alone anyhow, having you by her side comforts me greatly."

"That is not what I meant," Cyan pointed out.

"Of course, but it's what I see," Strago replied. He forced himself to smile. "I feel much better knowing Relm is in your hands. The greatest of the Knights of Doma protecting my granddaughter, if that doesn't bring relief to these old bones then nothing will."

Cyan forced a smile.

"Anyhow, now I can help our royal friend to the best of my abilities. No preoccupations."

"I'm sorry that I brought this mess into our lives," Edgar sighed.

"I think we came out on top really," Strago mused. "My granddaughter is safe. We know Terra and Locke are fine as well. Somehow, we've gotten the Empire to foot the bill so that we can get back to the Northern Continent. They'll even provide an escort for us. It seems like everything worked out for the best." He was trying to convince himself of the words he spoke.

Cyan folded his arms. "Both of you will be in peril. Coups are bloody, dangerous things," he said gruffly.

Edgar could see that Cyan felt terrible for abandoning them. It had been his hatred of the Empire that made him refuse the mission, not his unwillingness to help. "You'll be surrounded by Imperials, alone. Strago and I will be together, and in the worst case, surrounded by my countrymen. I don't envy you in the slightest."

"It doesn't matter. Nothing will happen to Relm, you have my word. My life before hers," Cyan promised.

"Very well," Edgar replied. "And in the meantime, you can keep a close eye on Meras and her cronies. I don't think they'll try anything, but I wouldn't put anything past an Imperial. The moment you hear anything, you and Relm better get out of there. Just go into hiding somewhere out of the way like Nestil. There's a civil war going on and I doubt that they'll have the resources necessary to track you down."

"And we'll be back," Strago pointed out. "Hopefully with a King's escort."

"More," Edgar lowered his voice. "Whatever the outcome, the Empire will not be able to ignore the strength of the Northern Continent. We managed to land troops and enter Vector during the height of Imperial power! I'd dare say we'll a match for whatever stumbles out of this war."

There was still an uncomfortable air that remained between the three men. Cyan cleared his throat. "I..."

"Cyan," Edgar interrupted. "Stop worrying about us. What we're going to do will require subtlety. I'm sorry old friend," his lip curled up in a devious smile. "Subtlety just isn't your strong point."

Strago chuckled softly, and Edgar couldn't help but join in. Their combined laughter was infectious; Cyan found himself laughing as well. The stress and frustration that had been built up over the past weeks melted away. Their situation was a serious matter but compared to the dilemma they had faced just one week earlier, it was straightforward.

The laughter did something else too. All their recent arguments, differences and fights were now forgiven. Without addressing it, grudges that might have stood as a wedge between them disappeared. They forgave the curses, overlooked the injustices, and made sure any lasting resentment vanished.

The same goofy grin could be seen on each man's face. They were not mere associates, not just allies, but friends. Nothing would ever change that.

Visions of Peace will be continued in The Eleventh Chapter - Before the Gates

The Eleventh Chapter - Before the Gates

The mountains of Strachan were like a frozen wasteland. The winter blizzards had been relentless in their fury. As if the clouds had a mind of their own, the storms raged and attempted to entrap them deep within their frigid grasp. The freezing winds forced them to seek shelter deep within the mountainside, where the cavern they used as shelter had almost become permanent. Snow had sealed the entrance and without the spells of Norris and Terra, it was an impossible barrier to breach.

When they had decided to continue their journey, they had been extremely lucky. Their spells of fire had not set off an avalanche that might have made their situation worse. "It had been a calculated risk," Norris defended himself. "The slight possibility of an avalanche or freezing to death, the choice was an easy one."

After that, caves were never used as camp. They slept near what meagre shelter they could find, but generally they slept out in the open where strong winds would tear their tents apart. In order to leave the mountains as soon as they could, they travelled farther south than originally intended. It took three more nights, nights that were spent without fire for the fear of being spotted in the darkness. Snow continued to fall without fail, and though their cloaks were spelled, it made little difference. Sometimes they would wake up in the night, the warmth spells melting just enough snow to form a thin crust of ice. Other times they would wake up nearly buried, their miniscule shelter blown away in the night and sentries unable to fix it.

The forest of Fanshaw was no more compassionate. Though the storms had calmed down, the snow was deep and the going treacherous. The snow was deep enough to swallow a man alive and had they not been spelled by Norris and Terra, they would have been swimming their way through the powder. Still, no matter how bad the forests were, Locke was glad to be away from the Strachan Mountains. He cursed the uncaring peaks as they had left them, grumbling to himself that he would never enter anything of the sort ever again.

On morning of their second day trekking through the woods, Norris split their tiny group into three teams. One group traveled ahead of the others, scouting for any potential sentries or patrols from Fanshaw. The other two would follow some distance back, close enough to help the team at the front, but far enough to escape if the situation became dire. In that manner, they were to reach the fortress city in four days.

Perhaps it was their preparation, but they did not encounter a single patrol the second day. They had not seen a single soul. Locke did not have to ask Norris about the situation, it was obvious that the mission was going too smoothly. He had visited the Empire many times himself. If he could count on the Empire doing one thing right, it was regular patrols. It took careful planning and coordination in order to sneak into any Imperial base and considering the type of city Fanshaw was, the fact that they had encountered no one was a disturbing sign.

The next day they started early with the same careful scouting technique. It was midday when they encountered it.

Gossman returned alone. The unassuming dark-haired man was like a ghost, suddenly appearing out of the underbrush without a sound. Flakes of snow fluttered to the ground as he strode directly to Norris.

Something about his attitude made Locke expect the worse. His eyes narrowed as he judged the cold, hardened expression on Gossman's face.

Gossman spoke in a hushed tone, so that only Norris could hear. Locke could guess what had happened by the darkening look on Norris face though. It was likely they had found something dangerous or tragic.

When the two men finished talking, Norris silently motioned to Clarkson and two others. He gave the men orders and the soldiers departed with Gossman in the lead.

"Anthony, head along the river. We'll meet you south of the ford, by the ruins," Norris said. He turned to Locke. "You might want to ready that bow of yours and prepare yourself; the pleasant journey ends here."

---

It was the remnants of a wagon, Locke could tell that instantly. He wiped the half-melted snowflakes off his face.

Someone stood watch by the rubble. Locke had picked out the carefully hidden soldier with a bit of effort. A scar over one eye identified the sentry as Miles. His white-washed cloak was covered with fresh snow and tracks erased by magic. Most suspicious men would see nothing; the Imperials were spectres that appeared and disappeared without a trace.

Locke and Terra made their way to the wagon through the thick snow. Norris led the way while one last soldier lurked to the rear. Behind them, footprints from their heavy boots disappeared in shimmering waves. It was unnerving to watch Norris' handiwork.

"Five of them," Miles reported to his commander.

Norris nodded. "Keep an eye on the perimeter," he ordered before turning around. "Locke, Terra, come with me," he said. "I want fresh opinions."

Locke twiddled his fingers, following Norris yet glancing around in paranoia. None of the other Imperials could be seen. He hoped that they were merely securing the area and not engaging a patrol from Fanshaw. The mission was already dangerous enough, if the city was alerted to their presence... Locke glanced over at Terra. The grip on his shortbow tightened.

After passing a number of blackened and burnt mountain pines, they could make out the scene in greater detail. The wreckage of a wagon and its charred parts were scattered some distance about. Locke could tell that the spokes had simply buckled and exploded; the wheels were completely shattered. What little wood remained was blackened, and there were pools of frozen metal. The pursuit had been merciless, Locke thought as he studied the rubble. He had seen many incidents when the Empire hunted down his fellow Returners. Normally the Imperials would take out the driver with arrows, kill the chocobos, and then imprison the rest for interrogation or worse.

This scene was different.

"Fire arrows," Locke mumbled as he examined the ashes. He could still smell the oil that the Imperial archers had used to coat their projectiles. "They were shooting to kill," he declared.

Norris crossed his arms and stood over a pile of debris.

Locke turned to Terra, who was bent over and examining the wreckage of the body of the wagon. The carriage had flipped over after the wheels had collapsed, but burning arrows continued to rain down on the victims until all was aflame.

"Incineration," Terra whispered as her gloved hand touched the charred wood. The white glove came away with a dark spot; soot from the mix of fire and oils. There was something else though, her eyes didn't see it but she could feel it. "These weren't normal arrows," Terra added. "I think they were spelled beforehand."

Norris nodded. "Interesting... anything else?"

Terra did not respond. Instead she bolted to her feet as what had remained of the wagon crumbled upon her touch. As the ashes and wood fell away into the snow, they could clearly see the victims.

"My god," Terra averted her eyes from the gruesome scene.

Locke stared numbly at the bodies of women and children, numbers impossible to guess, that had been horribly mutilated. The inferno had been relentless, leaving nothing untouched and melting flesh and bone without distinction. Their faces -- what remained of them -- were twisted in pain and frozen in the throes of death. He knelt, touching one of the bodies out of curiosity. Expecting it to crumble on contact, he realized surprisingly that the cadavers were frozen solid. These people had died and the Old Man Winter had captured their last moments for all to see and fear.

The self-styled treasure hunter glanced up at Norris, who was studying Terra intently. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"They died quite terribly, if that's what you're asking," Terra answered Norris' question at last. She wiped her hands of the wagon ash. "Maybe sort of spell to increase the potency of fire... absolutely no mercy was shown," she didn't bother masking her disgust. Those that had done this were abominable criminals, picking on the weak and defenceless. The rumbling of power within her stirred and Terra briefly let the feeling flow through her veins. She could have stopped this. She could have saved these people. If only they had come earlier.

Locke stared silently at the corpses. Fresh snow began to drift onto the faces of frozen pain, slowly covering the tragic scene. He turned around and noticed that one of the sentries -- not the one-eyed Miles, but the archer that had described the Aegis -- was watching them intently. Strange, he thought.

Terra shifted her feet. "Perhaps we should bury them," she suggested awkwardly.

Her words snapped Norris out of a silent trance. "No, we'll move out," the elder Magitek Knight answered. "Enough time has been wasted and there's no point doing nature's work." He straightened his cloak and brushed aside the growing mass of snowflakes upon his shoulders. "The Phantom Train will be full this winter," he mumbled under his breath.

Terra reluctantly nodded, knowing that the winter would bury the remains. The victims would remain forever nameless.

As they left, Locke watched Norris with renewed suspicion. He wondered what Norris had been looking for. Certainly it wasn't for their opinions; Norris had hardly given their analysis a second thought. Perhaps he had been testing them.

Locke wiped his face of sweat. It felt like years since he had been surrounded by friends, instead of potential enemies. He strapped his shortbow to his back and shook his head dismally. The others were probably worrying about them; he just hoped they were safe.

---

Cyan followed Farin at a relaxed pace. Between them was one of the Brigadier's most trusted men, the smoothly-shaven head and chin of a soldier named Donnach. That was it. A single man.
Not that the Brigadier-General had only a single escort. There were some dozen other soldiers nearby, but they were protecting the three men in the center from outside danger. Cyan estimated the odds of killing Farin with a single blow were in his favour.

It was, however, a dream that would never be. Cyan had kept control of his anger for the past weeks, and he could keep control of it now. Edgar had been right. He had let his emotions get control of him all too often. How many times had he told some hapless squire to reign in his anger and fear? Yet here he was, ignoring his own lessons.

"General Starson, this way sir."

Farin nodded at an aged, scarred one-arm soldier with four finely polished silver bars on his chest. Cyan glanced up from his thoughts and noted that they were in a heavily fortified base that wasn't so much built on the ground as built out of the side of the mountain. The area looked like a mine, there were railroad tracks leading into dark tunnels. The base was defended by guard towers and fenced off with plenty of clearance from the tree-line.

It might have once been a secret, but now this Imperial base served as one of the principle supply stations for Danielle Meras' war effort. The dozen soldiers that surrounded Farin and Cyan was a mere pittance, there could have easily been a thousand working at that very moment, and this was a mere supply depot! The Imperial encampment was alive with activity, soldiers practicing with their blades, technicians running around trying to repair a vast array of war machines, and pilots that were triple-checking their Armors. The sound of heavy machinery was everywhere as mechanics repaired and rebuilt Magitek vehicles. It drowned out the hammering noise of blacksmiths forging blades and screams from the medical tents.

They walked through dozens of tents until a group of old cottages came into view. It confirmed what Cyan had guessed: this had been a mine once. The Imperials had probably evicted their own citizens in order to set up base.

"She is currently in the cottage closest to the fences."

Farin turned to the man that led them. "Thank you Colonel." An exchange of salutes and the one-armed officer left them alone.

Cyan looked around. Incredibly, they were isolated. With the exception of Farin's escort, no one else was nearby.

"Well Garamonde, this is where our little adventure ends," Farin gestured at the cottage the Colonel had pointed out. "And so we part."

The relationship between the two men was not so much animosity but mere irritation caused by situational circumstances beyond their control. As it was, Cyan had made his hatred thinly veiled. He had sworn that if Danielle's promise was broken, there would be a reckoning. For Farin Starson, such a threat was not taken lightly.

When Cyan had discovered that Danielle had Relm transferred south, from the capital city of Tzen all the way to the southernmost border of the province, there were no words to describe the anger he felt. The scheming General had moved Strago's granddaughter the same night their bargain had been struck, knowing full well that Cyan would disapprove.

He did disapprove. He made that very clear with his blade.

Farin Starson was the one who delivered the news that morning, hours after Edgar and Strago had departed. Feelings of unease had barely calmed from the near-bloodbath on Danielle's flagship, so it was no surprise that he arrived with several of his most skillful soldiers. The two warriors crossed blades that day -- Cyan had not yet found out that the General turned tail and fled aboard her fleet -- and the result had been a tedious stalemate.

The exchange had been furious and short; barely a heartbeat had passed before steel rang thrice in the morning air. It was not enough to gauge with any accuracy the relative skill between the two men, the most elite of the elite. However, it had been enough to give Cyan pause.

That was all the time Farin needed to explain the situation. They had moved Relm to a base near the front, but the area was fully protected and that was where they would be traveling. Farin was anything but tactful. With a few choice curses, Farin made sure Cyan knew that the Doma Knight was the reason for such a transfer. General Meras had not trusted Cyan enough to leave him inside her capital. Instead, she made sure he would be surrounded by no less than several thousand of her armed forces.

But the promise was still to be kept. Cyan would be given unfettered access to Relm, just in a different location. And despite the closeness to the front, she was still well-protected. That was still amicable, was it not?

Surrounded by the blades and arrows of eight other men that Farin considered his best, along with the Brigadier himself, Cyan had accepted the change in terms.

The ride south had been tense.

Together along with the Ninth Imperial Army, Cyan traveled to the Gap of Reddenhurst. It was a long ride and that was further lengthened by Farin's interference in the daily affairs of his own citizens. It seemed that the Brigadier was in no hurry to reach the Gap, which Cyan found very strange.

Cyan Garamonde of Doma strolled past Farin Starson without acknowledging his existence. The cottage was well placed, the Knight noted. It was deep inside a heavily fortified base. The wall that kept the enemy out would serve to keep him in.

"Garamonde!"

Cyan paused at the doorstep, aged maple that was covered with a fine layer of snow. The wood creaked as he turned back around. Finely honed reflexes allowed him to snatch a small metal object out of the air.

"You'll need that to get in and out of the base," Farin explained.

Cyan looked at the silver medallion in his hand. The Imperial Emblem was chief amongst the symbols etched into it. His hand snapped shut, the symbol of Empire snuffed from his sight.

The door behind him opened with a squeak and a gust of warm air hit his back. Cyan turned to meet a young, unbecoming soldier with short brown hair.

"Lieutenant Paisley," Donnach's voice was accompanied by the creaking of old wooden deck. "This is-"

"-Cyan Garamonde," Paisley held out his hand. When Cyan didn't move to shake it, he paled at the rebuke. "Sir?" he asked Donnach rather nervously.

Donnach paid him no attention. "Garamonde, you are a guest here and will have no more than two hours a day to spend with the girl. The rest of the time is your own. You will leave your weapon at the door and I would prefer to not have to explain what happens if you try anything."

Cyan's eyes slowly shifted to Donnach. He had assessed Paisley in a moment and almost smiled. The Imperials were playing quite an elaborate game. Everything had been skillfully planned to manipulate him, his judgment and his preconceptions. He had almost been fooled. There was nothing more difficult to see through than one's own prejudice.

Well, he would entertain them for now.

---

The cottage was small but homely. It even had lamps powered by electricity, the Imperials had taken the time and effort to extend whatever comforts it could. Relm had been given the royal treatment.

Outside the window, the shapes of guards could be seen. Cyan had inquired what the group of houses had been doing in an Imperial base; they were out of place for an army that commonly lived in tents. Paisley had answered that nobles often wanted to watch the war from a safe distance. Since the houses had been deserted, the army had made it comfortable for powerful and important nobles so they could see the civil war unfold from the frontlines.

Imperials. Corrupt, immoral and cowardly.

Cyan had a smile underneath his newly-trimmed moustache. He lowered the mirror softly the table and turned away from the window. "It looks wonderful, dear one."

Relm beamed. She put down the razor blade. "You looked all scraggly. It was so ugly and it was making me lose. I couldn't play! It was staring at me the whole time."

Cyan raised an eyebrow. He looked down at the chess set. It was an old set, the paint was flaking and many of the pieces scratched or chipped, but at least it was clean. Relm has washed it off and begged him for a game.

"Perhaps we should start a new game," he answered as he toppled his black King. He had been two unavoidable moves away from checkmating the white King. By the devious twinkle in her eye, he was sure that Relm knew it too.

"You probably don't have enough time for a proper game," the voice belonged to Irving. A short man that was heavily built, he had a detached manner about him that set off warning sirens in Cyan's head. He was bundled heavily despite how warm it had been in the cottage, and that had only gotten warmer after Relm had spelled the small fire in the fireplace.

The Imperials guarding Relm didn't seem to be all too concerned about her magical abilities. They had let her practice or play around with spells without ever raising a word of protest. Relm had even moved all pieces on the chessboard with nothing but magic. It was apparently something she and her grandfather had once done.

Cyan turned to face Irving, cloak still on and bundled underneath. The soldier acted cool and collected without a bead of sweat visible.

"I'm going to go now, Relm," Cyan told her, but his eyes never left Irving.

"We'll play again tomorrow?"

Cyan turned back to the little girl. She had an innocent smile on her face.

"Yes, of course," he answered. The game would continue, wouldn't it, Farin?

---

The Tiernay was a Second-Rate Man of War, although that was only by Imperial standards. For Edgar, it was a First-Rate ship whose tonnage alone was greater than every vessel in the Figarian Navy. With three gun decks, more than ninety cannons and a crew of over eight-hundred men, the Tiernay could easily fight in the center of a line of battle.

Her sister ship, the Diodorus, sailed beside her. The two were a formidable sight, easily mistaken for four-deck First-Rates like Danielle's flagship. They were surrounded by frigates of all ratings, with sloops and cutters farther out as a screen.

It was an impressive fleet. Edgar could not believe he was sailing home surrounded by such weaponry. The irony was not lost on the rightful King of Figaro.

The Battle of South Figaro had crippled the Figarian Navy to the point where such an Imperial fleet would have been cause for the colors to be struck. Though that had not been strictly the doing of the Empire -- the forts in South Figaro had fallen to treachery and captured cannons turned on their own countrymen -- Edgar was still reluctant to allow such a display of Imperial might into the waters of his homeland. Nor could he use the ships to any degree. To say his legitimacy would be questioned if he were backed by a foreign power was an understatement.

And so Edgar Roni Figaro found himself stuck with immense assets that were totally and completely worthless. The task ahead of him would demand everything he had. Edgar mentally listed the nobles that could be counted on to support his return. There were quite a few, but Edgar feared for their safety.

A spray of water hit Edgar square in the face, but he was already drenched. He stood to the starboard side and stared off into the seemingly infinite ocean. Dark clouds swirled overhead; a storm was coming.

"So deep in thought that you don't even react to buckets of water smashing you in the face."

Edgar sighed. "Strago, when I said that Cyan would not be much help, I meant it. What follows will be delicate and tedious. There is simply nothing that tests one's patience more than the selfishness of nobility."

"Well spoken, King Edgar," Strago frowned as he looked Edgar up and down. "Though I must say, having a cold while you discuss rebellion to those that support you will be quite a problem."

Edgar laughed. "Perhaps," he wiped his face of seawater. "What's on your mind, Strago?"

The elder mage brushed at his damp white hair and smoothed out his crimson robes. "Valerio just came aboard."

"That's surprising," Edgar said. He turned away from the vastness of the horizon. "What would he want?" he wondered out loud.

"Certainly not to see you soaked and smelling of the sea! Hold still lad, I'll clean you up," Strago pushed up his sleeves and yellow sparkles danced around his hands.

"It's alright Strago, I'll talk to Valerio and then I'll change. No need to use magic for everything."

Valerio stood at the prow, developed sea-legs allowing him to maintain the statue-like aura. Even when the ship pitched to and fro, Valerio's composure was static; but his brown hair fluttered in the strengthening sea-breeze.

"What are you doing here, Valerio?" Edgar asked as he avoided several boys scurrying around the deck. He looked up and noticed that men were adjusting the rigging and letting down sails on the mizzenmast and mainmast. "I can see that we're picking up speed, doesn't seem too smart if the storm is coming, but I'm sure the Captain of this vessel can handle those details."

Valerio directed his attention to Edgar. "We are still a good deal away from Figaro, but I had thought to question your intended tactics."

"I can't plan much when I don't know anything about the coast," Edgar replied. "We'll have to use the sloops as scouts and hope we don't stir up a hornet's nest," he said as he stared off into the distance. Far to the starboard, great banks of fog obscured the remains of the Floating Continent. It was still floating, Edgar remarked to himself sadly.

"Very well, what I need to know is if you intend on arriving with gunports open," Valerio's voice was not as deep as one expected from a man as large and built as he. And, Edgar realized, this was probably the most he had ever heard the statue speak.

"I don't intend to engage my own countrymen," Edgar growled.

"It might be unavoidable," Valerio replied instantly. "Our scouting curtain cannot possibly cover everything, and we lack the supplies to fight a protracted battle at sea. In addition, even if we avoid battle as you wish, we will still need a place to dock, hide, and resupply."

Edgar hadn't thought about that. It didn't occur to him that the Imperial fleet would not just deliver him back home, but stay there until his mission was accomplished. "It might be possible, although I would presume these ships can last for quite a while."

"Long enough to make the journey there and back with ease, but not long enough for you to negotiate."

Edgar found himself impressed. Valerio had given all signs of being just muscle, even when assigned to the command staff of the Diodorus. However, it appeared that he was giving thought to what Edgar would have to do once back home. He wondered how much the Empire knew about Figaro and the royal court... or more importantly, how much Danielle had shared with her minion.

"I'll think of something," Edgar delayed for time.

"When you do, signal me. As well, I have authorized the Captain to share with you any and all details about the capabilities of this fleet. You would do well to learn everything you can, or else the Admiral will take command the fleet." Valerio turned around. He nodded at Strago respectfully. "Elder mage, if you could accompany back to the Diodorus, I have some requests for your abilities."

Strago gave him a puzzled glance. He had been silent until now, unaddressed and lacking even theoretical knowledge on naval warfare. "I'll do what I can, as long as it's nothing bloody."

Despite speaking as much as he had, Valerio maintained his emotionless countenance. He straightened, towering over Strago even more so. "One of the officers is close to losing his arm, an infection of sorts. Our leech can do nothing but amputate. I thought you would be able to offer another solution," he stated.

Strago stroked the whiskers of his beard. "I'll see what I can do."

Valerio nodded. "Thank you," he replied, though he didn't sound like he was. "And Edgar," Valerio turned back to the estranged King.

"Yeah?"

"The Admiral wishes for a briefing on whatever technological engineering achievements your Kingdom may have prepared for us. It would be best if there were no surprises, especially if we have to fight our way out."

Edgar frowned. He certainly didn't want the Empire to know any of that. Figarian engineering was more advanced than the Empire's in several aspects. Against the vast might of the Imperial forces, they would need every trick they had.

"Remember Edgar, you walk a fine line here. We will be open with you, and you will return the favour. Anything less and we all die."

Edgar glared at the departing Valerio, annoyed at the way he was being treated. Strago shook his head sadly and patted Edgar on the back before following. They left the estranged King standing alone at the bow, once again motionless even as waves broke upon the hull and the white spray hit him face first. He stared off in the direction of his homeland, only now fully-comprehending what his deal with Danielle could cost him.

---

Locke sank into the snow a bit more. His hand scooped up a large mouthful of the white flakes; the icy cold rush did more than just keep him awake, it kept his breath from turning into mist and potentially revealing their location.

Beside him was an equally quiet Sherwood. The eagle-eyed archer had a pair of lenses with him, binoculars, pressed up against his eyes. A white hood covered his entire head -- not a strand of blond hair could be seen -- and a white scarf was wrapped around his mouth.

They were perched over the city of Fanshaw, watching the quiet Imperial fortress from dizzying heights above. The outcropping of rock that they laid upon was marked by a lone pine tree, its needles withered and probably buried beneath the snow.

Below them was a city that looked disturbingly like Narshe. Machinery could be seen everywhere: on the streets, sticking out of houses, jutting hazardously out of huge factories. But unlike Narshe, Locke could not see a single wisp of steam rise from the buildings that should have housed thousands.

"No lights, no fires, nothing..." Sherwood whispered as let the binoculars drop into the snow with a quiet thunk.

A city as large as Fanshaw should never have its outer walls deserted. It should have been good news for them -- sneaking in would hardly be a challenge when there were no guards -- but it also suggested Fanshaw had been hit by an unknown disaster.

Locke nodded and rolled on his side. They had been in the snow for a while and he could feel a slight wetness in his cloak. Water was seeping in through the many layers he was wrapped in. "Like I said, something is wrong down there. We should head back." Terra and Clarkson were scouting the city from another angle and while there was no immediate danger, Locke was tired of being alone with Imperials dogging his every step.

Sherwood brushed at his hood and brought up his binoculars. "One more look, I want to make sure that the southern wall is completely deserted."

Unlike Narshe, Fanshaw was completely walled in from all sides. Great slabs of solid stone rose from the mountain-side that the city had been built on. Perhaps thrice as tall as a Magitek unit, Locke had not seen any cracks upon the smooth black stonework. No mortar had ever touched those rocks. It had been made with the Empire's magical arts, he had seen the same in Vector and it was frighteningly unnatural.

Sherwood swore silently and pulled off his hood. The Imperial archer wiped at his head of damp, blond hair. "Unbelievable," he grumbled. "Let's head out."

Terra and Clarkson were only a few minutes away. They were perched quite a bit lower than where Locke and Sherwood had been. It was a closer view from a different angle that revealed nothing new.

Something was definitely wrong in Fanshaw.

"I don't understand it," Clarkson grumbled. "At this time of night, there should be four squads on the walls and at least one watch, but..."

Terra huddled in her wolf-skin mantle. Locke gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

"We'll head back and report," Clarkson said as he pulled off his hood. He rustled his curly hair. "Maybe Miles has seen something substantial. If Fanshaw has been struck by disaster, then the roads from Vector would tell the tale."

---

Norris' second-in-command certainly did have something to report. The one-eyed Miles returned with his team in tow well after everyone else. Already familiar with the area around Fanshaw, Miles had cut across the northern plains and gathered information near the main roads.

The aged Magitek-Knight folded his arms and listened attentively while Miles reported. He had already steeled himself for the worst after hearing what Clarkson had discovered.

The northern walls of Fanshaw were just as deserted as the southern ones. The difference was that unlike their kin, the northern ones were barely standing. Entire sections had been blown apart, the smooth faced stone exploding from acts of sorcery. Guard towers had been torn at the base and felled like trees. The front gates had been a pool of dark metal upon the road, and even the stone nearby had melted from the intense heat.

"Fanshaw is probably deserted," Miles continued. "The wagon scene we saw three days ago was only the beginning. There are hundreds more just like it, littered about the main road. I doubt anyone escaped to the north."

Norris rubbed his chin, taking in the unexpected news with an air of regret. "If you were to guess..." he started.

"Ten days ago at most," Miles replied. "No less than six days, or there wouldn't be enough time for the storms to claim so many."

Norris sighed. "Drummond," he said quietly. "This means that the entire western front might not even exist."

"I doubt there's anything left in Fanshaw," Miles continued.

"The damage is restricted to just the northern section," Clarkson interjected. "That would mean that they probably killed the entire garrison with Magitek and then slaughtered the rest on foot. I would assume that-"

"What does it matter?" Miles snapped. "Dead is dead, there's nothing alive left in Fanshaw."

"Miles, calm down," Norris interrupted quickly.

Miles growled. "You have no idea what it looks like on the main roads. The dead are everywhere and were it not winter, disease would be festering and monsters would be feasting. It was a slaughter! Women, children, the elderly; it doesn't matter because they were all butchered like animals!"

Locke watched as the big soldier grit his teeth and point back in the direction of Fanshaw. "Those bastards were killing children! Criminals they are, every single one of them. I don't care which division they were, if I ever meet-"

"Then save your anger for those that did it," Norris interrupted calmly. His composed manner silenced Miles, who turned away in anger. Norris gave Miles a sidelong glance, his brown eyes judging one of the best men he had ever worked with, before turning to the blond swordsman that had accompanied him many times on covert missions. "Clarkson, continue," he said.

Clarkson folded his arms. "I believe there was something in the southern side of Fanshaw they were attempting to retrieve undamaged. Otherwise, they would have attacked from the rear. They would have the benefit of high ground. Criminals or not, they aren't incompetent. Even with the heavy patrols south of Fanshaw and throughout the forests, striking from the front is beyond madness."

"I agree," Norris gave a slight nod. "Terra?" he glanced over at the half-Esper.

Terra shook her head. "Nothing overt, but we're still quite far away. I wouldn't expect to sense anything from this distance."

The Colonel frowned. "Do you think there's something waiting for us?"

Terra folded her arms and looked around uncomfortably. All eyes were on her, veteran soldiers depending almost exclusively on her expertise. "I don't know," she said slowly.

"What about the flying green skull?" Norris pressed.

Terra shuddered when she thought about that monster over Tzen, nor was she the only one. The men gathered all exchanged looks of concern. Few had even imagined the possibility that an entire Imperial city could have been destroyed by monsters. It was easier to believe that traitors had turned into barbarians rather than beasts overcoming first-class Imperial defences.

"No," Terra answered. "I would have felt its presence, or any similar monsters."

"That's all I need to know," Norris stood up. "No matter what has befallen Fanshaw, our mission is to ensure that Project Camiel is destroyed. Clarkson, Gossman, I'm authorizing both of you to deviate from the plan as you see fit, but the primary objectives remain the same."

Locke looked over at Terra, reminding himself the real reason why he was there. The two of them had been given what seemed to be a bloodless task, but still... He stared at her for a moment, trying to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. Finally, he turned back to Norris impassively, half-listening to the Colonel as he gave orders to kill Imperial citizens.

"-know what the hell has happened to the city. If time permits, investigate, but do not take any unnecessary risks," Norris' gaze suddenly locked with the thief. "And remember, what we do this night could reshape the course of the war. It's absolutely critical that we do not fail tonight. There is far more at stake than just our lives," the old officer finally broke eye-contact. "Dismissed."

---

They climbed the eastern wall with such ease that Locke was actually impressed. Sherwood and Clarkson were quite the pair, their grappling hooks were perfectly thrown and the two men bounded up the black face in seconds. Locke scaled the wall after the two soldiers, finding the smooth stonework an enjoyable challenge. While Clarkson pulled Terra up, Locke took the chance to observe the disturbingly empty city. His stomach turned when he saw all the red stains upon the walls, not even the winter frost could hide the bloodshed.

The inside of the deserted guard towers was no better. The outlook had been a battleground. Blood was splattered across the walls and floors, and most of the furnishings had been broken in a brutal brawl. It smelled of both charred and rotting flesh but there was not a single cadaver. Locke took a deep breath and instantly regretted it.

They made their way down blood-slicked stairs without any noise. Norris had taught Terra an immensely useful spell, one that made their movements all but impossible to hear. It had been extremely disturbing. Locke had jumped up and down in the snow like a child on a bed, but failed to make the slightest sound. It was also slightly irritating. No matter how useful the spell was, it made things too easy. After all, he had spent years correcting the slightest twitch, those subconscious idiosyncrasies that might have given away his position while he snuck around. Yet here was magic that made a massive bumbling warrior like Clarkson into the perfect thief.

Sherwood, on the other hand, was like a ghost. He prowled with the grace of a cat, never disturbing anything and always moving smoothly. So fluid was his motions that even Locke had been surprised on occasion by the master-archer. Sherwood didn't attract attention.
At the bottom of the stairs, Clarkson motioned for Locke and Terra to stay behind. Then he and Sherwood slipped through the old wooden door connected to the barracks.

"Terra," Locke took the rare opportunity to speak without the presence of Imperials. "About what we're supposed to do today."

"I don't intend to," Terra answered with determination. "I've had a lot of time to think, Locke. I won't let Norris intimidate me into doing anything I don't want to."

Locke made sure Clarkson and Sherwood were out of earshot before continuing. "That pair; I just know Norris put two of his best men to watch over us. We should really be careful. We might have no choice but to..." he gestured across neck.

Terra frowned. "I don't think they would-"

"We have to be prepared," Locke pointed out. "I don't want to do it anymore than you. I can still see arrows from Sherwood's bow flying over my crumpled body; the Imperials have saved my life too." He rubbed his bandaged ribs meaningfully. "I don't want to hurt them, but if we have no choice..."

"Fine," Terra relented.

Silence settled between the two Returners, but they didn't have long to brood over the possibility of stabbing their allies in the back. Clarkson returned first. "There was a bloody brawl here, but I see neither bodies nor survivors," he noted quietly. "It doesn't make any sense..."

Locke gestured towards the city. "From the roof, I didn't see any bodies in the streets. Yet signs of fighting were everywhere. It looks like your soldiers decided to bury their victims."

"They're not ours," Sherwood interrupted from behind them, silently descending the narrow flight of stairs from the top of the guard tower. "No Imperial soldier would do something like this," the archer said with a disproving frown.

Locke bit back his snappy retort.

"Terra, how much longer do we have with this spell?" Clarkson asked. He was all business.

Terra shook her head. "I'm not sure, I don't have much practice with it and I don't even understand why we can talk but jumping up and down makes no noise. Maybe twenty minutes, but-"

"Even the Colonel would be hard-pressed to do more," Clarkson cut her off softly. "The safe-house is our next destination. I'm not going to chance the meeting in the streets, it's doubtful that our contact is still alive. The route will lead past the main laboratories," he pointed through the wall and motioned to their left. "We'll double back afterwards. Maybe we'll find something overlooked in the chaos."

"I wouldn't expect even that," Sherwood replied cynically, just moments before Locke voiced the exact same opinion.

"Nothing wrong with hoping," Clarkson retorted, drawing a brief smile from Terra. "I'll go first. Locke, you're next and then Terra. Sherwood, you have the rear."

---

Colonel Norris Ferdinand had spent thirty of his years in the Imperial Armed Forces. Ten he had spent working covert operations with the Special Forces, and sometime during that period he had volunteered for augmentation. He considered himself experienced, a man that had seen much and would be surprised by little. Sure certain developments might catch him off-guard, but nothing should leave him gawking like a virgin's first sight of naked breast.

This topped everything he had ever seen in his life, and it was nowhere as pleasant as the first time he had enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh. Norris Ferdinand averted his eyes and fought the unfamiliar urge to vomit. He turned back to his team. Only Miles was still looking at the scene, his cheeks red in rage as he visibly fought the urge to curse loudly and uncontrollably. His arms shook in anger and his knuckles were white around his mighty battle-axe.

Norris took a deep breath and calmed himself. Deathly cold winter air filled his lungs and chilled his blood. "It seems we found the people of Fanshaw that were not slaughtered on the roads," Norris said stoically. He took another deep breath, thanking the gods that it was winter and that there was not the stench of rotting flesh.

Thousands of men, women and children, had been killed within the town square of Fanshaw. Headless bodies were piled in a great heap, some still in the uniform of the Imperial Army, most in just ordinary clothing, and others stark naked. The majority died elsewhere but had been dragged to the center of the city. Some had been mutilated after their deaths, others had vulgarities written in blood or carved into lifeless flesh. But that was not what disgusted the stalwart defenders of the Empire.

Norris estimated around two-hundred, all children, in the center of heap of corpses. Two hundred wooden spikes that was central to the display of debauchery. Each had a child on top, driven between the legs unto the pointed end of the shaft.

By the expressions on their faces, they were driven alive.

It took all his years of training to compose himself, to think logically and approach the situation in a way demanded of an officer as highly ranked as he. Under the cover of darkness, lit only by what the little moonlight sifted through the clouds, they probably could not see the full extent of the debasement. It could not have been monsters that had done this. It was too cruel... too methodical. It was executed with a kind of cold precision that Norris had to accept was human.

It had to have taken days to do something like this, days that an army typically did not have. It was also a coordinated effort, there could be no excusing any of the criminals that had been attacked Fanshaw. Yes, criminals. These weren't soldiers. Soldiers did not do things like this.

The walls had been melted by Magitek Armors. That ruled out anyone else but the Imperial Armed Forces. Danielle Meras had no such forces so far south in the Core -- she was besieged in the Gap and Norris doubted she would break through within the month -- and Norris also knew Anson Tilton would never do this to his own forces. There was only one remaining suspect.

Norris could only wonder what could have turned Drummond's men commit such vile atrocities. It didn't seem possible. Norris still knew a few men, good Magitek Knights and former-ISF, that had been transferred to Drummond's command shortly before the Marandan War began. The Fourth and Fifth Imperial Armies had some of the most highly-skilled, experienced officers within the armed forces. They would not have done this.

But the facts remained. Danielle Meras and Anson Tilton could not have done this. The only person with the capability was him. It had to be Drummond. The Maverick had to have his hand in this debauchery.

"We should leave," Miles growled. "It's obvious that there's nothing left alive in this city."

Norris gritted his teeth. That was correct, in the process of their systematic -- perhaps even ritualistic -- slaughter, Drummond's forces had inadvertently fulfilled Norris' mission of disabling progress on Project Camiel. The scientists had been in Fanshaw were likely buried somewhere in that pile of corpses.

"It's just unfortunate that we lost Eric and his platoon. I doubt they managed to escape the attack," the one-eyed soldier continued. Norris didn't have the heart to tell Miles to be quiet, and that his chatter could be their downfall. "He was a good man; excellent at infiltration. No doubt he had prepared for weeks in order to assist us in this raid. I will miss him."

Norris looked north, towards the Imperial Capital of Vector. His eyes narrowed as he realized what else was bothering him. "Miles," Norris held out his hand and silenced the big soldier. "Something doesn't make sense. Drummond had at least two divisions attack Fanshaw from the north. But you saw nothing strange on the roads, neither in the attackers nor the failed escapees." Norris thought about the shape of the walls and tried to recall anything peculiar.

Behind them, Anthony gasped. "Of course, whatever Project Camiel is didn't get used. Anything that could replace the Guardian would have left its mark in the battlefield. We saw nothing that couldn't be accomplished with a couple frontliners," the medic exclaimed.

Norris stroked at the whiskers above his lips. Snowflakes had settled in his white beard and stuck to his gloves. "Even more importantly, if I were in command and had crippled the western front, I would never have attacked Fanshaw. It's too far south to seriously impact a siege on Vector and too well-defended to send a small force. Assuming Drummond hasn't lost his mind," Norris continued knowing how big of an assumption that might be, "then they were here for some other reason."

"Perhaps the same as us?" Miles asked.

"No, if they knew about Camiel then they would never have attacked in force by the front gates," Norris said as he struggled to make something of the situation. "They were here for something else and lucked out. It was likely small enough for General Lilienthal to overlook, but still worth a division or more," he concluded.

"Anything worth twenty-thousand men doesn't exactly define overlookable," Anthony quipped.

Norris smiled at the backtalk. Anthony had never been in the Imperial Special Forces and had earned his position through battlefield merits. Norris had worried about his decision to include the highly-decorated Sergeant, especially when he had seen how much difficulty Anthony had trying to think beyond the call of standard soldiers. However, he had Clarkson's recommendation and Norris was thrilled to see the young man finally take advantage of his new-found liberties.

"Very sharp Sergeant. Either our General didn't know about it, or felt it much less important than Camiel," Norris thought out-loud.

"Perhaps they knew Camiel was incomplete," Anthony offered. "So they struck first and in overwhelming force."

Norris nodded. It was a good, simple answer, but his gut told him that there was more to this than a surgical strike.

"Regardless, there has to be some clues still lying around," Miles concluded. "We'll need to find them."

"What about our original task?" Anthony asked. "Mission accomplished?"

Norris nodded grimly. "Fanshaw will no longer be host to the development of Camiel. Our mission parameters are a complete success," he answered. He didn't bother hiding the disgust in his voice.

"Alright, then I suggest we head to the southern district of town," Miles pointed in that direction. "As Clarkson said, they avoided that area. It appears the nobles are up to their old tricks again."

---

Clarkson glanced down hopefully and watched small blue sparks drift in lazy spirals around Terra's hands. He clutched at the blue blanket in his hand, something he had found in the basement. Sherwood was near the doors, standing guard but watching them instead of the street, while Locke carefully lifted up a canteen to the girl's lips.

The safe-house had been empty. Not single soul had been within the laboratories. Dozens of rooms had been carefully checked, but there had not been so much as a corpse. Only blood splattered across the walls had greeted them whenever they opened a door, alluding to a slaughter but never giving them anything concrete.

They had left the eastern compound in a hurry. Their mission was accomplished: there were no scientists left in that facility. The inferno they had set would consume whatever research might have remained.

Ahead of schedule and the sun still another hour away, they decided to take a detour. Clarkson was determined to discover what had happened, and the pristine nature of the noblemen dwellings had been their destination.

After five deserted houses, each ransacked and pillaged, they had found her.

She had been buried beneath a bed of straw. Like most of the mansions, the wine cellars in the basements had been raided and nothing remained but empty bottles. In the fifth house though, Locke had noticed a trail of crimson-smudged straw that led them to the girl. They had thought she was dead, her skin was white and pasty, bruises littered her body and dried blood was everywhere. The room had been covered with urine and fecal matter, and there were metal chains left on the floor covered with just about every bodily fluid Locke knew.

Terra gasped loudly as the blue sparkles disappeared. Clarkson helped her back to her feet, her eyes drooping as she tried to recover from the intense drain of healing magic.

The girl coughed as water from Locke's canteen hit her throat. A single brown eye stared at Terra, slowly focusing on white figures in front of her.

Clarkson waited until Terra regained her balance and stood on her own. "She was quite close to death," Terra explained between heavy gasps. "There's a taint that still flows through her, some sort of darker magic that I've never encountered before. I say she fell unconscious and then the cold got to the rest of her body... thank you," she said as Clarkson handed her the blanket. Terra knelt down and carefully wrapped it around the girl's bare midsection. They had found her naked, what little rags had been left on her limbs would not be considered clothing anywhere in the world.

"How is she?" Sherwood asked. He had pulled off his hood and beneath his ruffled blond hair there was a bead of sweat. It was moderately warm in the house and they were bundled and spelled to survive nights in deep snow.

Locke gently held the girl's head straight and steadied his canteen for her. The flickering candlelight that lit the mansion's main room danced across her face, bringing to Locke's attention the grievous cut that ran across her right eye and down her cheek. Bits of straw were still stuck to the dried blood.

Clarkson glanced at Sherwood. "Much better than before. She seems to be breathing normally, thanks to Terra," he answered.

Terra wiped the sweat off her brow. She brushed back her dyed-blonde hair. "She's still hurt pretty badly, but I did what I could." The half-Esper frowned, something seemed off about the girl. The healing spell had swept away the dark, frightful aura that surrounded her. The darkness must have been a result of the fear and pain, Terra surmised. She knew healing magic had a warm, loving touch and that could possibly heal even emotional wounds.

"Who..." the girl's voice was hoarse and no more than a whisper, but it more than enough to surprise everyone.

Locke took his canteen away. He steadied the girl as she tried to sit up. "Careful," he warned gently.

"I'll be fine," her voice grew stronger as she sat up. Her one good eye focused on Locke. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Locke gestured at Terra. "Thank her. She saved you from certain death. We don't know how long you spent buried in the cellar, but you're very lucky to still be alive."

The girl was perhaps a year or two younger than Terra. Her brown hair was matted with blood, probably her own, and she clutched onto Locke for support even though they were seated in one of the few unbroken pieces of furniture left in the mansion.

"Thank you," she said as she looked up at Terra. "I'm Anna."

"I'm Terra, nice to meet you Anna," Terra smiled.

Anna gave a weak smile back.

"That's Clarkson, Sherwood, and the one giving you water is Locke," Terra continued.

"She'll need something to wear if we're getting her back to the Colonel," Clarkson took off his white-washed cloak. "I'll go cold for a little while," he gestured for Sherwood to check the streets again.

Anna screamed.

Locke suddenly found himself holding on to a screaming and panicking girl. She twisted and turned with such strength that it broke his grip almost instantly. "What in the-!" he cried before a flailing arm caught him across the face. When he reeled from the shock and pain, she broke completely free of his grasp. As he fell backwards, Locke could see her face twisted from terror.

She was afraid of him.

There was also something else, something different. It was a dangerous passion that was derived from the uncontrollable torrent of emotions that assaulted her: anger.

Anna fell to the ground -- her right leg was completely tangled with the blanket she held close -- and crawled away from Locke. Desperate glances were directed at Clarkson, her face a mask of fear. Her eyes darted from him to Sherwood, then to Locke, and finally back to Clarkson. She screamed unintelligibly at him and gestured wildly in the air. Her arms, thin, pale and bruised, pulled her farther from them.

Locke recovered swiftly, but Clarkson had already darted into action. He quickly restrained the girl before she made any more noise, clamping his hand over her mouth and grunting in pain as Anna bit him. Locke joined the struggle, concerned that Clarkson would inadvertently hurt Anna.

Sherwood spun around and quickly stepped between Anna and Terra. He pushed the half-Esper behind him as his right arm came up, sleeve pulled back, revealing a miniature crossbow strapped near the wrist.

Terra paled. She reacted instinctively, grabbing Sherwood's arm.

The crossbow bolt embedded itself in a defecated painting, far above Locke, Clarkson and Anna. Splinters of wood fell on the entangled mass of limbs.

"What are you doing?" Sherwood growled. He grabbed Terra by the neck with one hand and pointed the left arm at her face.

"Terra!" Locke shouted. He tried to get up, but was still entangled with Anna! The fine hairs stood on the back of his neck when he saw the murderous look on Sherwood's face. Locke's bow was still strapped to his back and his knives out of reach.

Terra knew Sherwood had another crossbow strapped to his left hand, one that was still loaded and now pointed at her. The rumbling of power stirred within her more strongly than ever before. The seductive whispers were accompanied by something new: a rush that felt like her head had been slammed into a bucket of ice-cold water. It was... clarity.

"Sherwood, at ease! We need this girl alive," Clarkson grunted as he put Anna in an armlock.

Sherwood didn't back down. He ignored his commanding officer and kept his aim on Terra.

"She's scared of your Imperial uniform," Terra stated quietly but authoritatively. She had made the connection between Anna's panicked expression and the suddenly comprehensible words she was crying out despite Clarkson's attempts to silence her. She pushed temptation away with all her willpower. The inner strength this required was mirrored on her face, and that made Sherwood pause.

When the siren's song had been silenced, her eyes connected with Sherwood's, knowing that he was ready to kill her if did anything remotely dangerous. "There's no need to kill her and if you had, then we'll never find out what happened here," she said calmly.

Clarkson was still restraining Anna, whispering to her quietly as Locke finally got to his feet. He drew both knives in a flash.

Sherwood slowly lowered his left arm, almost reluctantly. He let go of Terra's neck.

"Anna, please, calm down," Terra pleaded as she pushed past Sherwood.

"We're troops from Albrook, we did not attack the city," Clarkson continued. His voice was softer, and it was apparent that he was slowly relaxing his grip on Anna. "You'll be safe with us. We're only here to help you."

Terra knelt down in front of Anna with a spell at her fingertips. Yellow light enveloped the two women and forced away the blackness that surrounded the tortured soul. Anna instantly stopped flailing and screaming, and as the sparkles continued to float around them, she slowly calmed down. Her breathing evened out and the look on her face relaxed.

Locke ignored the stinging in his cheek and glared at Sherwood. "What did you think you were doing?" he growled as he closed the distance between them, his knives behind his back. He was enraged at the Imperial soldier. How dare he hurt Terra!

Sherwood had already reloaded his second crossbow. He let the sleeves of his cloak drift back down, hiding the two weapons. "She got in my way. We're lucky this time that she-" he pointed at Anna, "-wasn't a danger," he answered in a threatening voice. "Her interference could have meant our lives."

Locke pointed at Terra. "Why did you try to kill her?" he nearly shouted at Sherwood.

"Locke," Clarkson growled. He had opened his pack and was in the process retrieving an ointment for the bruises and burns on Anna's feet. "This is not the time."

Locke glared back at Clarkson. "He tried to kill Terra! He ignored your direct orders! Now you're defending him?"

Clarkson smoothed a sticky white paste over Anna's legs. "Locke, not now! I need you to make sure no one heard us," he ordered as he searched for bandages in his pack. "Sherwood, get upstairs and cover him. And find Anna something to wear while you're at it."

Sherwood climbed the staircase without a noise.

Locke crossed his arms and fumed. He couldn't believe how quickly things had degenerated, how surprised he had been when he saw those assassin crossbows on Sherwood's wrists. He gritted his teeth when he realized he had been unable to help Terra when she needed him... again.

By the time Clarkson finished with the bandages, they had finished checking around the house. Anna was surprised by the pair of clean pants and woollen sweater that Sherwood had found. The men turned their backs while Terra helped Anna with her clothes.

"Sherwood, check the streets," Clarkson ordered as he stood between the two men. "Locke, you'll help Anna get around. We won't be able to scale the eastern wall with her like this, but we can make a dash through the broken northern walls. The Colonel can't complain too much about the change in plans since we're bringing her along."

Locke waited until Sherwood had left the building before turning towards Anna. "Fine," he relented.

Clarkson sighed. "Terra, can you cast another silencing spell?"

"Not without Norris to guide me," Terra answered. She eyed the front door, still thinking about Sherwood's crossbows.

Locke helped Anna to her feet, grunting as she put her weight against his shoulders. She stood on her own two feet and teetered for a moment, then regained her balance. It looked like she would be able to walk.

Sherwood returned from the streets. "It's clear," he announced, "and it looks like dawn is nearing."

"Let's head back quickly," Clarkson ordered.

---

They made good pace through the deserted streets of Fanshaw. Sherwood was in the front, moving about smoothly and soundlessly. Since their stealth spells had worn off, Locke got a good idea of how stealthy Sherwood could be. A ghost would probably be louder, Locke surmised. But he could see why Sherwood had such skills now. The miniature crossbows had made it clear. He was no archer, though he certainly had the skill for it, but an assassin.

Clarkson was also surprisingly quiet. The Imperial was nowhere as good as Locke was, but it was a far cry from the bumbling fool that Locke had originally expected.

Locke had been told to keep an eye on Anna and help her along. Since Terra was handling herself adequately, Locke had given his attention to the young girl. It hurt to look at her. She was barely sixteen, but Locke could see the torture she had been put through. Considering how she had reacted to the Imperial soldiers, the thief had a feeling that the wounds and scars weren't limited to just her body.

They crossed street after street as Sherwood led them through Fanshaw. The dark night sky was starting to lighten up and stars were fading away. Dawn was approaching fast and Norris had been insistent that they couldn't stay after daybreak. However, Locke could tell from the desolation that gripped the city that reinforcements would not be arriving.

As they neared the northern walls, the buildings became progressively more and more ruined. Soon, they were sneaking from collapsed house to collapsed house, still staying to the safety of the shadows just in case anyone was watching. Clarkson glanced around in paranoia while Sherwood scouted what appeared to be a section of the northern wall that they could climb through.

While they waited, Locke checked on Anna's bandages to make sure they were tight. He looked up and found himself staring into frightened brown eyes. "Are you alright?" he whispered.

It was as if she suddenly realized they were making eye contact, because she jerked away so quickly that it alerted Clarkson and Terra. Locke waved them off, signalling that everything was fine. The two returned to keeping watch while they waited for Sherwood to return. When he looked back at the young girl, he was surprised to see her helping herself to a drink from his canteen.

When did she take that from him?

"Thanks," Locke grumbled when Anna handed his empty tin canteen back. As he replaced it by his belt, he caught something in her eyes. She looked away as quickly as the flicker of emotion had vanished, leaving Locke to wonder if he was beginning to go mad. "Are you alright?" he asked, paranoid but curious.

Anna said stared at her feet. The look of pain had returned to her face, that same petrified look they had seen when Clarkson had taken off his cloak. "Of course not," she whispered. "You just wouldn't understand..." she blinked away tears.

Locke swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. He could sympathize with her; there had been a period of time that he had dreaded seeing the brown leather of the Imperial Army. It had taken years for him to get over the torrent of emotion whenever he saw it, and he wasn't even really sure if he was over it. He suddenly couldn't control the urge to take Anna's hand, soft and warm despite exposure to the cold winter air. Seeing Anna hurt and frightened, so vulnerable... it brought all those uncomfortable memories back to mind. "It's alright," Locke whispered. "You'll be safe with me, I promise."

For some reason, his words sounded hollow.

Anna didn't respond, but pulled her hand back. As she did so, he saw the same flicker of emotion. This time, he was sure he knew what it was.

Hate.

Locke put as much distance between himself and her as was possible under the circumstance.

---

While they were crouched in the shadow of a collapsed guard tower, they could see that beams of light were beginning to stream their way from the east, through the peaks of the Strachan Mountains. Terra was silent as she watched Clarkson's head dart from side to side, anxiously waiting for Sherwood's return. She moistened her lips, the air was as dry as it was cold, and looked at the blond-haired soldier that had accompanied her since the day of the Messis Luna.

The power deep inside her had been consistently stirring. She had never felt it so strongly before. The emerald gemstone that hung near the nape of her neck was a poor substitute for the comfort of her father. Terra swallowed back the dreadful feeling of knowing that she might have to fight the seductive power for the rest of her life.

"Clarkson," Terra whispered. She needed something to take her mind of the stirring of emotions within her.

"If it's about Sherwood, the best I can offer is an apology," Clarkson replied immediately. His tone was deep but quiet, he knew that whispers traveled.

Terra paused. It was strange, but she had almost forgotten about how close to death she had been. Sherwood had been ready to kill her had she resisted in the slightest. It was her own fault, but stopping that wrist-mounted crossbow had been so instinctive she didn't realize what she did until Sherwood had grabbed her by the throat. A month ago, she would have collapsed under those murderous eyes, but there had been strength in her that she had called upon. It had been the same strength that allowed her to stand up to Remiel... after a fashion.

"No," Terra denied. "I didn't expect one," and that was the truth. They were Imperial soldiers and she accepted that they did what they did and never thought twice about it. Only a select few had ever shown remorse; Leo had even apologized for something he had not been a part of, and Farin for his inability to protect her. But they had been rarities.

"Then what's wrong?" Clarkson asked. He sounded genuinely concerned. It surprised her.

"I..." Terra broke eye-contact, embarrassed. What was she to say? That she just wanted to talk so that she could keep her mind off of the seductive rush of power that threatened to overwhelm and control her? Either he'd laugh at her naivete, or he would have drawn the sword at his side and cut her down. "I saw something dark in Anna," she found herself saying instead.

Clarkson narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I saw a dark aura around her, a magical taint that I had never seen before," Terra explained. It was as good of a topic as she could think of, and certainly was due some attention. She had never felt emotions with her magic before, at least, not in anyone human.

"Magic?" Clarkson frowned. "You should talk to the Colonel. Even though I've worked with him for a long time, I don't know much about Magitek Knights," he said. His eyes returned to looking for Sherwood amongst the rubble of buildings.

"Sorry," Terra mumbled. She felt incredibly stupid for bringing the topic up. Of course he wouldn't know anything about it. How could she have thought it was something to talk about? Now-

Clarkson had noticed the embarrassment on her face. "If it makes you feel better to talk about it," he put a comforting hand on her shoulder, "then go ahead. It'll help with the nervousness and I like to learn," Clarkson gave her a meaningful and warm smile.

Stunned, Terra left the gloved hand on her shoulder and smiled back. "The blackness vanished whenever I healed her, so it's probably nothing," she said. "I'll talk to Norris about it."

Clarkson nodded. "Well don't forget to tell me," he added.

---

Sherwood returned, appearing suddenly in their midst without anyone but Locke noticing. "It's clear. We can follow a decently hidden path back into the eastern woods," he told Clarkson.

"Alright, let's move," Clarkson said.

The five snuck through the broken walls easily, climbing over the rubble and leaving the fortress city just as the first rays of light flickered off the plains of snow. In the distance, they could see the battlefield that Miles had told them about. Black dots littered the plains north of Fanshaw. They looked almost like a tree-line the way they were spread in the distance, but it was actually the burnt remains of people trying to flee the city. There were likely thousands of corpses out there.

Clarkson looked back at the walls, the huge black stone stretching far above them so that they could not see anything within Fanshaw. His gaze followed the smooth stone until it was marred, fire that had melted the stone into liquid and helped tear a gaping hole for the invaders to attack through. It was artillery; Clarkson could recognize the tell-tale signs of Heavy-Siege Armors. There were many a broken form of other Magitek units, crushed in the battle trying to defend their city. ATA's and fourth-gens alike had fallen to the power of elemental beams, and they were probably not the last.

The walls had been blown apart by a large force, much greater than a single division. Clarkson shook his head sadly and turned away from the city. Soldiers perhaps, but monsters nonetheless. He doubted Fanshaw would ever recover, not after a slaughter like this. It was now a ghost town and would remain so until the end of time.

"Clarkson," Locke caught his attention.

"I was just thinking about the city," the blond haired soldier turned away from the ruins left by the civil war. They were still well ahead of Terra, who was helping Anna in place of Locke. "Why did you switch places with Terra?"

"Forget that," Locke lowered his voice. "Listen, there's something I think you should know about Anna." He gestured subtly towards the teenaged girl. Beads of sweat were running down her neck, the exertion along with injuries she bore was taxing her stamina. When Clarkson nodded at him to continue, Locke lowered his voice even more. "There's something wrong with her, it's just a feeling, but I swear she hates us."

Clarkson straightened. He casually glanced back at Anna, who was hobbling beside Terra without some much as a whimper despite how tired she was. "Locke," he said. "Are you aware what she's been through?"

Locke nodded sadly.

"I think there's a very good reason why she hates us, but it's not our fault we were born this way," Clarkson continued. He paused, thought about the situation and sighed. "Tell Sherwood anyhow, he should know about this."

Locke narrowed his eyes. That, he was not going to do. He had made a promise and knowing what Sherwood was...

They kept low and used what hills were available around the countryside to keep out of sight. Locke returned to watching over Anna protectively, while Clarkson joined Sherwood at the very front. They were almost to the tree-line now and Fanshaw was far behind them.

Sherwood glanced east. The sun hung above the horizon, its light visible through the mountains of Strachan. A cold mist could be seen hanging in the air. "We're late," he announced.

"The Colonel won't mind," Clarkson grumbled. His eyes wandered across the woods in front of them, only about five minutes away. "Let's-"

"Get down!" Terra screamed.

Surprised, Locke threw himself and Anna to the ground. They hit the snow painfully while Clarkson and Sherwood instinctively drew their weapons instead.

A ball of fire smashed into the ground in front of them. Snow vaporized on impact and a ball of steam exploded into the air while a shockwave slammed both Imperial soldiers onto their backs.

Terra could sense them now; they had been hiding their presence from her by magic. There was a Magitek Knight out there! Flames danced from her fingers and the power inside her began to sing its song. She gritted her teeth, resolved to resist the seduction, when something... dark invaded her scans of surrounding area. She spun around and almost reeled from the darkness, the overwhelming disease-like taint that had spread unchecked. It had been like a predator, Terra had seen it slowly encroach despite all the healing magic. Then in the chaos of battle, as fear gripped the heart of the weak, it closed its deadly trap.

"Locke!" Terra screamed. She had to warn him!

A second ball of fire flew right through the smoke at her. Terra brought up a protective shell a heartbeat before it engulfed her. The fireball exploded upon her shield and flames licked at her arms; the yellow aura could not been seen in the sheer ferocity of the inferno. A second column of fire screamed towards her and added to the blaze, angry red flames hungrily devouring the little air that remained between it and a young magic-wielding woman. Steaming hot mist found her exposed wrists between cloak and gloves. Terra screamed out in pain and almost lost control of her shields.

The inner power threatened to overwhelm her and Terra was very close letting it rush to the surface. Here she was: barely fighting off magic from her own elemental domain, scant moments from being burned into ashes, and she was holding back. She gritted her teeth in anger. She had been shamed when Norris had noticed her weakness, how she had almost gotten herself and Locke killed because she wasn't willing to kill a monster. A monster!

But still she held back. No matter how she rationalized it, Terra was afraid of her power surfacing again.

---

Locke could not believe how thick the smoke had gotten but no matter how difficult it had been to see, it was impossible to mistake the fireball traveling towards him and Anna. He realized very quickly how useless his shortbow was.

He saw how close the fireball was and without a second thought, he grabbed Anna and pushed her to the ground. He threw himself on top of her. He would protect her, even against this!

Flames exploded on impact as the spell exploded against the ground. Searing heat made Locke cry out in pain, and even as he was lifted by the shockwave of the exploding gases, he knew his cloak was completely aflame. He lost his bow as he smashed into the ground shoulder-first. A sudden spike of agony tore up his left arm while he continued to spin through the snow.

Sheer will kept him conscious. Locke rolled onto his front and pushed himself off the ground. He arm hurt something terrible -- the muscles felt like they were going to snap -- and he could feel something warm run down his face. Fortunately, rolling through the snow had snuffed out the flames.

Then he heard the screaming, not of fear, but of uncontrolled rage.

Locke fell back into the snow, hitting his head against something hard. The blow to his face no longer hurt as stars began to invade his vision. His head swam and dizziness was threatening to overtake him.

Her eyes were the only thing he could concentrate on, brown eyes full of rage, but also pain and fear. She was screaming at him but with the ringing noise in his head, Locke couldn't figure out what she was saying. Her brown hair had fallen in front of her face and she was gesturing wildly at him with a knife whose blade had been painted a dull black.

His knife!

Anna tried to stab him, and it would have succeeded had he not twisted out of the way. "What are you doing?" he shouted. Snow was in his eyes and as he tried to blink it away, his vision cleared only to reveal thick black smoke that obscured everything. He drew his remaining knife.

Something struck him in the midsection and Locke keeled over. The knife fell into the snow just as Locke did, the familiar cold wet embrace not at all comforting. Locke cried out in pain, Anna had stabbed him in the right arm. He rolled onto his back and saw that she was on top of him, his second unbloodied knife in her hands. Her eyes were wild with rage, and she was screaming incoherently.

This was not going to be easy.

---

The flames were now a wall that almost completely surrounded her. Standing in a puddle of melted snow that was beginning to boil, Terra heard Locke -- her friend -- scream out in pain.

The fear vanished as anger rushed to the surface. With a wave of her hand, the blazing inferno vanished and left behind a wall of steam and smoke. She stepped into the thick screen, focused at her task. She had to save her friends!

In front of her, two men cloaked in white appeared through the fog of steam. Swords raised, they screamed a battle cry and charged at her.

Terra took a step forward, unsurprised for she could feel sense the darkness now. She pointed towards the nearest. "Burn!" she snarled.

The man screamed as flames suddenly burst forth, called by the magic that devoured his flesh. He dropped his broadsword and fell to the ground as his clothes burnt and his skin bubbled. Black smoke rose from his body as he screamed in pain.

Terra turned to the second.

An arrow came from behind her and embedded itself deep into the chest of the man, ripping through his cloak and leather armor with ease. A second arrow landed squarely between his surprised eyes and he fell to the ground with a solid thunk.

Behind Terra, Sherwood nocked another arrow.

"Terra, get back!" Clarkson shouted as he grabbed her shoulder. He roughly pulled her back and met yet another assailant with his short sword. Blades clanged as metal clashed against metal. Clarkson's skill won the exchange and brought both swords into the snow. With a scream of rage he brought his shoulder into the man's midsection and both fell into the ground.

Terra had not even noticed the third man, instead focused on the mage behind them. The Magitek Knight was dressed all in grey, blending into the snow superbly, and was chanting something. He clutched at a white sash and pointed at her.

Instinctively, Terra brought one hand up, palm forward, and watched as a thundering blast of lightning shattered against her shield. The yellow shell faded and was replaced with green hue. Terra gritted her teeth as she intensified her efforts. Blinding yellow bolts exploded from the magical battle, liquid electricity jumping from the point of conflict and tearing apart the ground beneath.

This was the one that had attacked them. The one that had tried to kill her, Locke, Clarkson and Sherwood.

Terra brought her other hand up and smiled when the Magitek Knight's eyes widened in horror.

In the blink of an eye, it was over. His lightning spell crashed against Terra's shield and rippled through the air back at its creator. The man in grey was blown high into the air, his body already smoking from his own spell, and landed in the powdered snow with a sickening crunch.

With another arrow, Sherwood brought a fifth man to the ground. The archer scanned the area around them. He heard Locke's scream and ran.

---

Locke could feel the blood running down the side of his chest, but ignored it. He grabbed Anna and forced her back to the ground. She was tiny and ill-equipped to fight Locke's muscular advantage, but her ferocity and his injuries evened the odds.

"Stop it Anna!" Locke shouted. He twisted the knives out of her grasp. A moment passed between the two, and then Locke tossed aside his weapons. He couldn't kill her, he had promised to help her! Instead, he tackled her once more, trying to restrain the flailing girl.

It was futile though, and after wrestling for a few more moments, Anna had got to her feet. She screamed incoherently when suddenly, the mask of anger disappeared. She grunted twice, and then toppled to the ground.

Locke felt his fists tighten when he saw two arrows embedded deep in the back of Anna's skull.

---

Clarkson had pulled a dagger and held it against his attacker's throat. "Who are you?" Clarkson demanded, bringing the blade ever closer to the man's throat.

The man grunted back. "Die savage!"

Clarkson fell backwards as he clutched at his stomach. A knife stuck out of his leather armor.

Before the attacker was back on his feet, fire engulfed the man. He let out a deathly scream and fell to the ground, motionless.

Clarkson grunted as he pulled the knife out of his stomach. He tossed the blade to the ground nonchalantly and glanced up to thank Terra. He was embarrassed at being rescued by the woman he was supposed to be protecting, but better embarrassment than a fatal wound.

Terra was standing there staring at the blackened, impossible to recognize cadaver of the last ambusher. Her eyes were wide open in shock and she was trembling. She looked repulsed at the scene of death in front of her.

"What's wrong?" Clarkson called to Terra. Terra didn't respond and turned away so that he couldn't see her face.

Sherwood appeared on the scene. Both sleeves were still down, but the shortbow he held in his hand was nocked with another arrow.

"Last man's dead," Clarkson announced.

Sherwood coldly let go of the drawstring, his arrow embedding itself into the back of the smoking cadaver's skull. "Now he's dead," Sherwood replied as he drew another arrow.

Clarkson glanced up and returned the cool, collected look. "That was unnecessary."

Sherwood shrugged. "I'll keep watch while you treat that wound."

"It's minor, the chain shirt beneath the leather stopped the blade," Clarkson grumbled. Still, the metal links had twisted and drew blood, so Clarkson looked around for his pack.

"Sherwood!"

Clarkson's heart sank when he heard that enraged voice. The smoke from all the fireballs had cleared and as he turned, he could see that Locke was standing over the body of Anna, dead with two arrows in her. Clarkson swore colourfully.

Sherwood met Locke's angry glare with equal distaste. "Don't give me some self-righteous holier-than-thou speech, she was going to kill you and I expect nothing less than thanks for saving your life," Sherwood snapped.

Clarkson blinked in surprise.

"She was attacking me, yes," Locke growled. Dried blood was all over his face, and there was fresh trails running down his arms. "But you didn't have to kill her!"

"No? I suppose I should have tackled her and wasted my time while everyone else is dying? That would have definitely fulfilled my job -- my promise! -- to protect this team, wouldn't it?" Sherwood retorted.

That, surprisingly to Clarkson, silenced Locke.

"Next time Locke, finish your enemy the first chance you get. Had this been a bigger ambush, the time wasted while you wrestled with that crazy girl might have killed us all. That means me, Clarkson, and your little girlfriend over there," Sherwood pointed at Terra. "At least she did what was necessary without holding back. I suggest you do the same, unless you want Terra's death on your conscience as well," Sherwood turned back to Clarkson. "I'll check the surrounding area now."

Clarkson nodded swiftly. While the two had been arguing, he had pulled out bandages and a leather wrapped flask. The bitter blue concoction had gone down quick, he still grimaced at the horrible taste. His wound was now wrapped with clean white cloth and he stood without much pain. "Locke, how did she get the drop on you? You told me you had doubts about her," he asked.

That took Locke down another notch. The anger on his face had completely vanished and was replaced with a blank, pathetic look.

"Don't answer that, it's not important," Clarkson quickly added before things got further out of hand. He shook his head. "And we just lost our only link to figuring out what happened in Fanshaw too," he mumbled to himself.

Locke stared at the lifeless body of Anna for a while. When he finally tore his eyes away from the corpse of the young girl, he inadvertently made eye-contact with Terra several meters away. She was sweating from exertion and her fine clothes were slightly charred from magical-battle. Though her eyes were cast at he ground, there was something there he recognized: pain. Locke suddenly felt such shame that he turned away from her. There was sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He ignored the blood that had run down the length of his arm and dripped onto the snow. None of his injuries hurt as much as the realization of what had happened.

"Hey!" Clarkson interrupted his thoughts. "We better get out of here before their-" he pointed at the dead men around them, "-friends come for them."

Locke sheathed his bloodied blades in a despondent manner. He followed them slowly, overwhelmingly ashamed by the sheer number of mistakes he had made and his utter impotence at keeping promises. He shook his head, mortified.

How could it have been wrong to try to save Anna's life?

Sherwood couldn't possibly be right, Locke mumbled to himself. He couldn't.

Visions of Peace will be continued in The Twelfth Chapter - Tears of Ice

The Twelfth Chapter - Tears of Ice

Norris rubbed his eyes, frustrated and fatigued. He brushed the snow off of his beard and glanced back at Clarkson, who was reporting all that had transpired in Fanshaw. His team had definitely seen the lion's share of action.

"And this girl," Miles asked, "she's..."

"-dead," Clarkson finished. "Sherwood took her down with help from Locke."

Miles folded his arms and shook his head. The one-eyed warrior turned to Norris and waited for his commanding officer to say something. The younger soldier towered over Norris and offered a sharp contrast between the two senior officers. While Norris donned simple flowing robes, Miles wore Imperial brown leather and an armory strapped to his sides. Terra found herself comparing the pair to Strago and Cyan.

"Given her betrayal and the possibility of further ambushers, your actions were justified," Norris decided. He frowned and stroked his beard in thought. "What other information do you have on this girl, aside from her name?" Norris asked.

Clarkson cleared his throat. "Nothing, we were pressed for time," he answered with a hint of embarrassment.

"So we have a girl who was lucky to have been left for dead after the invaders finished with her. This child, of whom we know nothing but her name, was healed and saved from what was certain death. Then she snaps and tries to kill the very people that were helping her, coincidentally at the same time an unknown team of soldiers ambushes you ," Norris summarized. He raised an eyebrow. "I was hoping to find answers, not more questions."

Clarkson shifted his feet anxiously. Though it was a casual report, he was still standing under the scrutiny of both his commanders. Locke, Terra, and Sherwood were sitting patiently behind him, equally uncomfortable. The rest of the men were packing up camp and preparing for a trek back through the mountains.

Norris sighed. He leaned back against a bare tree trunk and tried to make sense of the situation.

"They were not expecting Terra," Miles said what Norris had been thinking. "They were not expecting anyone capable of wielding magic, or else they would never have attacked without better odds."

"Terra," Norris looked over at the half-Esper. "How skilled was the man in grey?" It was an important question; he needed to know what they were dealing with.

Terra shrugged. "I don't know."

"You have to have gotten something from him. Was he even close to your abilities?" Norris pressed on. "They might have been a scouting force that took matters in their own hands, or they were black-ops... or even worse."

Terra grumbled. "I'm not sure, I've definitely fought better," she answered vaguely.

"Norris, they couldn't have been just a mere scouting force," Sherwood put in. "They might have been a tiny force but they had a Magitek Knight with them. The grunts were quality too, one overpowered Clarkson in hand-to-hand."

Clarkson cleared his throat.

Norris sighed. He had made up his mind. "Miles," he grumbled.

"Yeah, alright," Miles answered. He already knew what the Colonel was planning and didn't seem to like the idea any better. He strolled off.

Norris turned to Terra. "Please, walk with me. The rest of you stay here," he ordered.

Terra shot a confused look at Locke, but he was staring into space. She got up and followed Norris into the thicket. "What is it, Norris?"

The old Magitek Knight pursed his lips together. "I wanted to thank you personally for what you did back there," he said as they strolled into a quiet spot near the center of camp. Footprints were everywhere as supplies had just been recently packed and moved uphill. "We haven't gotten along very well recently, I've been under a lot of pressure and I doubt you've been under any less." He turned to her and smiled warmly. "You saved two of my best men back there. I've been through a lot with Clarkson and Sherwood. There's a reason why I assigned them to protect you in Albrook."

Terra shifted her feet uncomfortably.

"I don't presume to know why you're here, if the General wouldn't tell me, I don't expect you to either. With your reputation as a Returner, I had been under the impression that you knew as much as I, and volunteered despite of that," Norris sighed deeply. "It's... easy to forget that you're young and a civilian. I don't think I've met anyone with magic that wasn't part of the armed forces, so it's something new for me as well."

"I'm not sure what to say," Terra muttered.

"Don't," Norris turned back the way the came. "Just thank you, for saving the lives of my men."

"You're... welcome," Terra answered. But before she remembered to ask about the strange dark aura, they had already gotten back. Everyone was waiting, even Miles, who had brought another soldier in tow. Terra took her seat again.

"Gossman," Norris addressed the newcomer. "You are in command, Major. Take the group to Gwendolen Ford and wait for us there."

"Yes sir," Gossman replied. "How long before I assume you're dead and take the good news back to Alysworth?" he quipped with a grin on his face.

"Two hours," Norris answered without even a hint of a smile. "Sherwood, I'd like to have a private word with you. As for the rest, you're dismissed."

"What's going on? Norris, I still need to talk to you about something," Terra stood. Everyone was getting up but nothing had been said. She had to ask Norris about what she had felt: that suffocating darkness.

"You can talk to him later, Miles and the Colonel are going to check the dead ambushers," Clarkson replied. He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her away from the commanding officers. "Something we should have done, but didn't have the time for," he said in a lower voice.

"Won't he need one of us to lead him back?" Terra asked.

Clarkson raised an eyebrow. "This is Colonel Norris Ferdinand."

"I hid our tracks," Terra said with a frown.

"Colonel Norris Ferdinand," Clarkson repeated himself with a smile. He turned his attention to his new commander.

"Clarkson, what happened to your cloak?" Gossman asked.

"I leant it to the dead girl," Clarkson replied. "I'll get another one from Anthony."

Gossman nodded. "Your entire team will need spares," he said. "Those unsightly burns from your little mage encounter are going to give us away. And while you're there, check in with Anthony. Who knows what else the Magitek Knight might have hit you with."

Terra turned away from the soldiers, feeling very out of place. She folded her arms around her stomach and walked through the temporary campgrounds. Her eyes took in the scenery about her; snow crystals twinkling in the sunlight on top of bare branches, icicles that sparkled in a rainbow of colors. The winter landscape would have been quite breathtaking.

But she was thinking of the man in grey that had attacked her. She could still see the look of surprise and terror on his face when she ended their little struggle with her superior strength. Terra licked her lips as she thought about the Magitek Knight. A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered how easily the power had flowed through her. She recalled how she had looked at the first man, his bloodshot eyes wild as he charged through the smoke with his sword held over his head, and willed his blood to boil. It had been so easy.

She wandered deeper into the woods, brushing past the bare bushes and frost-covered trees, and found solace inside the thicket.

Terra closed her eyes, sickened by what she had done. She had fought the urge, blocked out the whispers of power and had persevered. Yet still it had been there: Her birthright. Unimaginable power had rushed to the surface when she was in trouble and tried to overwhelm her reason. How could she keep fighting if it only seduced her when she needed it?

Her eyes snapped open, barely suppressing a yelp of surprise. Clarkson had draped a clean white cloak over her shoulders. "You look worried," he said.

Terra had been so deep in thought she didn't realize anyone else was nearby. "Sorry, I was just thinking."

"Then I'll get out of your way, but I just wanted to thank you for what you did back there. The man was stronger than I had expected and caught me off guard," he laughed sheepishly. "It's practically never happened, but I'm lucky that you were watching over me."

Terra glanced up at Clarkson's face. It was such a kind expression, yet he was thanking her for how callously she had incinerated someone with the power of her mind.

Her silence worried Clarkson. "Listen, I've only known you for a few weeks," he started. "It might just be a bad impression, but I get the feeling you're ashamed of killing back there," Clarkson squeezed her shoulder. "If that's true, don't be. You saved our lives and there's nothing wrong with that."

Terra brushed his arm away. "That's not the problem."

"Good. You have a powerful gift. I'm glad you're with us." Clarkson had misinterpreted her response. "I was also thinking about what you said earlier... about not expecting an apology from Sherwood. It's a little harsh, but I can see why you think that way about him. He's not exactly as friendly as the Colonel."

Terra shifted awkwardly. "It's only been the last week he's been like that. Before that, he was pretty nice to me," she answered, gladly taking the opportunity to ignore her conflicted thoughts.

"You have to understand that's just the way he is," Clarkson explained. His lip curled up in a smile. "It's funny really, how the two of us ended up in the same unit."

"Did you two know each other before?"

Clarkson nodded. "We were neighbours growing up," he answered. "Then his family moved to Tzen after it joined the Empire. Lots of opportunities there to get rich quick, I was jealous that my father never thought of doing it." He sighed deeply and put an arm on Terra's shoulder. "We were the lucky ones though, rebels hit the city real bad and his family was killed. Parents and a younger sister, all gone. I didn't even hear about it, the letters stopped coming one day and that was it."

The Imperial straightened and gestured around them. "I wanted to see the world, so I joined the army. Years later, I'm on a ship heading to Jidoor when he showed up," Clarkson laughed sadly. "We had both changed a lot since our youth, you should be glad that he was nice to you earlier. It's not common."

"So you two have worked together since then?" Terra asked. It explained why they seemed to know what the other was always thinking.

"Not at all! But after ISF was disbanded, the Colonel created a team based in Albrook and we were both chosen. Small world, right?"

Terra shrugged. "I guess."

"He's never been the same though, I miss the days back in Eggleston. Then again, I can't blame him," the smile vanished from his face. "It's hard not to change when you lose everything you care for, and everyone that you ever loved. You can understand that, can't you?"

Terra swallowed. "Of course," she lied.

"Great," Clarkson patted her on the back. "And don't worry; I'll leave some hints with Sherwood to treat you better. He's probably stressed out trying to protect everything he can."

---

Norris pressed his lips together.

Miles was behind him, looking around nervously. In distance were dark clouds, but for now they were in the open under bright sunlight. In addition, they were within sight of the once-formidable walls of Fanshaw. The winter sun shone upon the fields of snow and bright light reflected from the vast plains until they were absorbed by the black walls surrounding the city. They were in the open and he didn't like it.

"Miles, I know her," Norris said quietly.

Miles shrugged, knowing that Norris would not see him. His superior was crouched on the ground, concentrating on the scarred face of Anna. Miles checked that his knives were close at hand. Something did not feel right.

"I think we're in a lot of trouble," Norris continued. The old man stood up quickly, scratching at the thick white beard on his chin.

"So who is she?" Miles asked. He didn't really care. Something else was bothering him. His eyes wandered across the snow, taking note of where its smooth, undisturbed flatness was broken by the chaos of battle. The fight had been there. He could see a myriad of footsteps, telltale signs of struggles on the ground, blood spilled onto the snow, and puddles of now-solid ice where magical flames had burned.

Norris mumbled to himself as he continued to scratch his chin. "Her name is Anna Miriam," he declared.

Miles spun around. "Miriam?" he echoed in surprise.

"Yes, I take it you've heard the name," Norris' eyes wandered across the young girl's facial scars. She had been through a lot, more than any child that young should have been. His heart ached for her even if she had tried to kill his men.

"Even us grunts hear rumours pretty quickly," Miles growled. "The stories of Mistress Miriam, or so she was called in my unit, were pretty popular because they were so outrageous."

Norris nodded unconsciously. He knelt back down and gently closed Anna's eyes. She would be asleep for eternity now. There was no need for them to stay open.

"So this is her daughter or something? I didn't think the rumours were true, but if you're talking about them..." Miles trailed off.

Norris covered Anna's face with the bloodied hood of Clarkson's cloak. "Yes," he answered absently. "The Emperor, despite preaching chastity and morality, had a child out of wedlock."

"Funny that you would know something like that," Miles remarked.

"Secrecy was only second to ensuring their safety and for both, the Emperor asked favours of his best Magitek Knights," Norris answered as he drudged up long buried memories. "I just happen to be one of those."

Miles found himself staring back at Fanshaw and thinking about the abominable scene in the city center. Whatever bothered him had been there as well, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Norris stood up. "Anna was a strong girl," he said softly. "She took after her mother: intelligent, beautiful, quick to learn and impossible to keep caged up. The Emperor had entrusted the two with a great gift." He turned to Miles. "Anna would never be anywhere without her mother. That means Drummond was here for Miriam's Gift."

"And that's what's so troublesome?" Miles asked half-heartedly.

"That gem box is a magical artifact," Norris grumbled. "I have no idea what's the extent of its powers, but Drummond has some of the most powerful Magitek Knights on his side. It's quite possible they know something about it that we don't," he cursed colourfully. "For every answer found we end up with two more questions. This is starting to piss me off."

Miles looked down at the charred remains of one of the ambushers. It was the first time he had seen a body of their attackers! He bent down and rolled the cadaver onto its back so he could the face of the enemy.

His hands passed through empty air.

Miles' eyes widened. "Forget Miriam's Gift," he growled. "That's not trouble," he said as he realized what was concerning him.

Norris took a deep breath and turned away from the dead girl. "What do you mean?"

"We've been fooled. The bodies Norris," Miles kicked the cadaver at his feet. His foot passed effortlessly through the illusion. "They've been dragged away just like in the city," Miles growled.

Norris scanned the empty area. He swore, angry at himself for being distracted by his memories of the past. "Someone's been here," he said as he continued to look around. No footsteps or any other signs anyone else had been at the site of battle. "The same ones that attacked Fanshaw, if this ritual is any indication," he added.

They hadn't met anyone while following Terra's trail though. Norris had taught the girl how to hide their tracks, but even then there were ways of scrying through the magical trickery. The illusions meant Magitek Knights and that...

They both broke into a run for Gwendolen Ford.

---

Cyan growled and tipped over his king.

"Checkmate," Relm grinned as she mentally let go of the white knight, a soft blue light trailing behind it. The chess piece dropped back to the old board and teetered for a moment before stabilizing. "That makes six in a row," she beamed.

Cyan could feel his ears redden. For the past few days, he had played handicapped, though he didn't tell Relm that. The young girl quickly caught on to his strategies though, and as loss after loss mounted, Cyan had finally decided to hold nothing back.

His black king was still rolling on the board.

"Infuriating," Cyan grumbled. "Perhaps you cheated while my back was turned, I'm sure your magic is up to that task," he faked a sore loser's attitude. Relm had purposely used blue trailing light to show exactly what she was doing with her spells.

Relm frowned. "I won fair and square," she pouted and folded her arms. "Now you promised!"

Cyan sighed. Inwardly, he was impressed with how quickly Relm had grown in the game. She had an analytical mind that seemed to always stay a step ahead of him. It was incredible, and Cyan felt a sense of pride whenever he looked at the blond-haired girl. Owain had been much the same way, far smarter than his age would suggest.

"You promised!" Relm repeated. She had taken his pause as refusal.

Cyan growled again. He stood up and walked over to Paisley, who was lounged in an old wicker chair reading. The young man looked up, an expression of surprise on his face. He had been so intent on his book that he didn't notice Cyan's approach.

"If I could borrow a dagger," Cyan asked.

Paisley narrowed his eyes. "What for?" he asked. The soldier was clearly uncomfortable with the notion of giving Cyan any weapon. The Knight's longsword laid outside, probably covered with a layer of snow now. Both Paisley and Irving had gradually let Cyan visit as long as he wanted, though they never allowed him to stay the night. They had grown comfortable with each other's presence.

"I lost," Cyan answered vaguely.

Paisley frowned. He fidgeted in his seat.

Relm got out of her seat and rushed over to the two men. She grinned mischievously. "I won again, so I get a lock from his ponytail!"

"'tis no ponytail," Cyan grumbled.

Paisley sighed. "Well I'm ignoring enough orders as is. I can't give you a weapon, Cyan. Perhaps the razor blade would be enough?"

Relm frowned. "It won't cut right and the hairs will be all frayed," she complained.

"Sorry kiddo, I just can't do it," Paisley answered. He lifted his book and continued reading.

"Bah! What a fuddy-duddy," Relm yelled. She stormed to the other end of the cottage in frustration, though considering how small the cottage was, the statement was easily lost.

Cyan watched Paisley carefully. The young man had made another mistake today. He was a good actor, good enough that Cyan was almost fooled into complacency. But his initial assessment had been correct.

Paisley was an assassin.

He could act unassuming, and the boyish unbecoming looks made him easy to ignore. But his eyes were too sharp, he moved too quickly at times and there was an air of decisiveness around him. Irving was a mass of muscle and probably a decent warrior, but Paisley was a devious man and the true danger. He planned ahead, trying to deceive Cyan with carefully calculated mannerisms.

Donnach had tried to mislead Cyan as well. He had ignored Paisley and given orders direct to Cyan, as if he didn't trust Paisley enough to explain the rules. It was another dishonest, shrewd, but artful play. Cyan expected no less from an Imperial soldier as elite as Donnach.

Yes, this was a game. Cyan had watched it unfold about him. The disappearance of General Meras aboard her ship the first morning after their pact was struck, the relocation of Relm to this supply depot near the frontlines, the escort that Brigadier Starson had led, their journey from Tzen to the southernmost reaches of a province that bore the same name, even the things he had seen while riding in the Ninth Army. Everything had been carefully calculated.

The question was whether Cyan could figure out what the point of this game was. It was the only important point that he didn't understand, the treacherous Imperials had hidden that very well from him. Their deceitfulness was a skill finely-honed.

But as each day passed, Cyan's plan to rescue Relm and leave this god-forsaken place became clearer in his mind. Soon, very soon, he would be able to act.

Until then.

"Dear one, we shalt make due with the razor," Cyan called out to the pouting girl. He turned his back to Paisley, but only physically. Cyan Garamonde, Knight of Doma, never let his guard down in the presence of Imperials.

---

Terra found herself at the rear of their small group. A few men had ahead of them, to scout the area, while the rest slowly trudged their way through the thick snow with the majority of their equipment. Considering how long they had already spent in the mountains and how long they planned on staying behind enemy lines, the great amount of gear they were carrying was not unexpected. However, with Miles and Norris both gone, as well as the men scouting, Terra found herself trudging with twice the load she was used to.

Not that she was carrying anything truly heavy, but she was definitely slowing down and beginning to feel aches throughout her back. She lifted the pack higher and willed herself to walk a bit faster.

Her eyes wandered across the backs of Sherwood and Locke. The latter was dragging his feet behind Sherwood, staring at the ground and blindly following footsteps in the snow. Locke...

"How are you holding up?"

Terra glanced over at Clarkson. The blond soldier had fallen back and was now in-stride with her. He looked concerned; a frown creased his hooded face. His muscles flexed as he lifted his own pack higher.

"I'm fine," Terra replied. Her eyes returned to the trail, carefully walking past the frozen remains of fallen trees. "Gossman gave me the lightest pack there was."

Clarkson chuckled. "Gossman didn't even want to do that much. He had to swallow his pride quite a bit to ask you to help out. It's not like him to ask a woman for help."

"Why's that?" Terra asked. Anything was better than doting on what had happened in Fanshaw, she thought.

Clarkson lowered his voice. "Gossman has a soft spot for you," he winked. "He's got a daughter back home, so he's been going out of his way to make things easier on you. He normally doesn't bother with carrying the heavier packs, the big shield of his is enough to worry about and he's used to ordering around the grunts. But we're short a few shoulders and thinning out the scouting curtain just wasn't an option."

"He's been making things easier for me?" Terra echoed. This was news to her. Gossman had not exactly been friendly towards her; she barely knew who he was! Only Sherwood and Clarkson had gone to lengths to befriend her, and Sherwood had almost killed her. Clarkson, on the other hand, had been a protective shadow ever since she stepped foot in Albrook.

"Not so loud," Clarkson admonished her. He looked up, but they were quite away from the group and in no danger of Gossman overhearing them. "Yes, he's been busting our balls most of the way here. The Colonel's given standing orders for us to treat you like one of the men, but Gossman's gotten his way unofficially," Clarkson grinned. "Normally that doesn't happen -- the Colonel's word is law -- but it's difficult to treat you like a man when you're obviously not one."

Terra frowned. "Gossman hasn't exactly been kind to me."

Clarkson shook his head. "Like Sherwood, he's better at doing than speaking. Amazing that he found himself a wife, really. Although I think she was the one that chased him down, if Miles can be trusted with his stories," Clarkson laughed lightly.

Terra smiled back. "It seems like you know everyone here," she said.

"Everyone except you and Locke," Clarkson pointed out.

"Well I don't know anything about you either," Terra replied. "You talk about everyone but yourself."

Clarkson scoffed. "Maybe a deal could be made here."

The trail they took curved around a great peak of rock that jutted out of the ground and stretched upwards. The path twisted away and started down a steady decline. Their footing became treacherous and Terra found herself concentrating on her steps rather than the conversation with Clarkson. A bead of sweat ran down her back and she felt somewhat dizzy. Her pack seemed to be getting heavier. Terra wiped her sweat-covered brow.

"Anyhow," Clarkson said. "Do you know what's wrong with your friend? He's been abnormally quiet, ever since the fight."

Hearing those words from Clarkson made Terra realize that something really was wrong with Locke. It wasn't because he was an Imperial soldier, although she admitted that compassion was unexpected. Instead, it confirmed that her feelings were actually substantiated. Terra looked ahead at the shapes of the rest of the group. They had fallen quite far behind because of her fatigue. "Locke," she cried out. When there was no answer, she increased her pace and shouted again: "Locke!"

There was still no answer. Terra grumbled under her breath and forced her legs to move even faster.

"Wait!" Clarkson grabbed her shoulder suddenly and she nearly fell backwards.

"What?" she asked. She shifted her pack to ease the weight on her shoulders.

"Are you hiding our tracks with magic?" Clarkson asked.

Terra nodded, slightly confused by his sudden change of conversation. "Every so often I cast a spell to-"

"Did you just cast one?" Clarkson cut her off.

"No, why?"

"Then why are there no footsteps in front of us?" Clarkson pointed forward.

Terra looked in front of them, now very confused. Her eyes wandered through the peaceful forest, and returned to meet Clarkson's. Something felt... off. Her hands weaved concentric circles in the air as she whispered a spell as quickly as she could.

Clarkson felt a strange tingle that began at his neck and traveled down to his feet. "What was-" he stopped abruptly. "Where did-"

Terra raised her head.

The shapes of their friends were gone.

"-they go..." Clarkson finished. His question trailed off, as the answer was no longer important.

"We've been spelled," Terra explained. She glanced over her shoulder at Clarkson apprehensively. "Some sort of illusion or something, I don't know. But only Norris is a mage and he-"

Clarkson dropped his pack to the ground, the bag smashing into the thick snow with a solid thump. He grabbed her shoulder. "Drop it," he ordered as he drew his sword with the other hand.

Terra let go of her pack. "But I don't sense any-"

Clarkson grabbed her hand and pulled her into the thicket.

---

Gossman's eyes followed the cliff wall until it seemed to stretch into the now-overcast sky, briefly admiring how high it was. The cliff was on their right side, they had followed an old trail that cut quite near the Strachan mountains. Flakes of snow drifted onto his face, another winter storm had made its way past the mountains. Gossman leaned against a nearby tree, pieces of bark splintering apart as he put pressure on his gloved hand.

His sudden pause had stopped the entire group. They waited patiently, most grateful for the rest.

"We should be nearing Gwendolen Ford," Gossman announced. "From what I remember of this place, it's open and visible from the woods around it. I don't want to-"

Locke had almost bumped into Sherwood, still staring dejectedly at the ground while following their footsteps. Sherwood glared at him and Locke mumbled an apology under his breath.

Annoyed at the interruption, Gossman turned to the rear and growled at the two.

Aware of his surroundings again, Locke looked around for Terra. When he didn't see her, his heart skipped a beat. "Where's Terra?" he asked.

Sherwood narrowed his eyes when he realized Locke was right. "Clarkson was just with her, only a couple paces behind us," he stated. He had instinctively dropped his pack and shook his sleeves, ensuring they had not caught in the trigger mechanism of his crossbows.

Gossman felt a tingle down his spine. It was a sense of imminent danger, something that had saved his life many a time even if he didn't understand why it happened.

"Terra?" Locke shouted. His eyes darted from side to side, panic gripping his heart more and more as each second passed.

"Quiet!" Gossman snapped. "Do you want to announce to the entire world where we are?"

Locke ignored him and dropped his pack. He started back the way they came, first walking at a quick pace and then breaking into a run.

Sherwood raised his arm and pointed at Locke. His finger hovered above the trigger at his palm, but he did not fire. While the girl he could understand, the fact that Clarkson had also disappeared was certainly worth investigating. He lowered his arm and watched Locke run off.

Gossman looked up above them again. There had been a strange noise above. It had been the original reason why he had stopped. His eyes scanned the trees above when he finally noticed it.

"Avalanche!" he cried out.

They were all well-trained men, each having plenty of years of experience fighting in the mountains. That one word was more than enough to snap five relaxed men into action, each immediately dropping the heaviest of their gear and charged towards safety. Deep enough into the wood and the trees would block the torrent of snow. They had little other options without their Colonel.

But even as the first flakes of snow drifted onto Sherwood's face, the brown-haired archer stared into the onslaught of rushing snow with little fear. His sharp eyes had caught something within all that white death.

Grey robes. Flowing grey robes.

In a breath, his shortbow was drawn and an arrow from his quiver cocked. He closed his right eye as he aimed. There was no question about it; there was another Magitek Knight. Just like the one that had nearly killed him and Clarkson.

"Sherwood you idiot!" Gossman shouted.

Sherwood barely heard his friend. His concentration was great, but it was the roar of the mountain that made it impossible for him to hear anything. The mass of white snow was making it difficult to get a shot, but he held steady, waiting for that brief window of opportunity.

"Move it Lieutenant!" Gossman screamed his order. His voice seemed to be closer this time.

Sherwood ignored his commanding officer and stared into the face of death patiently. Snow built up on his arms and face, and he blinked rapidly to clear away the flakes that fell into his eyes. He was calm, serene. A white wall was all he saw now. There was no sky, no mountains, nor forest. It was just him... and an aging man in grey robes.

His patience had been rewarded.

He felt something crash into his midsection, something warm and moving fast: Gossman. The trees lurched sickeningly and the ground was suddenly the only thing he could see. He could feel a massive shield, strapped against the Gossman's back, press painfully against his chest.

Far above them, the creator of the avalanche had been foolishly admiring his handiwork. He had stared down the mountain, spellforms fading from his fingertips, while he laughed at all he unleashed. The small dot was impossible to see through the torrents of snow, and fear would grip his heart when he at last saw it. An arrow shot true embedded itself between wide eyes with a solid thunk.

Sherwood let himself smile briefly. Then his world was filled with snow.

---

They came out of the trees and down the hills with skillful agility, cloaked in white just like them. Their movements were quick, precise and filled with confidence despite treacherous footing. Weapons were drawn as they cut through the woods and neared their prey.

Clarkson didn't hold back. His sword drew blood quickly and decisively while his other hand pulled free the throwing knives strapped to his chest. "Terra, stay behind me!" he managed to shout between wide swings.

They were Imperial. Elite soldiers, his eyes noticed the familiar armor but strange embroidered sigils. He didn't recognize anything save their ranks, but it was a mystery that would have to wait. He grunted in effort as he threw a knife, catching another man in the throat.

Terra could feel the rush of power respond to the great darkness that had suddenly surrounded them, whatever had cloaked their presence was there no longer. She held back, still apprehensive. But as Clarkson downed two more men without seeming to affect their odds, she threw out her hands. A blast of fire came from her fingers, devouring a column of frozen trees and catching two unlucky men in its wake.

Clarkson pulled Terra back as an arrow flew by them. He brought his sword around and met another, the clang of metal ringing clearly in the once silent forest. His muscles burned in effort as he won the contest of strength one-handed, driving his opponent's sword into the air and cutting the man's throat with precision.

There were too many of them! At least another dozen were rushing headlong, and archers were hidden somewhere. Another arrow flew by his face, embedding itself into a tree trunk.

"The Sophis!" their screams clarified into words as they neared.

Clarkson stuck out his leg and tripped another, killing him before he hit the ground. Clarkson grabbed Terra again just as another searing blaze left her hands. The side of her face was lit with red and orange light as the spell detonated in the midst of their ambushers, sending them scattering and echoing throughout the countryside.

"Up the cliff! Find something defensible!" he said between gasps. Trees flew by as they ran and twice Clarkson nearly tripped over frozen roots. "Backup will come," he said as a volley of arrows sailed past their fleeting forms.

Terra nodded, concentrating as she took another glance behind them. "There's a Magitek Knight," she discerned as she struggled to keep up with Clarkson. She had felt the telltale signs despite the cold blackness of all the men that chased them. Her heart pounded, not from exertion but with fear. The situation was dire and she knew there would be little choice: she had to morph without her father's restraint.

"Backup will come," Clarkson repeated as they charged past outcroppings of rock. "Just keep blowing up stuff and they'll find us!"

Terra nodded grimly, all too aware that an arrow had just grazed her cheek.

They were faster than their pursuit, driven by desperation and determination. Terra threw up spell after spell, warding away arrows and knocking over trees in hopes of delaying the mass of soldiers behind them. Their blind flight through the countryside led them into the deep wilderness, steadily uphill and in some unknown direction. Clouds churned overhead, but the threat of a blizzard was almost welcome!

Suddenly, dense forest was replaced by a clearing. Clarkson slipped and fell, crashing into the ground and sliding on hidden ice. Terra was right behind him, but just barely maintained her balance.

"A stream?" Clarkson pulled himself back up. The sound of pursuit was still behind them.

"There must be dozens back there!" Terra gasped as she tried to catch her breath. She wiped at the sweat that had been getting into her eyes. "We need to keep moving."

"We'll follow the stream downhill. We weren't far from the Ford and this will definitely get us there," Clarkson pointed along the thin clearing that ran between thick needle coverage. "Gossman will be there..."

"And what if he's not?" Terra asked.

"Then at least we know where we are!" Clarkson growled. "If we keep going, there's no telling where we'll end up. No supplies and lost in the mountainside, that's not the way I plan on dying."

Terra swallowed back her fear. "They're coming closer," she whispered with her eyes closed. "I can feel them... the void..."

"Then which way?" the blond Imperial soldier asked.

Terra's eyes snapped open. She was focused, determined... confident.

"Downhill."

---

"You're safe with me!"

Locke scrambled through the thicket, half-running and half-falling as he made his way through the cursed forest. Needles had managed to find every exposed part of his body, but he tolerated the pain. He could hear himself in the Narshe caverns again, and those words drove him downhill more than gravity did.

"I won't leave you until your memory returns!"

No. Not even if her memory returned. He would not make the same mistake again!

Locke swore as he tripped, the underbrush was deceivingly thick and the deep snow was no benefit. He rolled on the ground, a spray of snow catching him in the face. He spat out ice-water, only dimly realizing that he had lost his cloak and pack.

An explosion in the distance, but Locke knew it wasn't too far away. He turned towards the sound and saw the smoke above the curtain of trees. Smart girl, he thought as he began his sprint anew. He would save her. He would protect her.

He gave her his word.

---

The frozen stream had become a raging river and what ice there had been quickly broke apart. They had run alongside of it, at one point jumping down an icy cliff some thirty men high. Terra's array of spells had made it possible for them to get as far as they had, but she had been tired and Clarkson was no less fatigued.

The river would suddenly grow in width and that had made a shallow crossing possible through the cold waters. A well-trodden path ran through the area, tall river banks making any other crossing a terrible challenge. Gwendolen Ford was a well-known landmark in the region.

It had been a mistake to go there.

Clarkson felt another arrow tear through his arm. He gritted his teeth and ignored the pain. He screamed in effort as he killed again. Blood ran down the sides of his face -- Clarkson was no longer sure if it was his or not -- as he let go of his sword. It was deeply embedded in the man's chest; there was no time to remove it.

Terra gritted her teeth and struggled to cast another spell. Her ragged gasps for air became more desperate; they had been forced steadily back against the same cliff they had dropped down. With a high river bank on one side and raging river on the other, they were boxed in.

Everything was hazy; it felt like she was trying to breathe underwater. She struggled to stop the man charging from atop the river bank, barely setting him on fire before he jumped into their midst. Men were climbing down the cliff! Fire flew from her fingertips and incinerated the closest.

She took a quick glance behind her as she reluctantly drew the dagger Farin had given her. Clarkson was stumbling from one foot to the other, covered in blood, and slowly running out of weapons. His axe was gone, the swords at his side left in the chests of his enemies, his belt of throwing knives empty.

A red sheen invaded the sides of her vision. The power cried out for release; for Righteous Justice!

Terra hesitated.

A sudden blow knocked the air out of her, and then she was doubled over desperately trying to breathe. Brown leather surrounded her. She pointed at them, a spell on the tip of her tongue, when pain tore up her arm and brought her to her knees.

"Peer David, finish off the savage. The Patrician is already displeased by our delay. Peer Daniels, secure the Sophis."

Terra blinked. Her vision was filled with stars and her ears were ringing. The rush of power pounded her head. She struggled to make out the images before her. Why did was it so dark during daytime? The blackness was suffocating.

There was one man, brown against a field of brown leather yelling... was he screaming at her? The sounds did not form words... but... she pushed herself off the ground with all her strength. The pain was excruciating, but something-

Pain exploded throughout her body as a blow to the neck took her to the ground.

---

The world was a blur as Locke dove through the dense underbrush. His eyes flickered to and fro, concentrating on judging distances and avoiding obstacles as he charged through the thicket. It was no longer necessary to look for the tell-tale signs of magical flame; he could hear the sound of battle not far away.

A waterfall was ahead of him; he had gone too far upstream and nearly lost himself in the woods. But luckily, he had stumbled across a dozen trampled paths -- Terra's pursuers -- and gave chase with every fibre in his body. With legs burning from exhaustion, sweat dripping down his face and chest heaving with mouthfuls of air, he caught up with the rearmost elements of the enemy.

Imperial soldiers.

Two died with arrows stuck in the back of their skulls before Locke realized he had pulled out his bow. Instinctively, he dropped into a roll. An arrow sailed over his head as he spun around and let loose his retort, catching his pursuer in the shoulder and dropping the soldier into the deep snow.

He could hear the sounds of battle. He knew it was her; it had to be her!

His lungs felt like they were on fire, but still he charged forward. The trees in the forest, white and pristine, flew by as he ran. The wall of wood that had stretched on for miles suddenly vanished, replaced by thin air and the crash of a waterfall.

Below him, Locke could see Terra immobile -- she couldn't be dead! -- upon the ground. A dozen soldiers had descended the precipice and caught both her and Clarkson from behind. The valiant lone warrior was covered in blood, separated by some dozen paces away from Terra and surrounded by yet another squadron.

"Terra!" Locke screamed.

Adrenaline surged through his veins, the fires within burned for another reason! His bow sang, three arrows away before the first had found its target.

But it was too late. A single man towering over the rest drew a wickedly curved scimitar and with a single swing, took Clarkson's head off.

The tall man with the curved blade ducked under Locke's arrow. "Kill him," he pointed up the waterfall.

His order was unnecessary. A storm of arrows was already flying towards Locke as he dived behind cover. He gritted his teeth in pain as one of the many arrows ripped through his side. His eyes watered in pain.

"And make sure she's unconscious! The Patrician wants her alive!" Locke heard the tall man shout.

Terra... he was talking about Terra. She was still alive! Clarkson was gone, but she was alive.

A storm of memories rushed him. He could see his failures, his pathetic displays and his impotence. His arms shook and his eyes widened. He had failed in Narshe, in Thamasa, aboard the Floating Continent... Tzen, the Wilds, Strachan, and Fanshaw.

Anger gripped him and the decision was made before a question asked.

Locke tore an arrow out of his shoulder. He stood up and without hesitation fired two arrows at once. Two men dropped, arrows between the eyes. His arms worked on their own, his arrows finding the heart or skull each time as he took down the men firing back at him. Ten, eleven... he reached into his empty quiver, swore, and then for his pack.

The pack was gone.

Locke drew his knives and jumped.

Arrows peppered his leather armor and cut his flesh, but he was death incarnate. Locke landed in front of Terra -- spells subconsciously cast -- and charged headlong into the swarm. His knives slaughtered elite soldiers as if they were immobile rookies. He drew blood with each motion, his eyes wild as killed every single man that stood to harm Terra. He was only dimly aware that he was screaming. Parry and slash! Pivot and thrust! Blood splashed against his face and into his eyes as he spun beneath swords, dodged axes, and danced around pikes.

Atonement.

Reason had given way to base instincts. He smelled their fear. He heard them hit the ground. He felt the heat escape their bodies. He watched his knives pierce vital organs. He tasted the metallic spray of lifeblood.

He was the defender of the weak, dealer of righteous justice; the avatar of death. No one would stop him from fulfilling his promise.

And suddenly his knife hit metal, blade upon blade ringing. His off-hand met more resistance and Locke faced the tall man, vision crimson from the blood of his enemies.

He felt, rather than saw, the second curved blade. Locke did not falter as he felt the cold winter air upon his innards.

"Those were my best," the tall soldier sneered. "For a savage, that's impressive."

Blood was running down his chest, Locke could feel it. It was getting cold, terribly so. The world was spinning at an incredible rate now, but he could still make out shapes. There were still dozens of men around her.

Around Terra.

---

"TERRA!"

Terra raised her head. The ringing had stopped, and she vaguely knew that she was in deep trouble. She was cold -- very cold -- and her hands shook as she tried to get off the snowy ground. Her eyes focused and suddenly she found herself staring at...

Locke?

What was Locke doing here? Where was Clarkson? What...

Suddenly her eyes snapped open. Soldiers with weapons drawn, the crimson snow, a huge soldier with a wickedly curved sword sticking into...

"Locke!" she tried to scream, but her throat constricted in pain and she collapsed back into the snow. Her head smashed into something hard. Icy cold water -- melted snow from her own ragged gasps -- helped fight the dizziness. She ignored the protests from her muscles and pushed herself back up.

Just in time to see the tall man let go of a sword sticking through Locke's chest. A horrendous gash ran down the side of the soldier's face, and a dull-black knife stuck out of his shoulder. Blood ran down his leather armor. He gripped his other sword with both hands and held up above his head.

"Peer David," someone in grey -- a Magitek Knight -- was strolling towards the display. Terra could see the man cross the flash-frozen river. Unnumbered men in brown leather trailed behind him. "You are wasting time."

"Die, savage," the soldier named David sneered.

Terra froze as she watched the blade slash across Locke's throat. A spray of crimson blood met the once pure white snow, and Locke collapsed face-first into the ground. David thrust his sword through Locke's back and twisted.

The breath left Terra's throat icy cold. She didn't even feel the man grabbing her hair. Her mind repeated the sight of red spurting lifeblood from his throat, brown eyes rolling into the back of his head, and his collapse into the snow face-first. Then she saw again the blade through his chest. She saw Locke twitch as it cut through his vitals. She saw the blade twist. She saw it twist again, and again.

And again.

The world vanished in a red sheen.

---

Norris Ferdinand broke out of the woods and across the ford. He ran as fast as he could, homing in on the thickest shroud of darkness. The spells that had physically supported him had long since run out, but he arrived at the scene of battle only slightly winded, but quite weary.

He stopped in his tracks.

Upstream, countless men lay in the snow, dead or dying. The snow was more crimson than white, more liquid than solid, but Norris ignored the gruesome scene and instead his arms flung forward. Lone sentries flew into the forest as he charged up the frozen river.

Numbers were against him, but they were all grouped near the waterfall and paid no heed to him. A Magitek Knight, dozens of soldiers and an equal number of corpses. Two of those corpses looked all too familiar, and there was Terra! Norris pulled up his sleeves when he felt something from her: an aura that sent shivers down his spine.

A noiseless scream hit his ears and his vision exploded into stars. He suddenly found himself on one knee, gasping heavily as he struggled to breathe. He forced his head up and saw that the Magitek Knight had also collapsed; the men around him extremely concerned.

"The Sophis!" the Magitek Knight screamed.

Norris' eyes widened at those words.

The men around Terra were already in motion; the closest three had their blades drawn within an arm's length of her. One even held her long blond hair, his face a mask of anger as his fist flew through the air.

It never hit her.

A concussion of energy exploded around her. The shockwave of magic hit the men closest, their flesh searing off in a blinding flash of fire and smoke and blew their still burning skeletons into the air with more force than Norris had ever put into his own spells.

The remaining men charged, their blades pointed at her.

Before they took half a step, the air around Terra thickened and sparkled. Ice rippled through the ground, rising from the snow like peaks of mountains, twice the size of the largest man but sharper than any blade and ringed a deadly circle around Terra. The ice peaks exploded through the ground and formed a protective wall that continued to grow both higher and thicker. Mist exploded around her and shards of ice crashed to the ground. The fog hid the soldiers from sight, but they could still be heard. Above the trembling of the earth were the sounds of men dying; their screams of pain horrendous to the ears.

Then the mist dissipated. Not a single man had escaped, each impaled by the peaks of ice as they shot from the ground. The soldiers were all dead, lying lifelessly upon each translucent pillar of frozen might.

"What the..." Norris whispered.

She rose above the wall of ice, now the height of five men, with an aura of white light surrounding her. Great feathered wings flapped slowly, lifting her lithe form into the air. Purple hair fluttered upwards, answering not to the wind but the magical aura surrounding her.

Behind her, the frozen waterfall shattered.

Deadly red eyes turned their rage on the Magitek Knight and his men, even as they scrambled to safety from the outburst of water. Her lean arm pointed a single finger at them.

Every single soldier, most frozen in absolute terror, was blown backwards into the air. Their flesh departed their skeletal frames in mid-flight and before they hit the fence of trees upon the riverside, everything vaporized into nothingness. The still-frozen river imploded, a spray of deadly ice-shards smashing against Norris's yellow-hued shield.

Only two men were still standing, the Magitek Knight and a tall soldier with blood pouring down his face.

The Magitek Knight threw his hands out and a blast of thunder rippled forth. Blinding, twisting knots of electricity smashed into the white form. The Magitek Knight poured all his power into the spell, bolt after bolt of explosive magical energy ripping into an undefended opponent. Flames erupted and devoured the trees surrounding her, smoke so thick that it obscured the entire waterfall.

The storm of flame and lightning continued for an unholy length of time before the man in grey cried out in pain. He stumbled to the ground, exhausted from his efforts, but still readying another spell.

Red eyes left their gaze from the tall soldier to the crumpled mage. Smoke rose from crisp remains of trees around her thin white form, but not a single scratch could be seen on her. The cliff face had been melted inwards, but her skin was still flawless and smooth. Her hair continued to flutter upwards. Her wings flapped slowly. Her breath was calm and collected.

Retribution.

The Magitek Knight screamed as his body burst into flames. His grey robes melted into his skin and his flesh bubbled into thick black smoke. His scream became a gurgle as the blood within his veins boiled. He fell and hit the ground as little more than a blackened skeleton. Crimson vapor rose from still burning remains.

The last remaining soldier glanced down at his dead friend and then looked back up. He did not notice the bones turning to ash. Instead, he reached into his armor and threw a cluster of five knives. His eyes widened in terror as all five knives stopped in midair, hovering but a breath away from naked, pale white flesh.

A single finger pointed at the cluster of knives and immediately, the blades melted. Their handles were carried away by the river as five globs of liquid metal combined to form a sphere.

"Unholy beast," the scarred soldier whispered.

Red eyes returned to the soldier, their hardened gaze burning deep into his soul.

Metal shot out of the liquid sphere, a single round pole that pierced through the soldier's throat. With a wave of her hand, the pole lifted the man off his feet, his screams of pain only silenced by the difficulty breathing. In the blink of an eye, the soldier found himself staring into the crimson eyes of death. She hovered in front of him, he held up by the shaft through his throat, her by her wings, and smiled.

A ripple traveled through the metal pole and left it a sharpened blade. A final, gut-wrenching scream of pain came before the soldier fell to the ground, his head split in half, and very dead.

---

There was no more darkness anymore. Her eyes looked past the smoking remains, barely worth the effort for her to cleanse, and focused a particular cadaver. The very sight of his corpse hurt her more than her enemies could have ever dreamed.

Terra landed in the snow as her wings vanished. She ran up to the corpse of Locke Cole and magic flooded to her fingers. Her knees hit the crimson snow before she cradled his head in her lap. Yellow light surrounded them, sparkles swirling about in a great magical updraft.

She screamed in anguish. Tears poured down her cheeks even as the draft strengthened, snowflakes joining the tornado that spiralled about her. Dead bodies of their ambushers were lifted into the air as the yellow aura intensified until it was blindingly bright. Snow melted into puddles of water that rippled without wind. Powerful magic, wielded for the most noble of causes, took its toil. But Terra's heart sank as she knew the truth.

She couldn't save him.

It was happening all over again! So what if he was already dead? Who cared if his heart had stopped beating minutes ago? She should have been able bring him back. She had the power!

But it was all slipping away from her. Just like in the chaos of the airship crash: Michals, the Lieutenant that had thanked her for her futile efforts; Davis, the pilot that had saved her life but she could not save him from the inferno's wrath; Marcus, the Captain that had trusted her, whose existence was snuffed out by her incompetence.

The tornado of magic died without ceremony, snow and cadavers stopped moving and fell back to the earth. Water turned to ice, ripples frozen in mid-motion. The yellow aura shimmered and distorted into a sickly green and even that faded away.

And Gau. Pure, innocent, and benevolent Gau.

Terra gritted her teeth in anger and called the red sheen forth, snow and trees vanishing as she fought in a crimson haze. Not again! Never again! The fires within burned with righteousness, seraphic energy at her beck and call! She stood between space and time and bent the laws of the universe to her will.

She could reverse this. The thread to his soul was still there, if only she could just...

Her vision cleared of the red fog against her own will. She cried out in frustration. Why couldn't she do this? Why couldn't she save Locke?

"Because you're afraid."

Terra spun around and found herself staring at an Esper. Its naked white form was wrapped by feathered wings, most angelic of dresses. Her purple hair draped down her back, more royal than any crown. Unnatural red eyes watched her with almost a playful countenance.

"You!" Terra cried out. Her hand pointed at the Esper. "You're the one that's stopping me!"

The Esper shook her head sadly.

"I know it's you!" Terra growled. "You're the one that whispers to me. You sing your song and beg me to take life after life! You're the beast I've fought and restrained! And now; now you're taking your vengeance. You're preventing me from saving Locke's life!" Terra threw herself at the villain, but found that she was frozen. She railed at the white monster instead, screaming curse after curse.

The Esper walked around her slowly, sighing and shaking her head from time to time. When she finally stood in front of Terra once again, Terra lashed out.

"You're the monster inside of me," she snarled.

"I am you."

"The other me!"

"No, I am you. But you won't accept that, will you?"

"Never!" Terra screamed. "Now let go of me!"

"Let yourself go."

Suddenly, Terra could move again. She spun around as the Esper vanished and reappeared behind her. Terra's face was a mask of hatred as she tried again and again to grasp the throat of the Esper, failing each and every single time. She came close once or twice, but always before her fingers closed to choke the life out of her, the Esper would disappear.

The Esper disappeared finally and appeared far away, sitting upon an ancient throne. She leaned back against ageless metal entwined in patters that shimmered with magical energy. Her arms rested upon the heads of two statues, beasts that Terra had never seen. Both were lion like, dark metal contrasted against blue and purple flames that danced from their backs. The Esper did not seem affected by the fire. Instead, she seemed to pity the green-haired woman standing in front of her.

Terra gestured at the monster. Air shimmered and wavered, but broke in a shower of blue sparks before it reached the throne.

"Look at you," the Esper pointed at her. "You hate yourself. You fear yourself. You've even begun talking to me like I'm someone else."

Terra screamed and blasted the Esper with everything she had. Fire, ice and lightning tore into the Esper and the combined magical domains lashed back in a blinding surge of energy. The elements were never meant to be commanded in such a manner and when they protested, the explosion engulfed the ancient throne and everything around it.

And when the miniature sun disappeared, the Esper was left standing unharmed. An elaborate spear rested against her shoulder, its shaft covered by concentric patterns of woven metals.

Terra dropped her arms, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

"Do you really think this will save him?"

She blinked. Locke... she glared at the Esper. "If I destroy you, I can save him," she said indignantly. "You're just monster that's hiding inside of me!"

"How easy that must be for you to say," the Esper sounded insulted.

Terra paused, confused. "What is that supposed to mean!"

The Esper gestured off to the side. Terra followed the outstretched arm. In the distance, she could make out vague shapes. A man towering over a seated woman, holding something round between his hands as he chuckled obscenely.

Terra gritted her teeth at the recollection of that moment. "How dare you show me that! Do you enjoy tormenting me? Do you enjoy showing me the worse moments of my life?"

The Esper shook her head sadly. "That was not the worst," she stated lifelessly.

"You're insane, I would know what the worst moment of my life is," Terra growled. Anger still flowed through her veins. This beast was stopping her from saving Locke, she knew it with all her heart.

"I'm insane? You're suffering from mental fatigue, you have head trauma and a mighty concussion, and finally, you're conversing with a figment of your imagination. I would say you're the insane one."

"You're not a figment of my imagination. I know exactly what you are. You've tried to seduce me for so long, tried to turn me into a murderous weapon so that you could wreak death and destruction on everything I hold dear! I imprisoned you and-"

"Imprison? You didn't do anything of the sort, child," the Esper gestured once more and somehow, they were back in Narshe. The homely wooden cabin was bathed in the flickering light of a fireplace. Arvis was nearby, and a vision of her past self stared at the old Narshe Returner blankly.

"I can't remember a thing..." a younger Terra whispered dejectedly.

"Don't worry. It will all come back to you," Arvis turned away and carefully set down an ancient crown. "In time, that is."

The shades of the past froze in place and the Esper strolled through the scene. She held her hands out to the fireplace, rubbing them together even though the flames had also been frozen. "But it didn't, did it?" she said with her back to Terra.

Terra strolled through Arvis' home and walked through the image of her past. "I remember enough," she retorted. The anger had steadily faded; she was confused by what was happening and that made holding onto her fury a difficult prospect.

"How convenient that must be," the Esper turned from the fire, a face of compassion. "To forget sixteen years under Imperial rule."

Arvis' small, comfortable dwelling shimmered and undulated. The past disappeared again, replaced by the cold, metallic metal walls of the Imperial Palace. Smooth black stonework stretched upwards towards the darkening sky, meant to protect against an outside threat but...

A small child had dashed to the flawless wall, her hands searching for something to hold onto but finding none. Brown leather chased after the desperate green-haired girl, running her into a corner with ease. She screamed at them, but they paid her complaints little heed and subdued her with batons.

"To forget what it was like to grow up with the Magitek Laboratories as your only home."

Harsh, unnatural white light suddenly shone down upon them. Terra instinctively closed her eyes and recoiled away. Grey metal stretched forth in all directions, and the steady rumbling of machinery echoed throughout the air. Terra heard the steady thumping of boots and turned in their direction, her eyes watering as she saw soldiers manhandling a green-haired child while white-coated men trailed behind.

"To forget the scientists that prodded you and strapped you to their infernal machines every day of your life. Experiment after experiment, never saying anything but instead scrawling onto their damned clipboards."

Even that illusion disappeared, and Terra found herself staring at a teenaged girl now. She was clutching her stomach, doubled over in the mud as rain poured down upon her. Dozens of soldiers stood around her and though blood ran from her mouth, they ignored her pain. Though tears fell to the ground without pause, they ignored her suffering.

They always ignored her.

"To forget how they pressed you, day after day, night after night."

Terra spun towards the Esper. "No!" she screamed. "Not this!"

"Burn this! Burn that!" the Esper growled angrily.

Terra couldn't bear to watch it. She turned her back to the past, but she could still hear it.

A high-pitched scream of monstrous rage, and then the heat! That unholy fire! She could feel the inferno press against her back as the screams began. Hideous cries of pain, men begging for mercy and wailing for their loved ones.

She always ignored them.

The whine of steam ejecting accompanied the rhythmic rumbling of the ground. Terra concentrated on the mud at her feet, doing her best to ignore the scene and failing miserably.

"How easy it was to forget!"

The roar of elemental cannonade drowned out all but one wretched scream of anger. Rainwater splashed against her back and the flooded ground reflected with the light of numerous explosions. Terra closed her eyes in shame, but instead her vision was dominated by the white-skinned Esper.

"To take the opportunity you were given, leave it all behind and find a real childhood," the Esper wiped at her eyes as the sounds of battle steadily faded away. When she looked back up, they were bloodshot eyes that Terra had seen in the mirror thousands of times. "I don't blame you. After all, I did the same."

Terra took a step back, and then another as the Esper's face gained more and more color. Her hair darkened, fading from purple hues to a muted blue. Her skin took on a human complexion, but her eyes... they stayed the same.

Realization struck Terra like a lightning bolt. She stared at the Esper with wide-open eyes.

"Now you understand don't you? Now you understand why even morphed, you couldn't help Gau; why you couldn't save Michals, Davis, or Marcus. After all, how can you heal another when you are so grievously wounded yourself?"

Terra pointed at the Esper. She dreaded to say the words, but she knew they were true. "You... you weren't there," she whispered. "Even when I morphed to help Gau, you weren't there."

The Esper's blood-shot eyes locked with hers. There was no mercy in that cold gaze, only pain. "No," she corrected. "You weren't there."

Terra blinked in confusion. "I can't believe this," her voice was barely audible, but a place between space and time, that was an overlooked detail.

"You don't want to," the Esper growled. Wings spread forth and she gripped the spear at her side. It wavered and shimmered, waves of blue and white light washing over it until the spear was no longer. It was instead a sword, a sword that radiated magic like the sun radiated light.

The blade was warm and inviting. It seemed to call to her. Unlike her power, it was not a seductive song. It called to her because she needed it, but it was always her choice.

Terra remembered Locke. She banished the thought of the sword and steeled herself. "Maduin locked you away," she said to the Esper.

No response.

Terra's glare softened. "I locked you... me... I locked myself away. My father just helped, didn't he?"

The Esper nodded.

"I was always afraid, wasn't I?" Terra turned away from the Esper, she already knew the answer. "Ever since I met Tritoch, ever since I had a glimpse at the depth of my power... I was afraid of what I would become." She spun back around and looked at the Esper with fresh eyes. "I was afraid of what I was. I tried to forget it: my power, my past..."

Terra took a deep breath. "...my feelings. I tried to forget everything so that I could start fresh."

The Esper nodded again.

"I am still afraid," Terra whispered.

The Esper's wings vanished, and her hair turned to its familiar green.

"But," Terra looked down at the body of Locke Cole. His eyes looked up at her, lifeless and dead. "I won't fail again," she said with clenched fists. "No matter the cost, I will do what's necessary."

The vision of her smiled.

Terra smiled back. Everything was vanishing now, her reflection's form slowly fading away as if it had been an illusion all along. But it was no mere dream. It had been real. Terra trembled but would not back down, not now! She might have been still afraid, but at least this time it would be different.

This time, she accepted it.

Cold air greeted her return to reality and Terra Branford, half-Esper, daughter of Maduin and Madonna, stood tall and opened her arms.

The world vanished in a white sheen.

---

The whirlwind shattered, sending shockwaves of snow flying outward with such force it cut through the unfortunate trees in its path. Swirling rainbow-coloured energy hung in the air for a moment longer, and then it faded away. Steam rose around them as ripple after ripple of energy spread across the ground and turned ice to water, and then water to ice.

Tears ran down her cheeks as powerful magic continued to emanate from Terra. Spirals of sparkling light danced around her hands and bathed her in pure white light. Her hair was floating in waves of energy that drifted upwards while four tiny tornadoes -- at most half the height of man -- spun around her and engraved ancient symbols in the snow-covered ground.

A gasp came from Locke, and he coughed terribly as he choked on his own blood. He bolted upright, eyes wide in confusion and fear, as he spat blood. His lungs began to take in air again, his heart beat once more. Locke noticed the woman on his arm, the source of the warmth that had flooded his body.

The glow about Terra faded away. Her purple hair fell back down to her shoulders softly and the tornadoes dissipated.

Norris finally remembered to breathe.

Terra turned to face Norris Ferdinand, the Magitek Knight standing beside them with surprise etched into his wizened face. Blood-red orbs stared into his soul.

The breath caught in Norris' throat.

Terra smiled dangerously and then turned away, satisfied. She collapsed against Locke's chest, wings steadily disappearing as her skin started to take color again and her hair lost its exotic purple shade.

Terra Branford closed her eyes and fell asleep.

Visions of Peace will be continued in The Thirteenth Chapter - Firestorm

i'm gonna try to read this when i have more time, maybe in the summer. well, is this the sequel to the game?

Quote (Anh @ 11th October 2006 19:57)

i'm gonna try to read this when i have more time, maybe in the summer. well, is this the sequel to the game?

Not at all! There are plenty of excellent sequels to the game already, I highly suggest Grace of God (you can probably find it in the depths of this forum)... though that is also unfinished.

This is rather an alternate ending that explores the events after the Floating Continent crash, rather than starting a year later with Celes' return. From what reviews I have been lucky to receive, it's probably best that you don't try to digest it all in one sitting. You might go insane.

--------------------

Visions of Peace - Four Generals, One Empire, and the Returners caught in the middle.

The Thirteenth Chapter - Firestorm

Cyan closed the door with a sigh. It was already long past dusk and the small tent he had pitched would be lacking firewood for the night. He picked up his sheathed blade, strode off the creaking cottage deck and into the thick snow.

"I'm surprised that you can do this everyday," Paisley remarked.

Cyan turned around. Paisley was on the porch, sitting on an old stool and staring in the direction of the camp. A playful boyish smile was on his face as he lowered his book. Irving had been inside the cottage watching over Cyan and Relm. The two men usually switched roles daily, either to avoid becoming complacent around the two Returners or because the job of watching over them was as boring as watching paint dry.

"Moments like these are those that will be treasured for a lifetime," Cyan responded as he replaced his sword at the hip, "though perhaps you cannot appreciate such joy."

Paisley frowned for a moment, and then his face brightened in a manner that Cyan knew was forced. "Well I guess I'm too young to understand, but at least I'm helping you by not enforcing the time limit."

Cyan grunted, unwilling to thank the Imperial for such an insignificant display of kindness that was clearly calculated to throw him off-guard. He turned away from Paisley, eager to get away from the deceitful Imperial.

"You know, I always wanted to ask you something, Cyan."

Cyan kept walking.

"Why aren't you overseas leading your people?"

He missed a step. Cyan turned around and glowered at Paisley, who had stepped off the porch and into the darkness around the cottage. The young soldier had decided to follow the Knight a few paces behind, still holding his book in one hand.

"It's a tough question, isn't it?" Paisley had put on an irritatingly fake look of innocence. "I've been thinking about it day after day but I just can't seem to find an answer. I guess you don't have one either."

Cyan folded his muscular arms. "There is nothing difficult about thy question," he answered. "Truly, I could ask a similar one of you, Imperial."

Paisley raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he clicked his tongue. "And what might that be?"

"How one could be so lacking in moral fibre that he dares raise a blade against one's own countrymen." Though it was worded like a question, there was no doubt in either man whether an answer was desired. That did not stop Paisley though, who continued his charade and gave an unwarranted response.

"You surprise me, Cyan," his voice sounded slightly strained, as if he was doing his best to not act rude. "Would you not follow your liege to hell and back?"

Cyan frowned.

"General Meras has made it clear the magnitude of injustice that the New Order has wreaked upon the Core. But even if that were not true, I would not think twice before striking down the rich, heartless scum that have bled my home dry," Paisley pointed at Cyan. "Would you not do the same, Knight of Doma, if your King spent his entire life sitting upon a throne and constantly taxed you and your family until they didn't have enough to survive the winter?"

There was a hint of emotion hidden beneath that voice, pain or regret, which Cyan responded to with a degree of compassion. "A tyrant must be fought, but to slay your own countrymen, that is an action I would never endeavour."

"And what if they weren't so much your countrymen? What if your Kingdom was so large that it was divided into province after province? What if the inner ones, filled with nobility and long since corrupted by politics, plundered the poor provinces until they were crippled, sickly and dying?"

Cyan reluctantly mulled over those words as he watched Paisley's freckled cheeks puff in anger, years of repressed pain surfacing in his speckled brown eyes. Though he was a dangerous soldier, Cyan could see that Paisley was still young, still immature. This was a man that had been forced to grow up all too fast, forced to suppress the child inside and put on a cold-hearted countenance.

"The people of the Core don't care for us. They're just a bunch of well-to-do snobs that grow rich off our suffering. They've been protected from the monsters for so long, avoided war, disease, famine, drought... they think the world is their oyster! They're not my countrymen; my countrymen live here, in this province, serving in the armies of General Danielle Meras. We will not suffer anymore while those in the Core lounge about draped in velvet and silk, drinking wine and debating merits of the latest fashion trend!"

For Cyan Garamonde, he had heard rants like this all his life. Even squires occasionally had such views of the world, lacking the education to see what sacrifices were necessary for the greater good. He had trained many a child, guided them along the path of knighthood or into the army until they matured. Many of his students had joined because they had no choice. It had been the only way to feed their families.

The pain in this child's eyes was all too familiar to Cyan Garamonde. "And that's why you follow this woman, your conqueror," he replied in a soft tone.

"She cares for us!" Paisley scowled. "She's lived here and suffered with us. She sees with the same eyes as we do. Why do you think so many divisions were busy putting down monsters when she needed us in the Core? I was in the Wilds engaged with dragons while my friends died in the Siege of Vector. They were fighting for our future, standing boldly in front of beams of fire and ice, while I went around safely patrolling the countryside. General Meras cares for the safety of all. If she takes the throne, then we'll never starve through another winter."

Paisley's voice broke and the kid quickly spun away in shame.

Cyan silently watched the child walk away. His throat felt dry for some reason.

---

Locke Cole had died.

The ice was crystal clear; all that had been necessary was to wipe the powder off the top. He stared at his reflection in the frozen lake and touched at the scar that ran down the side of his face.

There was nothing there. Like all the wounds he had suffered, the scars had disappeared when Terra healed him. No sign that his cheek had been split apart, his chest had been cut open, his throat slashed, or his back pierced. It was as if Gwendolen Ford had never happened; he was as alive as he ever was.

But the fact remained. Locke Cole had died.

His fingers ran down his chest, amazed that there was skin, muscle and bone in the proper places. It was a ghostly feeling that continued to plague him. Every waking moment, he would look down and expect that his chest was open and spurting gallons of lifeblood. Nightmares plagued his nights; the scene at Gwendolen Ford would replay in his head over and over again.

He still remembered those events vividly; the metallic lifeblood -- his enemies' and his own -- could still be tasted on his lips. He knew those memories were burned into him now. His every motion, every death-dealing strike, was committed to memory for eternity.

Locke Cole had, once again, failed. He laughed out loud, but it was a pathetic noise that was devoid of any joy. An incompetent, miserable failure. A man whose promises were hollow, with a long history of barely scraping by disaster after disaster. His only successes marked by the people he surrounded himself with; friends that were capable of keeping promises with the swing of the sword. They were the ones that had maintained the promises he swore. Him? He just flailed on the sidelines impotently.

His fist made no discernable dent in the thick ice. Locke's face twisted as he thought about how events had unfolded. His mind went over everything he had done and the frustration had finally settled in.

He had the commitment, the ability, and the willingness. He had even given his life. Yet it was still not enough. That realization hurt him more than anything. He had done his best, pushed himself to the limits, and still atonement was out of reach. Even the greatest of sacrifices was not enough to find forgiveness.

What more could he do? What more was required of him?

What do you want from me?!?

His fist pounded into the ice over and over again. Even beneath thick sheepskin gloves, he could feel the slick, sticky wetness of his bloodied knuckles. Each blow was accompanied by a jolting sensation that traveled up his arm and down his spine. It was a great feeling, better than anger or frustration. He continued to pound the surface of the lake.

Locke stopped, not because of the pain or concern for his own well-being, but because something had occurred to him.

It was an obvious pattern, now that he noticed it. His failure at Narshe at been his first, but little could be done in the face of the ancient Tritoch. In Thamasa though, the forces Kefka had brought were overwhelming. In Albrook he had been surprised by Marcus. Aboard the Floating Continent, Davis had stepped in with Magitek Armor. In Tzen, Danielle had ambushed them. In the Wilds, Farin had to spur his men into action. In Strachan, Norris had blown away the behemoth with his spells. And in Fanshaw...

The puzzle pieces clicked into place, one after another. The frustration melted away as the answers became clear.

Locke Cole stood up, only now noticing that Anthony had been watching him with a great deal of unease. He rubbed his fists absentmindedly, soothing the bloodied knuckles as he approached the archer.

"What were you thinking?" Anthony growled at him. His bow was out and he did not make eye contact with Locke. He scanned the cliff-face on the other side of the lake. There was nothing nearby. "I'm getting tired of this act! That's the third time this week and I can't cover for you any longer. You keep slipping off on your own and I will report you to the Colonel. I cannot risk your insubordination bringing the enemy down on all of us!"

Locke smiled.

"Sorry about that, Sergeant. It won't happen again."

---

Four days they had spent near the feet of the Strachan Mountains. They were close enough to make day-long trips into the Imperial Core, yet far enough so that the New Order's troops did not catch them. It had taken just shy of a week to reach the area; Fanshaw was quite far to the southwest and a snowstorm had also slowed them down.

"The Colonel's back."

Terra Branford got up from a comfortable spot against an old pine. She smiled at Anthony. The dark-haired soldier looked better than the rest, but even the medic's face was bandaged. His shoulders were wrapped tightly beneath the armor, and untreated superficial cuts accompanied every patch of bare skin. His bow and nigh-empty quiver were strapped to his back.

"Thank you, Anthony," she replied. "You've been very helpful."

Norris slipped into their campsite with Gossman following closely. The mage had a frown on his face, though his beard hid that fact quite well and instead made him look deep in thought. They were the only two that had gone to scout ahead.

Terra had few details on what befell Norris' handpicked team. Their numbers had dwindled heavily though, and though she did not know all their names, the missing faces still added to a sorrowful burden. Those that had survived were hurt badly; it had taken most of the week for her to heal all the broken bones. Terra had tried to coax the story out of Sherwood, the only soldier she knew now, but he was even more introverted than usual.

Terra couldn't fault him. The Civil War had taken Clarkson's life as well.

The rest of the soldiers remained quiet whenever she questioned them. They would thank her for healing them and then it was back to business. Most avoided her at every opportunity, and though she had not been on friendly terms beforehand, it was quickly becoming a source of irritation.

Aside from herself and Anthony, only Miles arrived to greet the Colonel. Though numbers had been halved, their mandate stayed the same. The Empire was at war and even were they not professionals, there was no time to relax and tend to emotional wounds.

"Well?" Miles asked between bites. The one-eyed soldier was chewing on the leg of a wolf. A pack of five had attempted to ambush their camp while they had been setting up. Their freshly-roasted corpses had cheered up the solemn crowd; the scent of delicious meat reminded everyone how terrible Imperial rations really were.

"Nothing new," Norris replied. "The western roads are deserted, but the tracks we found definitely suggest that at least four regiments' worth of men had recently marched by."

They had left Fanshaw and made their way deeper into the Core. Now they were closing on the Imperial Capital. The roads leading to the center of the Empire were well-kept and fitting for their prestigious roles. Magic had been used to smooth out stone, flatten the land, and build vast bridges. Such roads were without peer, serving as blood vessels for a city of over a million. Those same roads were now used for the New Order's armies, providing supplies and reinforcements with unparalleled efficiency.

It also offered a chance for spies to discern the strength of the Core's armies.

Norris took a seat on a thick, snow covered tree root. He pulled his hood down and brushed back his hair, revealing the deepening wrinkles on his wizened face. "The facts are impossible to ignore now. Alysworth is besieged about a day's north of Maley's Point," Norris sighed. "I don't what's going on over there, but I can hear the relentless, never-ending string of explosions. Miles, prepare to pack up. We're going back."

"Why would we do such a thing?" Miles asked. "Our position is advantageous and it's not like eight of us will do anything to relieve pressure on the army."

"The roads supplying Caleigh's forces appear to be regularly patrolled," Norris explained.

"Unexpected," Miles growled softly. "I didn't think the Core had that kind of strength remaining."

Norris nodded. He ran a hand through his messy grey hair, pulling at it in frustration. "It appears that they're a lot stronger than we were told. It's probable that the New Order is deploying new recruits and mobilizing veterans. The entire Core is moving. I'm not sure what to make of it."

Terra frowned. "I thought the New Order's policies were crippling their people and starving thousands. Why would anyone join the army of their oppressors?" she asked suspiciously.

Silence. The Imperials all knew the answer, but none dared voice it. It was treason to voice such things.

Norris avoided Terra's gaze. "We have enough disturbing news to report and little of it makes sense. Guessing is pointless," he declared. "We'll make our way north tomorrow, out of the forest and onto the plains. That'll give us a closer look at the encampments stretching southeast of the capital, hopefully without exposing us. It has the added benefit of getting us back to the army faster, our thin supplies are dwindling and we can't risk staying out here much longer."

With those words, the three soldiers got up and began to pack up camp. Norris headed north, where Sherwood and Locke's sentry position was located, when Terra caught up behind him.

"You've been ignoring me," Terra reproached as she matched his brisk pace.

Norris turned his attention to her. He hid his emotions extraordinarily well, but she noticed that his gaze lingered on her hair.

"I've been extremely busy, what with losing many of the best, most trustworthy soldiers I have ever served with. Scouting this region would have been much easier once our numbers were bolstered by the teams that had already infiltrated Fanshaw, but now we're fewer than we started with." Norris answered plainly. "I'll be honest though, I haven't been keen to find spare time..." he turned back to her, clearly staring at her hair now, and frowned. "And considering what I witnessed, I don't think you can blame me."

Terra folded her arms, her bloodied wolf-mantle peeking from beneath the standard whitewashed cloak. "Norris, I did everything I could to save Clarkson," she said with a frown. "He saved my life more times than I can count and..." Terra missed a step, surprised at the emotions welling up within her. She cleared her throat and tried to focus. "If I cared about your threat, I would have killed you the moment I saw you."

"I am well aware of that."

"Then there's no reason for you to be afraid of me," Terra exasperated. "I'm no different than I was a week ago," she tapped between her breasts. "I'm still me."

Norris looked at her from the corner of his eyes. He burst out laughing. "Ridiculous! I don't know where you got the idea in your head, but I'm not scared of you. And while seeing you turn into a white-winged angel of death was a definitely a surprise I could have lived without, I don't suddenly think of you as another person."

"Then why avoid me?" Terra asked, perturbed.

"I'm worried," he explained with a smile. "There are enough things on my mind that I would prefer not having to address every little matter, though I suppose I can't delay addressing the shroud any longer..."

"The shroud?" Terra echoed. "Wait, you know what that darkness is? I wanted to talk to you about it the morning when we were leaving Fanshaw. I felt that weird aura from Anna a number of times."

"From Anna?" Norris paused in mid-step. His wrinkled face got more wrinkled. "Are you sure?"

"It was the first time I ever felt emotions through magic," Terra answered confidently.

Norris rubbed his eyes and sighed. "This answers a question of mine, but a host springs up to take its place."

"So you know what it was? I mean, you know its name," Terra pressed, intrigued by the older mage's knowledge.

"No I don't. It just sounded good," Norris explained with an embarrassing grin. "I've never encountered anything like that darkness before," his expression grew serious again, "but I don't think it was emotion. Maybe you don't know what your limits are, but I haven't discovered anything new about myself for several years now. We both felt the same thing, so I believe it was spellcraft."

"But the aura receded when I healed Anna."

"Really?" Norris hummed and murmured to himself. He grumbled under his breath a few times, and then growled. "But considering how widespread it was with our ambushers..."

"Speaking of which, who were they?" Terra could tell that Norris didn't know much more than she did and decided to change the subject.

"I'm not willing to say for certain," Norris answered as he once again picked up the pace. "But there is no doubt they were, at least once, working under the Maverick."

Terra remembered that infamous name. Locke had told her about the atrocities committed by the conqueror of Maranda, and not even Danielle -- a fellow General -- had good things to say about the tyrant. "How do you know it's him? It could be the pretender..."

"Anson Tilton? Certainly not," Norris paused as he ducked under a low branch. They began to climb uphill, towards the lookout point where Sherwood and Locke were located. "I know they were assigned to Maverick Drummond because I knew one of the Magitek Knights who attacked us."

"One of the...? There were more?"

Norris nodded. "There hasn't been time to debrief you, but you were not the only one to face magic. I was forced to kill an old colleague that day."

Terra thought she heard an undercurrent of emotion in the Colonel's voice. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't realize how much you went through."

"Everyone went through a lot, especially you," Norris pointed at her hair.

Terra touched the grey strands of hair that were pulled back into a ponytail. "A lot happened that day," she acknowledged quietly. Her posture became just a bit taller.

Norris looked Terra up and down once more, his gaze still lingering on her grey hair. "I won't pretend to know what you went through or what caused this change. But it does worry me that even with several decades separating us, our hair color matches."

"It won't affect me," Terra responded.

Norris pursed his lips together with concern. "To say that the spells you unleashed were powerful... well, that's an understatement. And I'm no fool, I know Locke was dead," his voice was nothing more than a whisper now, easily masked by the sound of their footsteps breaking through hardened snow. "So much power... I don't know what it might have cost you; perhaps the change is related. But when I'm unsure of something magical, it means my men are downright frightened."

"It's just the color of my hair. There's nothing to be worried about," Terra defended herself.

"It's magic, and everyone knows it. For me and you, we don't think it's a problem. I can tell that you're as lively as you were before the change, maybe even more so. But for guys like Miles and Gossman, they're not magically-inclined. They're scared that you were spelled by something horrendous, and then their imaginations run wild. It's not good for them."

"I suppose I could dye my hair again," Terra offered, well-aware of how easily people grew afraid of magic. "Though I still think this is a bit more natural than green."

Norris laughed, his joyous expression bringing a smile to Terra's face. "When we get-"

Terra suddenly spun towards the left. She was not alone, Norris had done the same. The older mage's hand was up though, his expression deadly serious and as his long grey hair blew back in an unnatural wind.

A crossbow bolt, its tip glinting of a yellowish liquid, floated in the air. It was suspended in mid-flight, clearly astray from both Norris and Terra but still too close for comfort. Terra pulled up the wolf-skin sleeve around her left arm, an orb of fire igniting just beneath her palm.

Norris and Terra both focused on their attacker in the distance.

Locke frowned. His arm pointed away from them, but that was only because another had pushed it aside. Sherwood was whispering something under his breath, clearly angered by Locke's action. The blond-haired Imperial growled as he pulled Locke's arm down.

"-too sensitive-" Terra could barely make out what the two were saying.

Norris was already making his way towards the two men. "What was that?" he was clearly agitated that he had been attacked, even though the bolt would not have hit him.

"Sorry Colonel," Locke replied.

Terra and Norris both frowned.

"Nothing to report up here, sir," Sherwood added before Norris could recover and continuing questioning. "Are we headed out?"

"Yes," Norris slowly took his gaze off of Locke. "Get your gear together. We're leaving within the hour."

"Sir," Sherwood saluted. He pulled on Locke's sleeve and the two men wandered back into the woods, presumably to pick up their packs.

"That was strange," Norris muttered as Terra joined his side.

Terra watched Locke's back as he disappeared into the field of trees, her hands resting against her hips. She had tried to speak with him since Gwendolen Ford, but he always had some flimsy excuse and slipped away. It had been infuriating, but she gave him the space he seemed to need. Still, it had been over a week...

The grey-haired half-Esper knelt, picking up the crossbow bolt with her gloved hands. She rotated the piece of ammunition between her fingers, examining the yellow glaze that had been applied to the tip. She brought it close to her nose and took a quick sniff.

Her frown deepened even more.

"Listen, Terra... I've been thinking about the shroud. You're right. This is a matter that cannot be ignored forever."

Terra dropped the crossbow bolt and directed her attention to Norris.

"I have a proposition for you."

---

It had been a long time since he saw her face. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her again, his breath quivering as he found himself overcome with emotion. His wife, his beautiful wife... and his son, still smiling at him. Their faces were full again, no longer gaunt from the poison.

But then the fires consumed them as they screamed his name. It had been a recurring nightmare, to imagine Imperial Magitek Armors storming in front of Castle Doma en masse. The Imperials had been bold enough to establish bases within visual range, arrogant enough to believe that Doma artillery was smashed, their cavalry routed, and infantry too few. Yet the Imperials still held their base effortlessly, nothing Cyan had done could change the fact that the Imperials were simply too numerous to fight.

They would have burned Castle Doma to the ground. Their cursed black machinations would have stormed within range, easy pickings for archers that no longer breathed, and let loose torrent after torrent of unholy flame. Everyone in the castle would have perished, trapped by the very walls that should have protected them.

Cyan had been lucky, that nightmare was never reality. Leo Christophe had been a man of honour. He had been unwilling to torch the castle because there had been so many women and children within. Yet the General was rejected thrice; his words fell on the deaf ears as he bargained for Castle Doma's surrender. Though the King had wanted to protect his people, he had been unwilling to submit to the arrogant Imperials. And even though his sleep was plagued by nightmares of Imperial Magitek Armors lined-up, hundreds, thousands... their red beams melting even solid stone, Cyan had said nothing to his liege.

His sword decapitated an Imperial pikeman.

Warfare had rules. When Kefka -- whose very name made his blood red-hot -- had taken over in Leo's absence, those rules had been broken. Until that day, Cyan had grudgingly respected the Empire. They were disciplined, well-trained, filled with intelligent officers and men of strong character. The war had been harsh but Cyan was experienced and decades of fighting had desensitized him.

Then came the poison, and Cyan had wanted nothing more than to see the Empire crushed and burned to ashes; another power-hungry domain that would be buried and forgotten in the annals of history. He had spent what seemed like a lifetime working with the Returners, binding together loose confederations and city-states of the Northern Continent under a common banner. He had done all in his power to raise an alliance that could threaten the Empire, until they had contacted the Espers in another realm.

To see an Imperial base aflame as it was, fences broken, barricades abandoned, and guards dead at their posts... it was a spectacle that he had dreamed of many times. But instead of happiness at a fantasy fulfilled, his heart pounded with dread.

Another Imperial soldier in the vanguard, a crossbow strapped to his back and short sword drawn, collapsed into the snow with his head split open.

Cyan reached the crest of a hill. Still hidden behind snow-covered evergreens, his gloved hand pushed aside a curtain of needles and revealed the collapsing defence of the Imperial supply depot. Ordered squadrons of five Magitek Armors, the smaller type he had seen in the forests of Doma during the latter days of the war, marched through the supply depot and fired their elemental cannons at concentrations of the defending forces. Dozens of soldiers surrounded each squad, protecting the pilots until the defences had been weakened. Walls, barricades, even towers fell at an astonishing rate.

The attackers were orderly in their systematic slaughter of the Imperial base. They did not give into bloodlust as they stormed through their former comrades. They turned the open ground between the base and the forest into a deathtrap, archers and mounted cavalry held in reserve to ambush any that tried to escape. Cyan knew at once that this was the New Order he had heard whispers about. This was Danielle Meras' enemy, the forces of the newly-crowned Emperor: Anson Tilton.

An explosion was heard from the back of the base, shaking the mountain with its ferocity, and then a fireball could be seen escaping out of the cavern tunnels. Thick black smoke rose into the air, adding to a great mass of dark clouds that had already formed from the rest of burning supply depot.

Cyan made up his mind. His eyes traced the shortest path to rescue Relm. There were no other thoughts on his mind, though he quickly mapped a detour towards Imperial command units. The New Order was too organized. They were fighting a textbook battle and that did not provide the chaos he needed to escape with Relm.

His cloak fell to the snow-covered ground.

Cyan Garamonde, Knight of Doma, did not fight for retribution or vengeance. Knowing this, he gripped his sword with more strength than he had felt in the past year. His eyes ignored the winter sun and its bright reflection upon the well-trodden snow. His blade struck true, ignoring plated armor and severing even chainmail. Bodies fell to the ground with each perfect blow, but Cyan was not one to admire his handiwork. He sheathed his sword once more and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

More explosions were heard in the distance and thick knots of black smoke plumes rose high into the sky. The sun had just risen -- the enemy had attacked at dawn -- and Cyan barely made out the shapes of riders through the glare. Three men were charging directly at him: an unknown element that had somehow crossed the open field outside the range of positioned archers.

There was no anger in his heart, not this day. Only righteousness filled him: the need to protect and save a single life that meant more than the hundreds of fresh corpses in front of him. He was a Knight of Doma, not some lowbrow mercenary that was skilled in the way of the sword.

The riders were almost upon him, their weapons drawn when they realized the man before them would not cower.

Potent muscles in his right arm flexed as he drew his blade from its sheath; one fluid motion, an explosion of power from within. The longsword stopped as quickly as it had started, still horizontal to the ground.

Behind him, a spray of blood erupted. The first chocobo collapsed to the ground and crushed its rider beneath.

The second man was on him in the blink of an eye as the third flanked on the left. Cyan ducked under the swing of the second rider's sword, his own blade singing its deadly song. There was no wasted motion, two lightning-fast cuts and he gripped the reins of the last chocobo. He pushed the rider aside, chest opened with a deadly gash, and encouraged the bird forward. The base flew by at a dizzying pace, fences trampled, cadavers aplenty and cabins aflame.

The command unit Cyan had seen earlier had not yet moved. They noticed Cyan far too late, even though he was a rider that bore none of their colors. They had been over-confident; most of their protection away to speed-up the dismemberment of Danielle Meras' supply depot.

The chocobo trampled over many an officer with its powerful talons, bodies crumbling beneath hundreds of pounds of muscle and metal. Cyan's sword cut the men to his sides, but his mount had read his mind and killed almost as many as he did. The screams of the dying fell upon deaf ears and the few men that resisted were not enough. Within a minute, the entire upper-command of the New Order's battalion was dead. Cyan even killed several messengers retrieving orders for those at the front.

He hurried the bird towards a path that was burned in his memory, the same cobblestone trail that he had trod through for so long! It was reassuringly deserted and Cyan hoped that the New Order had decided to dismantle military targets first.

No such luck; the New Order was still Imperial and its tactics barbaric as ever. The cabins were all ablaze; Magitek Armors had blasted through the area and even set the frost-covered trees on fire with unholy magic. White hot flames devoured the log cabin that had been Relm's home, the deck outside littered with the bodies of Imperial soldiers. It would creak no more; most of it was burnt to a crisp and crumbled to ash even as Cyan watched.

Fire. Cyan's eyes watered as he fought the feelings of despair. It was happening again.

"Relm!" Cyan screamed with all his might. Not again! Not another child!

His head pounded in anger. His knuckles were white as he gripped his sword painfully. Not again...

An arrow grazed his shoulder and reminded him that he was defenceless. He was not even wearing leather armor, much less the proper plated mail that a Knight was known for. His chocobo leapt into action, but the storm of arrows was too much and both rider and bird fell to the ground.

Cyan rolled in the snow, his black hair swirling around his neck. His face was red with rage and once behind cover, he tore an arrow out of his shoulder. The pain was nothing compared to the realization that these men of the New Order had taken her life. Water dripped down his cheeks; sweat, tears, and melted snow mixed together.

His scream of anguish was cut short when he saw a faint glowing trail of blue light. It led from the back of her burning cabin, almost invisible in the midst of fierce orange-yellow inferno.

Relm was alive.

A brief grin came to his face, pride welling up from her display of intelligence. No doubt the magic was invisible to anyone but he, similar to how she played chess.

Cyan Garamonde charged recklessly, afraid the fading blue light would disappear forever. Arrows tore through his tunic and pants. Warm blood dripped down his arms and his legs burned from opened wounds, but he noticed none of it. Cyan moved at such a blind pace that he tripped over something hard, metallic, and black. His face hit the snow but he was on his feet instantly. He spared a glance at what he had fallen over.

It was a Magitek Armor.

The shielded cockpit was something new, but there was no mistaking the symbol of Imperial Might. This one was broken and the pilot inside pierced with many arrows. The machine had collided with an evergreen and collapsed to the ground, leaving one leg out like a tree root to trip Cyan. Still, the rest of the weapon seemed undamaged, and Cyan was an expert at determining whether Magitek Armor had been permanently disabled or not. His heart pounded twice as hard when his conscience caught up with the heretical thoughts of his mind.

The dead pilot was ripped out of his seat without ceremony, and Cyan Garamonde pushed buttons he had only touched once before. The words of Sabin drifted out of the fog that surrounded memories of that fateful day. Any and all feelings of unease at touching such machinery were ignored, moral qualms rebutted, fears burned away in a firestorm of need.

IMC-0839, Light-Patrol Class Magitek Armor, roared to life.

---

Yet another lash finally dropped him to his knees, and then even they buckled as another tore across his back. Tears of rage flowed freely, but there was nothing he could do as his head slammed into the unfriendly stone floor.

He could feel the blood dripping from the more brutal blows, welts opened from repeated strikes. His entire upper-body seemed aflame, not a single spot unafflicted by injury. His breaths came out in ragged gasps, causing him more pain as his throat was hoarse from screaming continuously. Sabin Rene Figaro gritted his teeth and put every bit of effort into staying conscious.

"Enough," a female voice without feminine qualities ordered. "Prepare it."

Red-hair framed a shadowy face. Sabin's vision seemed to waver and he could not concentrate for long, but he knew this particular tormentor. He knew her intimately.

Something was draped over his face so that he saw nothing. Both hands and legs were shackled by chains, though the latter with enough slack so that he could shuffle his feet and mimic walking. His head still spun with dizziness, he was so weak from the lack of both sleep and food that the grievous injuries throughout his body were almost an after-thought.

"Move it, savage."

He grunted as something cold and blunt jabbed into his side, sending renewed flares of pain down his spine. He was sure that he had a cracked rib or two, and the skin was red and flaking from rope burns. His back burned from the whip and there was a dull throbbing sensation in his forehead. His arms hurt whenever they were brushed against and he swore that his fingers did not respond when he tried to wiggle them.

Sabin shuffled forward blindly as they commanded, turning corners and up numerous stairs. At last he stopped, there was someone was ahead of him and he knew from experience that acting slow and dim-witted was better than showing motivation and strength.

He was shoved forward and all of a sudden, the damp, putrid smelling air that he had breathed for ages vanished. Instead, his lungs welcomed the brisk, fresh and cold winter air.

Winter.

Despite being unable to see, he could feel snow on his bare feet and ice-cold air soothed his naked, welt-covered upper-body. At last, Sabin had an idea how much time had passed. It had been difficult to judge whether it was day and night, he had been imprisoned within a dungeon that delved deep beneath the surface. There was never fresh air and certainly no windows to look outside.

Sabin's own internal clock had been broken rather quickly. He couldn't keep track of all the times he had fallen unconscious from overwhelming pain, lack of breath, drought or starvation...

It was winter, Sabin repeated to himself. Winter. These bastards had kept him locked up and tortured him for an entire season.

While there were certainly moments when recalling even his own name had been difficult, the last stretch had been lacking the excruciating pain he had tried to grow used to. Not once had he given in, and until the recent past, little mercy was shown. As a result, he was always half-awake, weak and rarely thinking with a clear-mind. But now...

"Put it into the wagon."

That voice. He focused on how much he loathed that female voice. It was cold, authoritative, and lacking any sympathy at all; he had heard her thousands of times from every angle, in every state of mind but a clear one.

Sabin felt hands grab a hold of his shoulders. He was lifted off the ground and was thrown into the air. With a crash, he landed in a thin bed of straw and rolled into the side of the wagon. He grunted again as his head smashed into something hard and unyielding. His chains had caught the side of his face and dug into his twisted leg.

The world was spinning again, but something was new.

Light.

The mask that had covered his face had been ripped off and Sabin narrowed his eyes as bright illumination flooded his vision. His eyes watered when he realized how long it had been since he had seen the light of day.

From his wardens there came cursing and orders barked, but no one moved to cover his face again. Sabin didn't stretch his good luck. He made sure he wasn't drawing any attention, and only after several minutes had passed did he roll onto his side. At last, he could see more than just the frost-covered wooden planks of the wagon and bits of straw scattered about.

Another wagon was behind them, chocobos standing around looking bored while some dozen brown-leather armored soldiers were carrying crates and stacking them atop each other. It looked like supplies, so Sabin surmised they were going somewhere far. Yet another dozen soldiers were standing guard, but none paid him any heed.

The sight of red hair caused Sabin's blood to boil. He could see her now, directing men to do her bidding. It was her, he knew it. He could recognize her from any angle. Every time he had collapsed to the ground in a pool of blood, or was pulled out of the water barely-conscious, or he let the darkness take him as they drove spikes into his body, or even when he was screaming while lightning coursed through his veins... every time, she had been there. She oversaw everything with a grin on her face.

Sabin glared at her back, as if he could burn holes through her with the intensity in his gaze.

Rolling over imperceptibly as the guards of his prison began to hop onto the wagons themselves, Sabin's imagination ran wild with what he would do to escape. The winter air had sparked something within him. He knew today, there would be a chance. This day would be unlike any other.

"Well savage-"

Sabin bit down on his lip as a vicious kick tore into his broken ribs. He tried to not cry out in pain, but the second -- faster, more brutal -- sent him head-first into the wagon side. Stars exploded in his vision and his head began to swim nauseatingly. He couldn't muster the strength to even roll over into a more comfortable position, instead he just laid there half-conscious in a crumpled heap.

"-I told you it's futile. The Patrician has finally agreed," he felt her breath against his ear. "You're all mine now."

The red-haired warden was all Sabin could concentrate on, his vision hazy as he stared up. She stood tall over him, a sneer on her face, with her arms folded. Grey robes, gloved hands, and a condescending look that told him he was nothing more than an animal in her eyes.

He would kill the Imperial bitch. The thought of that brought a smile to his face.

"Such a slow learner, but I won't tolerate it anymore."

A blow to face, and the world was black once more.

---

Cyan was amazed at the ease of which entire formations of Imperial soldiers vanished before repeated blasts of fire magic. The elemental cannons of the Magitek Armor had been something he had faced many times, but being on the other side of the targeting crosshair certainly had a different feel. A feeling of superiority rushed to his head. With the push of a button, dozens of men -- their hopes and dreams -- vanished in a blaze of crimson light.

He wondered why he had never done this before.

During the war, they had captured several Magitek Armors on particularly successful raids. Though they had been outnumbered in many cases, superior minds coupled with righteousness had seen them victory when none was expected. Some of his Knights had commandeered the machines, but Cyan had reprimanded them for such dishonour. Still, there was word that other Knights had gone so far to keep the machines for as long as they could until they were either killed in combat, or the Armor stopped moving of its own accord.

Perhaps had they a few Armors, the war might not have been lost.

As another concentration of New Order troops -- gathered in front of the caves and too far away to endanger Cyan -- disappeared in a blazing magical inferno, he felt invincible. He was like a god.

In that instant, he was repulsed by what he had done; by what he was doing. His stomach turned and his conscience screamed at him.

The distraction was enough for a strange white blob to catch the leg of IMC-0839. Suddenly, the machine was immobile, stuck to the ground by a mass of unyielding adhesive. A fire-beam followed, the Light-Patrol Class Magitek Armor collapsing as its right leg melted into a bubbling mass of dark metal. Cyan jumped out of the cockpit just as two more beams tore through the Armor's chest effortlessly, passing through delicate gears and pistons. A forest fire sparked to life and marked the termination of IMC-0839. The Armor would never move again.

But Cyan Garamonde was already on the ground and charging down an unmarked path. He felt no sorrow for the loss of the Imperial war machine. Instead, he concentrated on the blue trail that Relm left for him. It was growing stronger now; he was catching up! Footprints in the ground could be seen, hidden poorly due to haste. They led behind the base and around the mountain, across frozen creeks and unblemished conifers. The blue light led to a small cavern, its dark insides delving deep into the earth.

He drew his blade and entered with as much caution as possible. His eyes slowly adjusted to the pitch-black tunnel; the blue light showed its magical nature by glowing yet not illuminating the inside of the cavern. Cyan walked at a hurried, but controlled pace. His heart beat so fast that he was afraid it could be heard in the silence.

The tunnel branched out a few times and Cyan would have easily been lost in the maze had it not been for Relm's trail. It felt like an hour in which he wandered half-blind through the dark, paranoid of ambushes, fearful for the life of a child, but in all likelihood he doubted it was more than ten minutes. Finally he could hear the crisp clackering of lit torches. Dark walls curved left and right until suddenly, they were lit by flickering orange-yellow light.

Cyan was not a stealthy man, but one did not live as long as he had and not know prudence. His steps were noiseless as he rounded the final passageway. He pressed up against the rocky walls and looked around the corner.

Amazingly, there were several dozen soldiers in a large tunnel. They were sitting on top of crates of machinery and conversed quietly. Railway tracks ended where they camped, and it was obvious that the railcars would lead out of the mountain, not deeper where they could hide from the overwhelming forces outside.

Then his heart skipped a beat. Relm was pacing back and forth in the midst of the soldiers, impatient and uneasy. She jumped when he stepped into the tunnel, his foot stamping down loudly.

The Imperials all spun around at the noise, most bringing their weapons of choice into position. Relm was all smiles though as she ran towards him. "Cyan!" she cried out, louder than was prudent.

"Shh!" the soldier beside her, Irving, put a finger to his lips. The squad visibly relaxed when the little girl in their midst identified the intruder though, even if he didn't look to be one of theirs.

Cyan scooped Relm off the ground and hugged her close. "Well done dear one, well done," he whispered.

She beamed. "I knew you'd find us," she said with a hint of pride. Still held in his arms, Relm leaned back and took a good look at her saviour. "Are you crying?" she asked with a frown.

Cyan blinked away the unexpected wetness. "Not at all," he answered with a smile.

"Well, Cyan Garamonde, I knew you were thick-headed, but I honestly didn't expect you to track us," it was Paisley who spoke. He still pretended to be an inexperienced lad, but the fake-nervousness in his voice had disappeared.

"That's Garamonde?" one of the men whispered.

"You mean the Relentless?" someone else farther away said.

"Quiet! He might take offence to that!" yet another silenced his friend.

Cyan lowered Relm softly before addressing Paisley. "What's the situation?"

Paisley looked around. "Why are you asking me?" he said.

"The game is up," Cyan growled softly, irritated by the continuing act. "How long do we have to hold out here before reinforcements relieve us?"

Paisley narrowed his eyes and showed a sudden burst of suspicion that was nowhere near boyish.

"One of the men outside brought news that the assault is falling apart. It seems as if the New Order commanders suddenly lost grip with reality," Irving stepped between Paisley and Cyan. "We have orders to hold this position, there's a store of fuel in the tunnel beyond," he pointed behind him, "and word is that one of the enemy captains is organizing a strike."

As if bidden by those words, footsteps were heard from main entrance of the tunnel. "They're coming!" a young man shouted.

Cyan looked around and realized that nearly all the men here were rookies. They looked young and inexperienced. It was understandable that Danielle Meras would transfer men that would be a liability on the battlefield and staff them in less meaningful positions behind the frontlines, but that strategy was about to backfire.

It was also disturbingly similar to his last days in Doma, when all that remained of their once glorious army were young children whose fathers had fallen months before. They were no more than boys that had been given a bloodstained sword and sent to the butcher where they might take their first swing before dying upon the blade of the enemy. These Imperials were not as untrained, but the similarities could not be ignored.

"Paisley, take command," Cyan said as he stormed through the crowd of rapidly panicking soldiers. "I will stand beside you," he declared.

Paisley scowled at Cyan with disbelief and surprise, but as he heard the echoing battle-cries of the enemy, he turned around and began issuing orders loudly and authoritatively. The boyish smile was gone, replaced with the cold detachment of an officer in the Imperial Armed Forces. It seemed the rookies responded to his change without question, they stood firm in formation and did not waver as booming cries of the enemy grew fiercer.

"Dear one, stay behind and do not stray," Cyan whispered to Relm. He had lowered to one knee and brushed her hair aside. "Do you understand me?"

Relm nodded. "I'll help," she stated passionately. A sparkle of yellow light danced from her palm.

"Just keep safe," Cyan knew better than to argue. He stood and took up position beside Paisley, behind a few men that were lucky enough to have tower shields. His mind analyzed the possibilities and planned his and Relm's escape in the midst of chaos.

"Listen Cyan, I just wanted to-" Paisley started.

Javelins slammed into tower shields with tremendous force, several of the boys buckling from inexperience. The screaming of the enemy was so loud that Paisley was drowned out.

Then a man behind them, one that did not look out of place beside the bulk of Irving, raised his fist into the air. His shout was lost in the deafening noise of the tunnel, but those around him did not mistake it. They joined in, and soon the makeshift platoons were chanting as one.

"For the glory of the Empire!"

"For the glory of the Empire!"

"FOR THE GLORY OF THE EMPIRE!!!"

The ring of metal rang clear as a thundering charge slammed into tower shields and readied pikes. The battle had begun and Cyan watched as those at the front were crippled and killed. Bodies hit the ground with spearheads embedded deep the chests of young men. They were falling back, how could they not against such a vicious assault? Inexperience could not stand firm against experience, and several dozen more collapsed before the Knight of Doma made up his mind.

Cyan raised his blade into the air and caught the torchlight, his ferocious cry cutting through the metallic clash of blades.

The symbol was not lost on the defenders, and Cyan's bullrush was joined by dozens of equal mind.

Cyan Garamonde decapitated his enemies and spun in the thick of action. It was difficult to tell who was who and instead of allowing that to slow his blade, Cyan charged deeper. No arrows flew and elemental beams were silent. There were no distractions; this was an honourable battle between warriors. Cyan felt a rush of adrenaline and cried in triumph as Imperial after Imperial fell before his blade. His retorts were unstoppable, his thrusts unparried, and his slashes opened multiple men at once.

The New Order fell back and Paisley's command stormed forward to fill their place. Cyan was quickly surrounded by Imperials that were now his allies and instead of following their lead, he held back and searched for Relm.

"No!" Cyan screamed. He charged with all his might.

Relm barely avoided losing her head as a spear thrust past. A blast of ice came from her fingertips and smashed into the face of her attacker. As he fell to the ground, face dripping with blood and screaming from pain, a second man attempted to sever the young magic user apart with his broadsword.

Spells were dangerous at such close proximity, and Relm's hair was suddenly shoulder-length as the blade passed inches above her neck. She screamed, yellow sparkles dancing uselessly from her fingertips. Her right hand gripped a knife -- proportionately a short sword considering her size -- in a defensive stance. But it was clear to any trained warrior that it was mimicry; she knew little more than how to brandish the blade.

With a roar, Cyan cleaved the man's head off. He maintained his guard but no one was near. "Are you alright, dear one?" the Knight asked.

Relm nodded, her face flushed and breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

Cyan saw that the side-tunnel he had entered through was swamped with men. Of course the battle would rage there, he thought with disdain. "Follow and keep close," he said. It was time to make his move.

He left a trail of blood as they made their way to the only escape route, wading into the thick of battle as Cyan swung from side to side. It was easy defending Relm when she was close. Her height offered an advantage of non-interference, so that she could be within his circle of influence without affecting his blows. Her magic helped a bit, generally blunting a fast charge before he slew the attacker. In this manner, the pair approached the side-tunnel.

Cyan was dimly aware that Paisley was behind him. The Doma Knight turned about and dropped two more pikeman, moving towards his escape route. The battle was thinning out and it was clear that the defenders were winning.

Paisley fought with two short swords, swinging them about like knives. It was without grace but killed nonetheless. But the Lieutenant was in Cyan's way. The Knight of Doma fought at Paisley's side, his Doma-forged blade crippling the arm of a large axeman before slashing across the chest. He turned, intent on accidentally killing Paisley.

The young officer was overextended, both swords locked with the blades of another man. Behind him, a New Order soldier prepared for a mighty thrust of a spear.

Cyan slew the pikeman and followed through by killing Paisley's opponent. The two men locked eyes in the midst of the battlefield, torchlight flickering in their eyes. Surprise was clear on each man's face.

The moment was broken as another of the New Order stepped into their path. Paisley slew the unlucky interloper before charging back into the chaos. Seconds passed, Cyan doing little more than defending as he thought about what he had just done. He searched for Relm and perhaps try to salvage what remained of his plan. She was close to his feet, a questioning look clear on her face. Her mouth formed words that were drowned out by the sound of battle, but Cyan read her lips clearly.

And then the battle was won. A cheer could be heard from the men as the New Order retreated, barely one in ten had lived long enough to turn tail and even then, their survival was still debatable as the momentum reversed. The once-inexperienced rookies were victorious and overwhelmingly so. They had held the line of defence and pounced on enemy footmen that had grown too comfortable with archer and Magitek support.

As someone closed in behind him, Cyan spun and almost killed without reservation. But yet again he paused before blade met flesh.

Irving had a bright smile on his face and clasped Cyan's shoulder. "I saw what you did!" he cried out with the gusto of a man who had seen the impossible. "Cutting your way through dozens of soldiers, defending the little girl at the same time, all just to save Paisley!" he shouted between ragged gasps. Irving pulled Cyan into the crowd of soldiers. "Sir Cyan coming through!" he shouted in a deep rumbling voice reserved for Sergeants.

Men raised their fists in the air as they cheered his name. Cyan looked around in wonder as they chanted for him. Young men, most still bleeding, shook his hand, patted his back or clasped his arms. They were all smiles as they thanked him, praised his bravery and complimented him on his heroics. Several offered him water from their canteens, others foul-smelling spirits from their secret stash, and there was even a teenaged-girl -- holding an axe with the experience of a lumberjack twice her age -- that actually batted her eyelashes. Irving pulled Cyan through the crowd, the makeshift platoon was still several-dozen strong and spread throughout the railway tunnel, until they reached Paisley.

The officer turned to him, his blades still dripping blood. Paisley had been amongst the men that charged after the retreating New Order soldiers, killing them all to the last man. The boyish face with a cold demeanour looked Cyan in the eyes. First impressions had been proven wrong.

Twin blades slammed into the ground and silenced the crowd of bloodied men. His fist went to his heart.

"Three cheers for Sir Cyan Garamonde!" Lieutenant Paisley shouted as he raised his fist into the air.

The echoes of the Imperial soldiers rumbled throughout the mountain.

---

Sabin wiped the blood off his mouth.

He leaned against the cold bark of a tree trunk, ragged breaths misting in the winter air. His foot idly kicked aside a broken wooden wheel. It wobbled and rolled, until it was stopped by a fresh cadaver. Their blood was still warm, steadily melting through the hard-packed snow of the ground. But they were dead. All of them were dead.

Sabin had ensured that.

The sky was blue and the sun beat down upon him. He smiled underneath that wonderful warm light, free at last. He had lost track of the days while imprisoned in that deep, accursed dungeon. He pushed aside the dark memories of those days, for the hurts were still fresh throughout his body. His ribs were cracked, he had open welts all over his skin, his right arm seemed to groan in pain every time he raised it, and even all his nails had been pulled out.

One blood-red eye slowly rolled to the right. He gazed past the broken carcasses of the wagons, several bodies collapsed both on top and beneath them. He ignored dead chocobos as well, heaped against great unyielding pines. The snow-covered dirt path was unbroken ahead, and in the distance, it looked like a deer...

Sabin's gaze paused on one crippled body. A leg had been snapped in half and twisted behind the back. One hand was a mangled mass of flesh, the other swung side to side; it was attached only by the skin. Red hair had been caught underneath spokes of the wagon wheel. She should have been dead, but Sabin supposed not everything could go the way he planned; certainly not in recent memory had anything gone as he planned.

He bent down despite the groans of protest from his back. He lifted the chin of the woman who was very close to death, and glared at her straight in the eye.

"Still alive?"

A sneer appeared, despite the pain it must have caused her. The entire left side of her face was already purple and black, and the right would soon follow. Despite trying, Sabin felt no sympathy for her.

"That's a yes," he answered his own question. Sabin stood up and stretched once more, inadvertently letting a moan of pain escape his lips. He hurt all over and no matter how he tried to ignore it, it was too much even for him.

"You can't escape," a raspy whisper was all she had been capable of. It was followed by coughing and the sound of blood gurgling within the throat as the woman struggled to breathe.

Sabin glanced down at his former jailor. He smiled at the irony. "Yes, I think you said that quite a few times trying to break me. Fortunately, just like that constant blather about inevitability, you were wrong."

More coughing... and a strange flick of the wrist.

Sabin caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. He had seen many gestures like that in the past while. It had been almost all he could concentrate on, as he steadily memorized and stowed away each unconscious inclination. In a flash of the eye, his hand slapped down against hers, and he followed through with a vicious strike to her broken leg.

An ear-piercing scream echoed throughout the countryside.

"Nice try," Sabin growled. "I should have known you would never beg for mercy, you Imperial magic-wielding bitch."

She must have been seeing stars, for her eyes rolled in their sockets while she twitched uncontrollably. Sabin waited for her to regain her senses. He knew she wouldn't die just yet. In the meantime, he crossed his legs and meditated. Instead of inner peace though, all he could do was think about the past. Funny how that was, when he locked in a dungeon away from the light of day and barely conscious from the pain of torture, he tried with all his might to recall fond memories and better times. Now all he desired was solace and that was being denied.

Of course, his heart was still beating furiously. Adrenaline pumped throughout his veins and his head throbbed. If he didn't concentrate, everything would become blurry. He didn't really remember what he had done or how the wagon had ended up in such a manner. It was all just a haze of blood spraying in his face, people screaming all around him, and the impacts against his fists.

The sound of coughing; she was finally conscious again. Sabin took a seat beside her on the cold, densely packed snow. He didn't mind sitting in half-frozen blood, the pants he wore were not his and neither was the crimson puddle. He leaned against the broken wagon beside her.

"Now we're going to have a long talk," Sabin said. He glanced over at his jailor. The world seemed to spin a little and the outsides of his vision were filled with snow. "You're going to tell me everything, starting with where the hell Siana is, or else your last hours on this world will seem like eternity."

"The Patrician personally chose me for this," the woman gasped. "You won't break me, savage,"

"This won't be the first time you're wrong," Sabin replied impassively. He grabbed a spoke and tore it out with one hand; a splintered makeshift spear would do. "Let's begin."

---

Cyan wiped the sweat off his brow, the drops of salty water almost freezing the instant they left his hands. His breath came out in ragged gasps as he basked in the pleasant sensation of overcoming physical adversity. His heart was pounding and his head was spinning, but the exertion was a welcome distraction. Exercise always felt great once it was over.

He had not climbed very high; it had been a hike up an old trail. Rope was unnecessary and Cyan doubted that it would be difficult to make his way back down the mountain, even in the pitch-dark night. His pack hit the ground noisily; it was filled with survival gear just in case he decided to make camp. His sensitive ears made out a low rumble to the east.

In the darkness of the night, under heavy cloud cover and with nary a torch in sight, Cyan looked towards what he assumed to be the Gap of Reddenhurst. It was difficult. He was unfamiliar with the area and its landmarks. Even with superb nightvision, Cyan could not make out much. The Knight of Doma almost wished he had the pair of lenses that Edgar possessed; binoculars to assist one's far-sight. He had avoided and detested such mechanical tools in the past -- they were an unnecessary crutch that men should not have to depend on -- but their usefulness could not be denied.

But that rumbling, it was such a familiar sound. Like raindrops in the night, it was almost relaxing in its consistency.

Noting that not an evergreen needle was vibrating, Cyan decided to ignore the rumbles and instead got comfortable in a bed of moss. The day had passed and he was in need of solitude.

No, he was in need of a friend to speak to.

With Sabin on the run and Edgar sailing the high-seas, Cyan Garamonde realized he had no one to turn to and rely upon for support. It was a depressing thought, one that made him ache for Elayne. He was alone, surrounded by the Empire, and filled with conflict.

The situation was of his own making. A moment of doubt, the briefest of brief, had caused him to hesitate when he could have slew Paisley. The result would have been escape with Relm, away from the Empire and away from the strife of the Imperial Civil War. He could have easily protected Strago's granddaughter until they found seafaring passage back north, or perhaps escape east as Sabin had. It had been such a perfect plan.

But it was not him. He was a Knight of Doma. How could he turn his blade on an ally in battle? Such treachery was far beneath his station. How could he sink so low, even for Relm's sake? Was that not the reason he ran away from the Imperial celebrations? Because the overwhelming shame was too much?

Cyan sighed loudly. He did not think he could have lived with the dishonour of striking Paisley down. The man was an assassin, of that he had no doubt. He was of low-character and were he in Doma, Cyan would have brought Paisley as a criminal to be tried and executed. Yet not only had he had paused when given the chance to cut down such rabble, he had even protected the man. Had he simply held back, Paisley would have died to the blade of their common-enemy. Surely that was an honourable end, for it was battle and Cyan was simply too slow to save his overextended ally.

No. He could lie to others, convince them otherwise... but he could not lie to himself. How could he face Elayne again if he had fallen into such disgrace? How could he uphold the banner of Doma with such dishonour?

Doma... the Imperials in the tunnel had reminded him so much of those final days. It turned his stomach to make the comparison, but he could not ignore the truth. Both the men of Doma and the men of the Empire had reacted the same way, looked up to him for support and followed him faithfully against a superior foe. They had both fought with... honour.

Cyan ground his teeth in frustration. Rescuing Relm would prove difficult if he was reluctant to bring his blade to bear against her wardens.

In the distance, the night was suddenly lit by an unearthly red glow. The ambience abruptly disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Cyan bolted upright. He recognized that glow in the pitch-black night. How could he not? It had plagued his nightmares for months.

A Magitek Fire Beam.

More appeared and disappeared, but the beams had not stopped firing of their own accord. They cut off too quickly, without the slow cool-down that all elemental cannons employed. It did not gradually fade but was quick, like a candle snuffed out by the wind.

Then came the flares. A multitude of bright fireworks were launched into the sky, and ending that display of coloured lights was a single yellow spark that glowed brighter than the rest. Cyan felt shivers down his spine. He knew that the Imperial Army only communicated in such a manner during their direst hours. Barely a moment passed before humanity played God.

Fire rained down from the cliffs. Red beams of light lit the battlefield as they blasted through the frigid air, gouts of flame spiralling around each pillar of magical inferno. Snow vanished in a heartbeat, and each wide-spread beam tunnelled into the naked ground for a brief second. Then came the explosions; fireballs that lit up the night and rose sky-high while a ring of flame expanded from the center of each impact. In that light, Cyan could see the thousands of men that were charging entrenchments within the Gap of Reddenhurst. There were so many that it looked as if the hills themselves were moving. Cyan whispered a prayer for the departed souls that would soon follow.

In seconds, hundreds of men were vaporized in a red haze of magic, and hundreds more fell to the ground covered in flames. They screamed in pain, reached out for the help of their dying comrades, and perished a nameless death. Those that had families would be remembered and missed, never again to see the faces of their loved ones or to watch as their children grew. But many more had no families, no lovers, and would simply be forgotten. They would just be another corpse, part of a numerical statistic that would be associated with the civil war. Their hopes, their dreams, and their lives would never be remembered.

But upon the field of carnage and death, the dying had friends. They had comrades that did not forget, did not ignore, and were not numbed to the screams of pain. Hundreds of Armors upon the field opened fire with their elemental cannons. Beams of flame and ice crashed into the mountainside, illuminating the smooth, magically-hewn walls of solid stone that protected what Cyan knew to be the Gaston Cliffs. The sight of Magitek Armors upon the cliffs could be clearly seen in the magical cascade -- their immobile positions given away the moment they fired -- and so it was that the Imperial Army tore apart the mountainside. Dark unnatural stone did not give way to hundreds of elemental beams, instead the pillars of energy broke apart and splattered down the mountain as a storm of cascading liquid flame. The base of the mountain was consumed in an inferno, a forest fire of such magnitude that it nearly illuminated the entire Gap of Reddenhurst much like the sun.

Those upon the Gaston Cliffs returned fire, not just elemental warfare, but thousands of fire-tipped arrows rained down upon the armies of General Meras. Armors were consumed in miniature fireballs that dotted the plains, too numerous to count, but did not falter in the face of imminent death. In retort, ice and fire magic tore through the mountains faster than either alone. First the sky-blue storms, then the raging infernos of hell. The sorcerous stone could not hold back such energy and buckled, beams burrowing their way into the rocky cliffs and cleaving them apart. The avalanche that followed could barely be described as such, as the peak of a mountain had been shorn away and collapsed into the raging firestorm below.

Barely ten minutes had passed as two of the greatest armies in existence engaged in warfare, and already the world would be scarred forever. It trembled in anticipation.

Cyan's military mind followed the display coldly, making sense of what he saw and what he knew. The Imperial had three types of Magitek, the small ones that he had piloted, a larger one that was their mainstay, and an artillery unit that was so unwieldy he had never seen it deployed in warfare. The mainstay made up the majority of those upon the ground; without the overwhelming power of those units upon the cliffs, their sheer numbers, excellent support, and superior coordination had quickly overwhelmed the outermost war machines above them. However, those cliffs were still rife with the largest of Magitek. It was a stalemate, artillery that was a threat but held back; for the cost of firing was to reveal their positions to a fatal counterattack.

The Imperials were adapting to the tactics used by their former comrades.

Cyan watched, breathless, from his vantage point high above the scene of battle. He could not make out details, but for the veteran of the Doma War, that level of detail was unnecessary. He was more than intimate with the Imperial War Machine. And as the minutes passed and the death toll rose, as chocobos were slaughtered and men skewered, as Magitek Armors fell and fortresses exploded, Cyan came to a single, undeniable conclusion.

The Empire was dying.

And his heart, the heart that had suffered through the deaths of thousands of close friends and countrymen, the heart that had languished through the callous killings of his liege and the Doma nobility, the heart that had died when Elayne and Owain had departed aboard the Phantom Train... that heart felt empty.

All his work in the past year had been for a single goal. Now that had been achieved, and the Empire would surely fall in the warfare that was to follow. Yet... he felt nothing. No sense of victory, happiness, or even an air of smug contentment that he had avenged his family in some small fashion.

Cyan turned away from the carnage -- from the sight of a single cavalry charge led by someone as devoted as the men who followed were fanatical -- and thought about what mattered... what truly mattered to him.

An hour into the Third Battle of Reddenhurst, a climatic showdown between two factions of the Empire that would decide whether the next dozen years would be that of continuous warfare, Cyan Garamonde began the steady climb down the mountainside. The Knight of Doma had known that no amount of Imperial blood would ever bring back his wife and son, but had not realized how little it meant to him whether the Empire rose or fell. As he carefully made his way through the thick brush and deadly cliffs -- his ears assaulted by the sounds of battle -- he only thought of one thing.

Relm.

---

Sabin had still been staring in mute horror long after the sun set in the west. There was simply no reaction that could convey the disgust and hatred that flowed through him.

The woman had cracked in the end, and perhaps another time Sabin would have been ashamed of what he had done. But it was difficult to feel any sympathy for someone that had tormented him for such a long time. Even the seasons had changed during his imprisonment, and every waking hour in between that had not been spent screaming in pain had been spent trying to hang onto sanity. He had drifted out of consciousness as often as one blinked, perhaps more when he considered the growing pain in his eyes.

His chief tormentor called herself a Compatriot; apparently she was of the Patrician's inner circle. Between her inane rants about the place of magic in the world and its disgusting lack of order, Sabin had learned that he was far from the only one she had... 'treated'.

He wasn't sure whether she was truly delusional or highly skilled at deceit. The things she had said about Enlightenment and the Guild, it was just too incredulous to be true. She gave no impression that she was stupid, far from it. She was a Magitek Knight, one of the Empire's finest. Whatever had caused her to fall into such insanity was truly disturbing.

Before she died though, Sabin had gotten the location that Siana was being held at. The so-called Compatriot had resisted naming names, instead referring to them as savages and animals. Sabin had worked long in order to convince her otherwise. If anything she said was to be believed, then Siana was in Pierpoint. It was all Sabin had to go on. He was apparently to be transferred there as well, for they had felt that their testing of new methods had come to a conclusion and they would use older, tried and true techniques.

Experimentation to achieve what end, the son of Figaro did not know.

Sabin had not bothered hiding his escape. No one had arrived throughout the day as he interrogated the woman, and he doubted many travelled to Pierpoint by that route at all. Instead he had feared that the city was far away and too heavily populated to safely infiltrate.

He had been wrong on both accounts.

Sabin began to breathe again; his mind finally finished digesting the shock that would leave permanent scars in his soul. Long after sunlight disappeared and Pierpoint was flooded by darkness, a despairing Sabin looked up at the hanging corpses once more and his heart seized in anguish. He fell to the ground into a cushion of snow. White flakes covered his face, melting almost immediately as they touched his skin. They ran off his cheeks and mixed in with the salty tears that flowed without reservation.

Sabin had never seen anything like it, nor did he ever wish to see such again. They had been children. Children! How could anyone have done such a thing?

The sound of footsteps! Sabin pushed himself off the ground and opened his mouth in shock.

It was a man in blood-drenched rags that hung haphazardly from his body. In the night, Sabin could not make out much detail. He knew the man was turned away, and his hair was dishevelled with patches of dirt forcing the strands into giant clumps. It was another escaped prisoner! His hopes renewed at this development, Sabin dashed over to his fellow captive.

Only several feet away, the prisoner suddenly dashed off down an alleyway. "Wait!" Sabin cried out. "I'm on your side!"

The martial artist almost slipped on a patch of ice as he turned the corner, but quickly regained his balance and chased after the only other living soul in Pierpoint. Sabin had to find out what had happened and whether this fellow had been through the same ordeal as he. They were linked together by a common enemy; surely they could cooperate to survive.

Sabin's heels dug into the packed snow as he came to a halt. Mouth agape, the martial artist watched in surprise as an axe tore through solid stone. The escaped captive was a blur of motion, swinging his huge double-bladed weapon wildly, and toppled pillar after pillar of an obscene tribute -- it was a marble fountain but skeletons were piled into the dish and frozen in a pool of unknown liquid. The fugitive was gripped by an uncontrolled storm of anger that Sabin had never seen the likes of. The martial artist thought his fellow captive was screaming at one point, but he couldn't seem to figure out exactly what the man was saying.

The man dropped his axe and from the rubble, picked up a metal beam that might have once braced a ceiling. He swung it from side to side and knocked down a building by its foundation, then tossed it aside. He picked up the axe again and suddenly, Sabin realized that this was making quite a bit of noise.

"Hey, stop that!" Sabin cried out. "I know how you feel, I'd join you if my hands weren't so sore, but you're going to bring them down on both of us!"

The escaped captive stopped, but only because the monument had been destroyed. He jumped to the ground, landing on both feet, and then dashed off again.

"He's absolutely crazy," Sabin growled, beginning to grow impatient. Even if he caught up with the insane man, it probably wouldn't help his odds of survival. Actually, it might worsen them quite a bit.

But Sabin ran after the man anyways. If only for the company, for craziness was still better than nothing. But the shape was always ahead of him by one step and never responded to his desperate cries. It was impressive how much stamina the former-captive had, equivalent to Sabin's, if not better. The martial artist ran through the deserted streets of Pierpoint after a crazed fugitive, trying his best not to notice the corpses that surrounded him. It was not difficult to follow; there was always a trail of rubble left by a mighty battle-axe or the sound of incessant screaming.

Another patch of ice! Sabin cursed as his knees hit the snow and he slammed headfirst into the ground. He rolled onto his back -- head swimming dizzily, nose bloody and bells ringing -- and forced himself back to his feet.

The other man was gone.

Sabin cursed his foul luck. He started to wander the pitch-dark streets, listening carefully for the noise that the crazy man must have been making. Twice he walked into a building before he managed to straighten his path. As he continued down the road, he noticed that many of the bodies that had once hung from nooses were on the ground, and many more obscene monuments torn down. He swore that just earlier that day, he had been staring blankly at them for hours and they had not been in such a state. But no one had come by recently aside from the fugitive and himself. Certainly the other man could not have had so much time -- considering the state his body was in -- to destroy so much.

And then he bumped into another pillar. His eyes followed the wooden shaft to its top and the eyes of a child, forever frozen in her death throes, stared back at him.

Tears ran down his face anew. In the darkness of the deserted city of Pierpoint, Sabin cried for all the innocents that had died here. All the women and children that had been killed in what looked to be a ritual fashion, sacrificed for some evil god. It was a blessing that the sun had sunk beyond the horizon, for seeing all the spikes in which bodies were driven whole, skins torn from flesh, bodies mutilated and twisted into obscene devilish statues, it might have driven a man insane.

He still felt dizzy, his head swam and Sabin continued to wander away. It wouldn't be until the next day, when he had woken up, that he would note that the damage to those evil displays was not done with a sharp tool. Tens, maybe hundreds of blunt impacts had broken the evidence of malicious crimes against humanity.

It wouldn't be until the next day that Sabin Rene Figaro realized he could not speak, his throat was so hoarse. His fists would be bloodied and bruised, his feet were swollen and his back seemed to ache with every movement.

But if anyone cared to listen, they could still hear words screamed over and over again, echoing through the dead city of Pierpoint.

"Empire of murderers!"

Visions of Peace will be continued in The Fourteenth Chapter - The Raging Tempest

The Fourteenth Chapter - The Raging Tempest

Edgar scrambled onto the deck.

"There you are! The Captain has been screaming for you," a young Midshipman pointed towards the bow.

Edgar grunted in acknowledgement and made his way through the crowded deck. Bells were ringing and battlestations declared, but Edgar had been busy looking over the Imperial cannons and didn't realize what was going on until a gun crew interrupted his analysis of the Empire's metallurgy.

"King Edgar," the Captain of the Tiernay greeted him. The Imperial was dressed in a dark undress coat, the long-sleeved garment swishing just above the knee as the man steadied himself. The vessel was rocking side to side with some vigour -- Edgar turned to see some dozen youths scaling the masts and unfurling the sails -- and the winds were only intensifying.

"What's going on?" Edgar growled.

"One of our sloops was spotted on the horizon. Flags flown indicated they had seen the sails of the enemy."

"They're not enemies yet!" Edgar corrected. "I gave specific orders-"

"And they're being ignored," the Captain interrupted. "The Admiral will not have us unprepared if we are engaged by your people. I asked for your presence not because I wanted to argue about tactics, but because you need to make a hard choice."

With only an hour or two more before they reached the coast, Edgar's scouting strategy had been perfect until this moment. It was critical point though. "What did they encounter?" Edgar snapped. He had no intention of engaging his own navy, but they couldn't retreat easily. That would give the Figarian Navy more time to collect reinforcements, making subsequent attempts at a stealthy landing almost impossible!

"A fleet of battleships."

Edgar turned around; Strago had just climbed back into the Tiernay. His red robes were soaked with seawater and his hair slickened back. A thick, bearded man accompanied the old lore-master, sweat-soaked white tunic telling how hard he had rowed.

"Strago!" Edgar knew his friend had decided to join one of sloops, he was going to try to use his magic to help detect faraway vessels.

Strago turned to sailor beside him and whispered a few words. As the man departed, the lore-master wiped his brow of sweat and addressed Edgar. "We got back as soon as we saw a fleet arrayed against us."

"A fleet? Impossible!" the Captain of the Tiernay narrowed his eyes. "Either this is the worst luck in the history of the Empire, or they knew we were headed in this direction. There's no possible reason for such vessels to already be together." He glared suspiciously at Edgar.

Edgar raised his hands defensively. "I haven't been in contact with anyone outside of the fleet and you know this. The answer is incompetence of course, that's what's gotten us into this mess!"

"Gentlemen!" Strago interrupted. "There are four ships of the line and some dozen smaller vessels bearing towards us, so this is certainly not the time to bicker!"

"Contact the Diodorus," Edgar ordered. There were only two battleships in the Imperial fleet, certainly not enough to engage the Figarian vessels. "We need to retreat. I want every single ship back; we'll need all of them if we're to get out of this in one piece."

The Captain of the Tiernay folded his arms. "Mister Magus, was the Figarian Fleet already in formation?"

Strago nodded grimly. "This was an ambush, simple as that."

"What kind of shape and how near the coast?" the Captain gestured and one of the younger boys aboard the vessel scurried over. "Get us some parchment," he ordered.

"I don't intend on fighting!" Edgar yelled after the boy had left.

"We may have the opportunity to cross their line of battle with our ships, considering the weather-gauge," the Captain pointed out. The Imperial fleet had its back to the wind and that meant superior speed, not to mention a slight boost to the range of their cannons. "They wouldn't expect that! It's not particularly advantageous for us to do such a thing when they're so close to the coast."

The boy returned and scribbled as Strago pointed out what he remembered. The resulting diagram of their situation was terribly drawn. Yet it was easy to make out the X's lined up ready to interpose if the Imperial fleet were to cut towards the coast.

"And what would be the point of sailing in?" Edgar glared at the Imperial sailor. "Like you said, that would drive us towards the coast," he took the opportunity to scrawl a line just above the X's representing the Figarian fleet. "We'd be hemmed in by their superior numbers and we'll give up what little advantage we have in the wind."

"You are correct, it is generally folly to do such a thing. We'll need to plan this carefully and make haste to avoid exposing ourselves to their broadsides."

Edgar frowned. "You know that's impossible. I was quite clear that Imperial ships cannot make the speed of their Figarian counterparts."

"Perhaps King Edgar, but both this ship and the Diodorus are outfitted with an elemental cannon instead of the standard chaser."

Edgar's eyes went wide. "What?" he whispered as goosebumps ran down his spine. An elemental cannon, at the front of the ship? "How could you have hidden such information from me?"

The Captain of the Tiernay gave him a toothy grin. "Imagine their surprise when fire beams rake across their ships, even if we don't carve'em in half, we'll set them aflame! Their greed to capitalize on what looks to be a tactical mistake will lead to their destruction."

Edgar swallowed back his revulsion, knowing that the Imperial was correct. "I won't allow it. It's too risky," he lied.

"You duplicity is ill-advised, Mister Figaro, you have certainly failed the choice you were given. Now the decision is no longer yours to make," the Captain of the Tiernay turned away. "The Admiral will decide our course."

Edgar rubbed his temples in frustration, well aware that the Imperial Captain had made up his mind and there was nothing he could do about it. Furthermore, he knew what the decision would be.

They were going to slaughter thousands of Figarian sailors, and it would be his fault.

---

"What the hell is going Norris?"

A trio of chocobos dug their feet into the icy ground and came to a halt. In the background, the roar of continuous explosions almost drowned out the irate Major-General.

Karen Alysworth, one of the most powerful Imperial officers due to her command of over sixty-thousand men, swore as she landed on the ground. She wore a mask of annoyance as she angrily flicked back a lock of auburn hair. The grinning mischievous old-man before her only incited a blistering scowl.

"Karen. It's always a happy moment when I see you," a recently clean-shaven Norris Ferdinand leaned against a leafless tree. He was accompanied by only one person, Terra Branford. The two magic-users were unperturbed by the female officer's wrath.

"Answer my question Colonel," Karen strolled underneath the skeletal canopy of a forest near Maley's Point. She might have been far away from her loyal minions, but the aura of authority did not weaken in the slightest. She was still as imposing as she had been the first night Terra had met her, deeper into the Province of Alfort-Broughnam and seemingly removed from the bloodbath that had been the Imperial Civil War. There were differences though: her hair was longer, the wrinkles had deepened beneath her eyes, but most noticeable were the scars that trailed down the side of her face. Terra had first-hand experience with those types of wounds; they had been caused by burns from an incredibly hot fire.

Trailing the Major-General were two familiar faces: the one-eyed Miles and unassuming Gossman. "If you haven't noticed," Karen continued, "there is a war going on! I am needed to direct our forces and I don't appreciate being pulled out of my tent to meet some upstart Magitek Knight far away from the front!"

Norris grinned. "Miles snuck through your cordon of bodyguards, I take it."

Karen reddened even more. Behind her, Miles and Gossman acknowledged their commander's theory.

"We're the best for a reason," Norris continued. "Miles, Gossman, you're dismissed for now. I need to speak with Karen," he turned away from the brown-haired General and strolled deeper into the forest. "Please, Karen, walk with me."

Terra waited until Karen grudgingly followed Norris and then did the same.

"Norris-"

"I needed a location where I could be sure we would not be overheard," Norris interrupted. There was a certain sanguine quality to his voice that was out of place with the roar of battle in the background. "My men have this area cordoned; it'll be safe to talk here."

Karen cast a sidelong glance of suspicion at Terra, who stared back unconcerned. "What is it?" the emotion bled out of her voice quickly, a professional soldier's attitude settling in instead. "Where is Colonel Eric?"

Norris pulled two folders out of his robes, each sealed by wax. He handed the documents to Karen. "Fanshaw is destroyed. The walls have fallen, her peoples slaughtered. Nothing remains there, not even the men loyal to our side," he summarized plainly.

Karen was wide-eyed in surprise. "That is impossible," she stated blankly.

"I am of the opinion that Drummond did it, and with assets numbering at least two divisions."

"What of Camiel?"

"Destroyed. We made sure," Norris stopped in the midst of the forest; they had gone deep enough. He levelled a steady look at Karen, their eyes making contact. "Drummond is dabbling in dark magic, spells that could tip the balance in his favour. My men were attacked. Not many survived. They almost got me and Terra."

Silence, or as close to silence as that war-ridden section of the world could get. Great booming sounds still echoed in the distance, rolling across the countryside similar to pressure waves. They came in bursts, each lasting several minutes before quieting for a few more.

"Horrible news," Karen remarked at last. "However, it still doesn't explain why I am here."

Norris cleared his throat. He broke eye-contact and instead looked to the north. "Karen," he began. "The magic wielded by those loyal to Drummond is my utmost priority. There is simply nothing more important than finding out what kind of an avalanche the Maverick has unleashed."

The sound of explosions began again.

"I know what has befallen you. I know why you're dug-in and incapable of advancing past the Grand Peaks... barely able to hang onto Maley's Point as is," Norris continued.

"Really, Colonel?" Karen frowned. "So you've spent a few hours listening to several thousand artillery pieces -- mostly ship-borne cannons all taken out of mothball status but mortars and howitzers aplenty -- burning through the entire Imperial stockpile of gunpowder at a rate that would put Palazzo to shame, and now you're an expert in this warfare? That you would understand what it's like to be unable to sleep because of those damn cannons thundering every odd-minute? Do you know what's it's like out there? The field between two armies littered with as many corpses as spent munitions? Do you know what it's like to order thousands to scale an unassailable position because of political concerns, knowing that none will survive but all the same being given a direct-"

"Karen," Norris interrupted. He put a friendly hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Karen slapped Norris' hand aside. "The New Order has managed to rally veterans into its forces, in addition to training additional conscripts. This means that Anson Tilton has managed to sway the commoners to his side."

Terra nodded to herself and Norris grunted a reluctant acknowledgement. Terra had spent much of her time in the last week learning everything she could about the politics of the civil war. Anson Tilton, the pretender to the throne, had been the main topic as she questioned Anthony, Miles and Gossman whenever they were free.

"It's not just that, Norris. The refugee problem seems restricted to only the battle-scared regions of the Core. Despite the bloody approaches to Vector in the first month, not as much damage had been done as we expected. This makes the fight for our homeland just that much more difficult."

"I know all this Karen, it's outlined in my report," Norris responded.

"Fine! Ignore the obvious questions! It's not like blind loyalty has ever gotten us in trouble!" Karen's outburst caught both Terra and Norris off-guard.

"Listen-" Norris began weakly.

"Just explain what the hell you want from me," Karen growled.

Norris sighed. He turned to Terra.

"Miss Alysworth," Terra finally broke her silence. "Norris fears the shroud of magic; it was a crucial part of the ambush which cost us dearly. I agree with his sentiment. It's important -- extremely important -- that we figure out what the Maverick intends and work towards countering his latest magical advance with our own."

"Which is why I want you to give me a direct order," Norris continued. "To research this new threat and come up with countermeasures, you'll send me directly to Tzen."

"What?" Karen exclaimed. "Wait a minute," she raised her hands. "Assuming I believe a word about how dangerous this new magic is, you want me to send you far away from our army so that we're deprived of your magical expertise if this threat materializes? Into the waiting arms of some so-called ally that has betrayed us in the past?"

Norris and Terra exchanged looks of concern.

"All of which still doesn't answer the question as to why I'm issuing this order. This is something General Lilienthal should be made aware of, not to mention the fact that he has thousands upon thousands of magical tomes back in Albrook, a safe and friendly city for you to be in, Norris," Karen folded her arms and glared at the old man in suspicion. "You're lying to me."

"General Meras has long since had an interest in the current happenings of the Magitek Knights, unlike our own General," Norris raised an eyebrow for effect. "Her information would be much more up-to-date on what the labs had been researching prior to the Long Night. In addition... Terra?" Norris nudged the half-Esper.

Terra cleared her throat. "I have already seen much of the Remiel's collection and can compare it to General Meras' library. Hers is more extensive and would likely be a better place to start," she lied.

Karen nodded. "Right. Sure, I'll believe this. What I still don't understand is why-" her dark eyes locked on Norris fiercely, "-you're going to all this trouble to get around General Lilienthal."

"I didn't-"

Karen held up a hand. "Norris, I know you said you dragged me out here for secrecy's sake. I'm sure you have a good speech on how important it is that no one overhears anything about Fanshaw or this Shroud of Magic. But I've known you for a long time. You sent a man like Miles to sneak into my tent, risking death in the process, to deliver a note sealed with spell that we use for our most secret correspondences. That's not normal, to say the least, and I can't see you ordering it unless you had great need... like avoiding the possibility of encountering our General."

Terra frowned. She glanced over at the old Magitek Knight suspiciously. While she had played her part as he requested -- his proposition had been a good one and it was merely a few white lies she was telling -- Karen was right. Norris was being overly cautious for some strange reason.

Norris straightened. "I couldn't take the chance of General Lilienthal ignoring my analysis and ordering me to assist on the front." He gestured north, where the sounds of cannonade had started again. "Do you really think I can make a difference? It's a battle that can't be won just with another mage, but if the General sees me, he'll try to have me to do just that. It's a waste, Karen."

Terra was impressed. Norris was a good liar.

But he was clearly not good enough to fool either of them. "You're full of it, Norris," Karen levelled a finger in his face. "But I don't care enough to pry into all your secrets," she lowered her hand. "This is one hell of a favour, and I will collect your debts one day. You will debrief me when you get back from Tzen, Colonel Ferdinand."

Norris smiled. "Of course, and Karen-"

The female General had half-turned away, clearly intending to leave.

"-be careful."

Karen pressed her lips together in a weak smile. She left without another word.

---

Terra followed Norris through the forest. They had made camp deep into the woods, the path they had taken around the enemy entrenchments had led them further south than strictly necessary. But it had been safer to stray, rather than take the optimal route.

Locke and Sherwood were back at their 'camp', if the small collection of tents could be considered that. The men Norris had sent to escort Karen would bring back more supplies though, enough for their small team to make the trip to Tzen.

The thought of that brought a smile to Terra's face. Seeing Relm again would be a joy. She had worried over Strago's granddaughter for a long time now, though she had been powerless to do anything about it. But finally she was going back, and with Danielle's allies in tow. Not to mention she was sure that Farin wouldn't lift a finger to harm them. In fact, he would probably help.

Surrounded by new-found friends, everything was working out for the better.

Even Locke's spirit had been lifted by this news. The burden of Relm's imprisonment had probably been as heavy on his shoulders as hers, but that was finally ending. He also seemed to be getting over his death and resurrection. Locke and Sherwood had been teamed up since the events at Gwendolen Ford and they almost looked like friends.

Which was good, since Terra hadn't expected Sherwood to speak with anyone! The archer had certainly given her the cold-shoulder, especially since Clarkson was gone. Terra sighed deeply at that memory, wishing that she had been strong enough to save his life as well. She should have fought back earlier and ended the threat before the situation had gotten so desperate. He had been the friendliest of all of Norris' men. His loss had affected everyone...

Her eyes drifted to the grey-haired old man.

"Norris."

The elder Magitek Knight idly scratched at his smooth chin. "What is it Terra?"

"When you made the offer to help you solve this mysterious Shroud, I accepted it without question."

Norris grinned. "Well it was rather in your favour. At the very least, you'll be surrounded by good friends again."

Terra narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"You and General Starson were quite sociable with each other," Norris hinted vaguely. "Being friends with someone as well-connected as him is a mighty benefit."

"Friends," Terra echoed under her breath. "Well that's not a lie," she evasively responded.

"So what's the problem?" Norris asked with bigger smile.

"Karen was right. There's no reason for you to be concerned Remiel might send you uselessly to the front. While there might be some truth in the statement, I'm sure something else is on your mind," Terra reasoned.

Norris sighed. "Karen's rubbing off on you."

Terra folded her arms. "And you're avoiding giving me a real answer. I want the truth, Norris. You're definitely afraid of Remiel for some reason, and you had me lie to bolster your tall tale. So what's going on here?" She glared at the Magitek Knight suspiciously. "If you don't tell me the truth, I'll go back to Karen and tell her everything. I'm sure she'll be really interested when she realizes how deeply you deceived her."

Norris sighed louder. He stopped in the middle of the forest, looking around in paranoia while his face was plastered with reluctance. When he was sure they were alone and no one else was in earshot, he gestured for the grey-haired half-Esper to get close.

"Fine," he growled under his breath. "You want to know why I'm avoiding General Lilienthal?"

Terra nodded briskly.

"Let me tell you now that I would never disobey an order he gives me. I wouldn't even entertain the thought of lying to him. That said, I'm not above leaving out the truth."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Terra asked, still suspicious.

"Before I left Albrook, the General left me orders," Norris's face lost anything resembling kindness. "Certainly you could guess. I was to keep an eye on you, and the moment you became a threat..." he trailed off, a hard look on his face.

Terra was impassive. "Oh," she offered indifferently.

"I don't intend on killing someone who has risked her life to save those that I care about," Norris straightened indignantly. "But General Lilienthal would not feel the same. If I told him what I witnessed at Gwendolen Ford, he'll give an order that I would regret. Then shortly after, you would be dead."

Terra raised an eyebrow. "Really," she answered.

"Perhaps not immediately," Norris said, clearly upset by her self-confidence. "But there are tens of thousands in the army. Eventually they'll wear you down."

"Well then," Terra began to head back towards camp. She had wanted to talk to Remiel and see the look on his face after digesting all that she had done for Norris and his men. But it mattered less and less. "I guess you did this for my sake."

Norris followed her, one pace behind but unable to catch up due to her briskness. "Farin Starson is your friend," he repeated. "The Brigadier can easily keep you safe behind an army similar in size to the one my general commands... and once you're back in Tzen, not even House Lilienthal can touch you. Remiel wouldn't dare upset General Meras, the alliance we have is too tenuous to risk over such a matter. The treaty we signed thanks to your diplomatic mission is far more important than any single person's life."

He seemed smaller, Terra thought, and more sympathetic. Normally, his gaze was filled with strength and experience. However, he looked pained.

"I guess you probably believe people like General Lilienthal are cold-hearted, that they'll ignore the suffering of millions to further their own cause. But nothing is ever so simple. Remiel does what he does because he desires a secure, peaceful future. Power begets responsibility... more power only leads to more responsibility; House Lilienthal has long since been a foundation of the Empire and if were it to weaken..."

Norris took a deep breath, exasperated. "Remiel is not much different from you and me. He is fallible, he delegates authority because he does not know everything, but that doesn't mean there won't be bad decisions. I will not stand aside idly and allow my General to issue an order that -- not only causes me personal grief -- but could destroy our chances of ending this war."

Terra wet her lips. What did Norris mean, that her death could cause the war to spiral out of control? Certainly he didn't believe that she meant so much to Danielle or Farin!

"And without cooperation amongst our leaders, the Empire will continue to descend into chaos. Without strong, decisive leadership, Fanshaw will not be the last city to be slaughtered."

The wizened old Magitek Knight's eyes were downcast, sadness on his face. After weeks of travelling with Norris Ferdinand, Terra finally saw the man beneath the comical facade. He was just a tired old soldier fighting against everyone, even his own people if necessary, in order to secure peace in the world.

She respected that.

"The Civil War has to end. We must all make sacrifices... too many have been lost already," Norris whispered.

Terra nodded. She brushed back a thick lock of grey hair, standing tall in her white-wolf mantle. "Don't worry Norris, we will end the war. It doesn't matter how big Anson Tilton's armies are, or what kind of arcane magic Maverick Drummond has at his command. We'll save everyone's lives."

Norris stared back, stunned silent for a moment, and then burst out laughing. He patted her on the back and pulled her into a half-hug. "That's the spirit!"

---

Upon the bridge of the Tiernay, Edgar brooded with his hands clasped behind his back. As expected, the Admiral of the fleet had agreed with the Captain of the Tiernay. They were now sailing full-speed towards the coast, with the Figarian ships of the line hurrying to cut them off.

The Imperials had given the impression they were trying to sail ahead, forcing the Figarian elements to either engage disadvantageously with their bow, or to swing around and run the Empire against the coast. While it had been clear to Edgar that they had nothing to gain by attacking from the inside, his former countrymen clearly did not believe the same. Stories of the ruthless invaders had been spread far and wide and instead of accepting either possibility, the Figarian Captains pushed their ships to the limit to ensure none would ever shell their coastal cities ever again.

As expected, the Tiernay and Diodorus could not keep pace and now Edgar could see the broadsides of Figarian vessels. The rest of the Imperial fleet was lagging even further behind but neither battleship could delay. They were already outnumbered; a hopeless battle were not for the elemental cannons.

Flares could be seen from the closest ships, accompanied by the roar of detonating gunpowder. The sea exploded as cannonballs bashed into her, a spray of muted-grey seawater marking each projectile.

But those were no warning shots.

The hull of the Tiernay ruptured in a dozen places, smoke obscuring all vision as a shower of deadly wooden splinters shredded unlucky sailors. The bridge of the Tiernay was beyond the bulk of the devastation, but this was little comfort to Edgar as one of the top masts toppled and crushed several sailors just in front of him.

"This is insanity!" Edgar shouted over the roar of cannon fire. The entire vessel groaned and the bow was covered with smoke. Men screamed in pain as they fell over, great chunks of wood embedded through their limbs and chest, while their friends manned the cannons.

"All hands return fire!"

If the battleship was shaking before, now it was tearing itself apart. Fifty cannons from three decks fired nigh-simultaneously, rocking the entire vessel even as Figarian ammunition tore into her sides. Sailors manning the cannons died almost whimsically, two gun-crews were totally unharmed though some thirty men around them had splattered to the floor in many pieces. More men ran to fill the place of the dead, seemingly unconcerned that they were next to die.

"Lieutenant, get those sails unfurled! I want every bit of speed that can be coaxed out of her! Helmsman, stay the course! We're only seconds from range!"

Cannon fire detonated within the masts, tearing a hole through the mainsail and sending a number of men tumbling. Several fell into the churning waters around the mighty ship of the line, while the unlucky ones slammed onto the deck below and never moved again.

"So this is naval warfare?" Strago growled from a crouch beside Edgar. "I dare say this is nastier business than airship to airship combat!"

A shower of splinters punctuated that statement, the hand railings protecting the bridge exploding as a cannonball smashed through.

"At least on an airship, the enemy's weapons don't turn the very vessel itself into fragmentation munitions!" Strago shouted over the roar as his hands waved wildly. Sparkles of light danced from his hands.

Edgar pulled himself onto the wildly swaying railings, a splash of salty mist stinging his eye as yet more cannon fire passed overhead.

"Captain! The Diodorus, she's trailing!"

The Captain of the Tiernay brought a bronze canister to his eye, simultaneously pulling it into the form of a scope. Edgar balanced himself and joined the officer on the quarterdeck.

"Damn!" the Imperial swore. He collapsed the telescope angrily. "She's crippled!"

Of the four double-decker ships of the line that the Figarian Navy sent, two were pounding away at the dying Imperial vessel. Masts toppled and smoke enveloped the mighty warship, hundreds of guns firing every five seconds with a thundering roar.

"Lieutenant! Get that elemental in place! We'll have to save the Admiral."

A quick salute and one of the many dark coated men ran towards the stern of the vessel, braving the storm of gunfire as he weaved and ducked. Edgar almost fell over as the ship lurched sickeningly, cannon fire smashing into the hull just as the huge vessel broke over the crest of a wave. "We're all going to die!" he declared.

"Get out of my way! Marines!" the Captain pushed Edgar aside, but no soldiers came to restrain the estranged king. The deck was littered with bodies and the only noise heard over the continual roar of gunpowder blasts were the pained screams of the dying. What order remained on the deck were of those brave souls that crewed the cannons, still numerous despite the heavy loss of life.

Edgar dashed down the stairs and onto the main deck, shoving his way to the stern. He could not allow that elemental cannon to fire; those were still his people! He had responsibilities, and above all else he had a Kingdom that he had sworn to defend.

The most deadly weapon in the Imperial arsenal was at the front of the vessel, the Lieutenant directing a number of men assigned to a network of pulleys. It was a dangerous task as huge pieces of machinery swung from side to side, dangling from half-torn rigging, all amidst cannon fire as blast after blast of deadly ammunition smashed into the hull and rigging. Smoke and dust was making it hard to breath and the decks were slick with blood and seawater.

Another explosion, this time near the stern. The sudden shockwave knocked Edgar flat on his back. His ears were ringing in pain and his head spun. With effort, he forced himself to stand and nearly toppled as the ship lurched again.

The pulley system had been destroyed, rigging crippled and several men crushed beneath the cannon apparatus. Edgar tried to focus, gritting his teeth as dizziness threatened to take him once more.

The roar of thirty cannons, a full Figarian broadside, fired into the Tiernay. Most flew overhead or landed in the turbulent sea, but several struck the hull. Edgar screamed as he fell down, his head cushioned by the backside of a sailor. The estranged King of Figaro's eyes watered when he saw the splinter, nearly the size of his forearm, sticking out of leg.

"Dammit!" Edgar twisted his head and tried to get off the Imperial man he had fallen on. He barely suppressed a groan when he realized the body was missing its head.

Edgar knew he couldn't stand, not with that giant spear stuck deep within his thigh. He didn't even know how long it would take to heal, but knowing he had no choice made things easier. Both hands gripped around the wooden shaft tightly and with a roar of pain, Edgar attempted to pull the splinter out of his body. Blood squirted around his broken skin, but the thing was too deep and every motion only tore into his flesh more so. Tears ran down his cheeks as he pulled again.

"Curse you boy!"

Edgar glanced up to see Strago, his form flailing as the ship lurched under the strength of another broadside. Their surrounded battleship was firing back with gusto, both the port and starboard sides were obscured with dark smoke from the gundecks below. Yet the old man somehow managed to hop over the slick trails of blood and land beside Edgar.

"Let me fix you up instead of crippling yourself ever more!" Strago's hands sparkled with blue light.

"No need..." Edgar groaned, barely capable of smiling considering all the pain he was in, "... to use magic for everything."

A grin, even in this situation. "Shut your mouth lad and let me handle this."

Edgar's vision swam with white shapes. "Strago, you must get a new coat after this. It's so bloody..."

"I said quiet! Let me work here."

Edgar chuckled and cried out again as pain tore up his spine. He inadvertently twitched and bit down on his tongue, leading to further cursing at the torment.

The roar of cannon fire seemed to grow stronger. Rhythmic blasts reverberated through the massive vessel at least twice every breath, Edgar counted. His mind was clearing up though, even as the blue sparkles started to run up and down the length of his sprawled out body. "Damn, where's that Lieutenant? He's going to kill my people," Edgar growled. His neck twisted around trying to find the stern of the ship.

Even disorientated and slightly delusional, Edgar kept enough control over his mental facilities to find the front of the Tiernay. It was there that cadavers were being cleared away. The Captain's back faced him, his dark coat and red trim a beacon amongst the rabble as the officer shouted orders. The Lieutenant was staring at Edgar though, lifeless eyes conveying the horror of being crushed by the barrel of an elemental cannon.

"Mister Jenkins! Hard astern!" the Captain shouted over the noise of cannons firing every moment. "Boatswain, let's show them the power of the Imperial Navy!"

"Glory to the Empire, sir!"

Edgar could barely stand on his own, but that didn't stop him from trying. Strago let loose a string of curses as the younger of the pair put his weight upon the old man's shoulders. "Captain, don't you-!"

Too late. The entire front of the Tiernay suddenly lit with deadly red light as a column of fire, easily the size of a man, shot forth from the barrel. Edgar's eyes were blinded by a crimson haze and he adjusted to the illumination, for certainly the cannon did not stop firing! A massive beam lanced over the water, eminence reflected beneath, and tore into the closest Figarian vessel.

Fire was a deadly thing, one of the principle enemies aboard any ship. Even if it had not been an Imperial Magitek cannon, properly wielded to that of a land-based Armor and capable of tearing through all known substances, the inferno alone would have engulfed the Figarian battleship. Yet as her hull caught aflame, a blaze that hungrily devoured the wooden hull and fragile sails above, the blast itself tore through the ship's keel. Eight hundred sailors screamed in unison as the first-rate collapsed inward, feeding the fury of the fires as the turbulent sea claimed its prize.

The Tiernay swung about and with it, the lance of flaming devastation that had destroyed one of Figaro's greatest vessels. It caught another in its path, this time setting ablaze the sails first. Masts swung over and fell, killing the hundreds that swarmed over the decks trying to load cannonballs to sink their deadly enemy. Then the sea lifted the Figarian battleship and elemental plasma burned through the wooden hull.

Edgar's face was as red as the beam. "You murdering bastards! Damn you Imperials!" he screamed as he was pulled away from the railing, away from the sight of his people dying.

The cannon stopped firing, its barrel red hot and glowing like the inside of a furnace. The Captain of the Tiernay smiled slyly -- readjusting his triangular hat in the process -- as the boatswain beside him lifted his fist in the air. "For the Empire!"

"Glory to the Empire!" echoed those sailors alive on deck.

Edgar hopped on one foot, balanced precariously against the railings as he tried not to bump into the corpses that littered the Tiernay's deck. He couldn't let this go any further. So many lives had been lost already.

"Edgar! You are trying my patience. I can't mend a broken bone in addition to your torn muscular structure," Strago grabbed Edgar by the shoulder.

"You don't understand! This is my fault, Strago!" he shouted with wild eyes. "I killed those people out there, they're dying because-"

"Calm down!" Strago shouted back. "You can do nothing until I mend your leg, and then you can go out there and try to stop the Imperials from saving our lives; maybe they won't toss you overboard if you're capable of swimming!"

Edgar cried out as bright blue lines lanced from Strago's fingertips and swirled around his broken leg, cutting off his immediate retort. He was fully-aware what the Imperial Captain was trying to do, but the situation was caused by their arrogance. They should have retreated as he had originally planned, outrunning the Figarian coastal patrol and finding berth much further north.

Now they were fully embroiled in a battle to the death.

The Tiernay shuddered again as enemy cannon fire blasted into her hull, but this time there was something different in the way she lurched. Both Strago and Edgar knew something had changed, but Strago remained silent and dutifully saw to the mending of Edgar's leg.

The battleship tipped over again, this time dangerously low to the waves. Both men got a good face-full of the salty ocean. Strago said nothing, but Edgar knew something was terribly amiss.

"Where is she?"

"I don't see her! She's hitting us below the waterline!"

"We're taking water on all gundecks!"

"Silence!" the thundering voice of the Captain. "Boatswain, ensure that the powder is not ruined! Helmsman, back astern! Mister Magus!" the Imperial officer dashed over to the two Returners. Dried blood matted the skin around his left eye, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

"I'm busy trying to heal this man," Strago growled at their impatience and the constant interruptions.

"We're being attacked Mister Magus, and there's nothing on the horizon! I need to know if it's some dark magic out there."

Strago frowned. He looked around their vessel skeptically. "We're surrounded by smoke from the cannons! Of course you can't see anything out there, even if it is a clear day!"

The Captain's lips twisted in a sneer. "Damn your impudence! I am no inexperienced swine! They're crippling us and we can't fire back at what we can't see. Is that magic out there or not?"

The Tiernay was still sailing with nearly all her sails unfurled, so she quickly broke out of the cloud of dense fog and smoke that had surrounded the vessel during combat. Underneath the clear sky, it was easily seen that no one was firing on them. The remaining Figarian battleships were behind them -- the Tiernay had broken through the line and had attained the coast -- and they were firing upon the Diodorus. Further out to sea, the rest of the Imperial fleet was exchanging fire with the curtain of Figarian ships, now closing their trap and crushing the invader with their superior numbers.

Yet as their ship lurched again and the sound of rushing water could be heard below decks, Strago reluctantly stopped healing Edgar's wound and stretched out his mind. He searched for something -- anything! -- that could have been magically masking their attackers.

Edgar, on the other hand, pulled himself up. "Below the waterline, you say?" he echoed.

"Aye, and the men are growing restless. I need results now, Mister Magus!"

Strago opened his eyes. "There's nothing magical out there-" he growled, "-save the aura about those crippled hulks you carved in half with that infernal weapon."

"That's impossible," the Captain turned around. "Helmsman, I said hard astern!" he shouted. "Mister Jenkins, get that topsail back up before we topple over!"

"She's sluggish sir!" came the Helmsman's reply. "Too low to the water!"

Edgar swallowed back the lump in his throat. "Could be it be reefs?"

"Don't take us for fools," the Captain snapped. "Our seamanship is far better than that!"

"Sir, all decks are flooding!" the boatswain's head popped up from below. "I don't think we can contain the damage!"

The Captain scowled. "Get it contained or you'll be swimming home! Mister Jenkins, forget the sails and get those holes fixed now! Take all the men you need!"

"Aye sir!"

Edgar watched as the Imperial sailors hastily began repairs with anything they had on hand, including the spare sails. The Tiernay lurched again though and with a shudder, Edgar came to an epiphany.

It was impossible. It should have been impossible!

"Dammit! What the hell is that!" even the Captain had lost it now, frustration clear on his face. He screamed more orders and almost tore men away from the cannons to repair to their vessel, they could not go into battle in such a condition. Then he turned and saw the look on Edgar's face. "Figaro! You know what's going on!" he crossed the distance and grabbed Edgar by the throat. "I can see it on your face!" he accused.

"Let go of him," Strago pulled the Captain away from Edgar with surprising, almost-inhuman strength. "This is not the time to finger the blame on anyone, least of all-"

"Strago, I know what it is," Edgar interrupted in a half-whisper. His eyes were wide in surprise, shivers still travelling down his spine as he realized what this meant.

"What is it? You conniving little snot," the Captain growled. His hand was close to his sword now.

"Sir! Vessels from the coast are gaining on us!"

The Captain did not pay attention to the Helmsman though, keeping his deadly scowl set on Edgar. "Explain yourself before I have you executed, you deceiving swine!"

Edgar glared back at the Captain, despite the obvious pain from standing on a broken leg. "The ships are underwater," he growled.

Strago's mouth dropped, and the Captain of the Tiernay was not much better at hiding his surprise. "What?" was his pathetic response.

"Those vessels are attacking from beneath!" Edgar pointed below them.

"I've had enough of your insults!" the Captain's face was a mask of fury. "That's impossible and everyone knows it!"

"How is it possible?" Strago asked in a whisper. He knew Edgar wouldn't lie. "There's no magic involved or I would've sensed it!"

"They must've solved the issue with repressurizing under-"

"Marines!" the Captain shouted. This time, armed men appeared with swords readied. "If there is no duplicity here, why did you not brief us of this threat, Figaro?"

Edgar scowled. "There was no threat! At least, not when I was still back home," he added. "If you didn't realize, I've been away from my kingdom for a long time, otherwise this journey would have been unnecessary! The Submergence Project has been active for over a decade, a feat of reverse-engineering that became more and more complicated with each passing year. The more we learned of the ancient devices within my castle, the more we realized how truly impossible it would be to match the level of technology in the relics from the ancient war."

"Enough of your lies! Marines, prepare to execute him," the Captain growled.

"There were no ships capable of diving underwater!" Edgar screamed in frustration. "It should have been impossible! How was I supposed to know that during my absence, the project would advance from a physical impossibility to functional prototypes usable in combat! It's a miracle by any standard of engineering, and if you had half the brain of those who designed your damned elemental cannons, then you would understand I'm telling the truth!"

Perhaps the Imperial Captain did believe him and that the barred steel would be retracted, but such matters became bunk with the sudden roar of cannon fire. Forgotten by ranking officers in the midst of heated debate and ignored by the common sailor, Figarian vessels opened fire with over fifty guns. The two frigates sailing from the coast were tiny little things in comparison, certainly they would not have stood a chance against the Imperial battleship in any other situation. However, the Tiernay was already teetering on the verge of collapse -- the damage to its keel was almost irreparable even docked -- and its officers had been embroiled in conflict.

An explosion of smoke and splinters caught the arguing men. Edgar instinctively pulled Strago to the ground as cannonballs sailed over their head and crippled the mighty ship. The hull began to fracture and seams along the deck burst open. Both the foremast and the mainmast toppled and from above, sails came crashing down.

Edgar's eyes snapped closed, awaiting the gruesome death of being crushed beneath thousands of pounds of mast, rigging and sails. When the end did not come though, he opened his eyes.

Strago's hands were pointed into the sky, barely holding back a beam that nearly fell upon them. The great pillar had already buckled, snapping under pressure and crashing onto the deck with a quaking rumble. Amidst the dust and debris, Edgar noted apprehensively that Strago was barely capable of defending himself. He scrunched closer to the lore-master as the mighty mage groaned and willed the huge wooden columns aside, singly accomplishing with magic an action that would have taken twenty men.

The roar of cannon fire continued unabated and the screams of the dying below deck were accompanied by the steady splash of the rising waterline. The great Imperial battleship was dying.

"We have to get out of here, Edgar!" Strago growled. He stood dizzily, beads of sweat running down his face.

"Strago, you're-"

"Yes! I am weary from saving both our lives," Strago cast a quick look at the Imperial officers crushed by the falling masts. "And if we stay any longer, then my efforts are futile!"

"I'm injured and you look like you need a day of rest, not to mention we're still far from the coast!"

"Better than staying here lad, on a sinking ship to be picked up as Imperials!"

Edgar gritted his teeth. Strago was right, as usual.

He was helped to his feet by the old man. In the distance, fire could be seen devouring both the Diodorus and one of the Figarian ships. Their broadsides were almost touching, planks bridging the gap as men stormed across with blades drawn. Even further out, the Imperial fleet was scattering. Wreckage was everywhere, and what few ships remained retreated as best they could despite the curtain of Figarian frigates.

"If we get out of this one alive, it'll make for quite the tale, wouldn't you say so Strago?" Edgar gasped as the two men grabbed at anything that seemed buoyant on the deck. Water was now clearly visible in the decks below as they searched for what supplies they could. Imperial sailors were already jumping ship at this point, others loaded a boat with supplies in hopes of escaping.

Strago grinned. "I look forward to telling Relm how her grandfather escaped the fury of two hundred guns and dozens of frigates!"

The two men dove into the water.

---

Cyan stormed into the Imperial camp, hiding the dark mood that he was in. The days since his battle abreast Imperial soldiers had been spent in introspection and deliberation, debating on the proper, honourable course of action. He had avoided seeing Relm during that time. While he wanted to be with Strago's granddaughter, he knew that isolating himself from her wardens was necessary.

The Imperial supply camp was bustling with activity. The Third Battle of Reddenhurst had been won, after all, and the victors were celebrating. Cyan strolled through the newly-repaired gates, putting on a forced smile as he held up his silver medallion.

"Sir Cyan! You have no need to show that here!" an aged, scarred one-armed soldier strolled through a curtain of guards. The four silver bars of a Colonel could be seen upon his chest.

Calling out Cyan's name had the opposite effect than it might have just a week ago. Soldiers all around hollered and cheered his name, several braving the scowl of their Colonel to thank the Knight personally. Cyan was uncomfortable, he had not wanted to draw attention and yet here he was...

"This way," the Colonel gestured as they finally made it out of the crowd.

"There's no need to escort me," Cyan remarked.

"Yes, well you're a wanted man," the Colonel answered. "General Starson was here only a day ago. He left this with me, a token of his gratitude."

It was a small, finely made wooden box with the Imperial Emblem etched into a circular metal plate at the top. The Colonel opened it and the faint scent of cinnamon wafted through the winter air. Within was a five-pointed silver star housed in dark felt, a ribbon of black and red neatly folded behind. "This medal is for you, though normally they're given with a bit more ceremony."

Cyan swallowed. "Thank you," he found himself saying, taking the box and snapping it closed.

"That's not all. The 29th Company wanted me to convey their thanks. Those supplies were theirs and you'll keep them going for quite a bit longer now. They wanted me to extend a share of their prize to you, and that means there's a barrel of rum with your name on it. It's the good stuff from Albrook too."

Cyan did not want that. He had fought to save the lives of the inexperienced children, not for Magitek pilots and their blood-won alcohol.

The Colonel smiled. "I knew of your reputation before General Starson escorted you here, but I had no idea what a great man you are. Now I can tell my children that I presented Sir Cyan his medal instead of the Major-General. It is quite an honour." He saluted with his only arm, but it was a strong gesture and Cyan respectfully returned with a salute of his own. With that, the Colonel left Cyan alone.

Cyan slipped the box into his pack and continued to walk the familiar path. The rookies here were still bustling with good cheer and Cyan could hear everything they said.

"-how General Starson charged alone to save-"

"-spect for General Layton, may his soul rest-"

"-ost blasted us to pieces if it wasn't for Brigadier Falkland and-"

"-those treacherous scum! I only wish I could have seen Rendar's face before the General crushed-"

"-ldgrave escorted the Crimson Armor to the top of the Gaston Cliffs!"

Cyan stopped. He turned towards the man that had last spoken. The soldier was huddled with three of his friends, each carrying crates in the direction of the mountain tunnels. "My dearest apologizes, but what didst thou say?"

The kid's mouth dropped open, "Sir Cyan!" he cried as his friends went wide-eyed. "Guys, it's the Knight of Doma!"

"The Relentless?" one asked, though he was immediately punched by his friends.

Cyan ignored the sycophantic praise that they began to shower him with. "Please, I was curious as to what occurred upon the Gaston Cliffs."

One of the kids, his face full of freckles, beamed. "General Meras, sir!"

"Yeah," the eldest-looking of the four added. "I was with the 223rd that night, positioned on the west wing. We were getting hammered for most of the time; beams of fire blazed down from the heavens and turned the gap into a raging inferno. Then just before dawn, we saw a fight break out up on the cliffs... let me tell you, no one expected that. The Gaston Cliffs are unassailable along the northern and eastern faces, so getting up there would have required going through the bulk of the New Order's army. But by the time the sun rose, the Armors up top were firing on the enemy!"

"I heard they came through Anthony's Pass!" another cried.

"Don't be stupid! You can't get frontliners through that mountain passage, even wagons are hard-pressed to make the journey!" the eldest retorted.

"Well that's what I heard! Four dozen frontliners through the mountains to strike those bastards from the rear."

"There has to be some truth in the rumour; did you hear that Captain Waldgrave was amongst the General's handpicked pilots? I mean, no surprise there. His piloting was incredible in the forest. But still!"

Waldgrave. Cyan's eyes went wide. That was what they were talking about originally, and that's what had truly caught his attention. "Didst thou mention Waldgrave?"

"Captain Godric Waldgrave," the freckled kid repeated. "He was Major Cassidy's second when we went up to the Tzen Mountains a couple months ago."

"That's Brigadier Cassidy now," the eldest corrected. "Maybe Major-General with a victory like this! Can you believe I used to run errands for him? I knew he was a strategic genius even then!" he declared proudly.

Cyan backed up a step. So it seemed that Godric was here. Did he give up chasing Sabin? Or...

"Anyhow, sir! General Meras and several dozen of the best frontliners in the army crushed those bastards on the cliffs. They came in from the rear and then turned on the New Order's forces with everything they had. You should have seen how quickly those cowards turned tail once our General was here!" the freckled kid declared full of enthusiasm.

The four soldiers shared a laugh. "Did you see how none of the beams touched her? The Crimson Armor of our lady General is unstoppable!"

"To Vector we go!"

"Glory to the Empire!"

Cyan mumbled his thanks and quickly strolled past. He tried to remember what Siana had told them of Godric Waldgrave. He remembered talk about the Captain being stubborn and easy to mislead; that had been the reasoning behind Sabin's journey to the west. If Godric was here though, did that mean he had given up? Certainly there was no chance that Sabin had been captured... or worse. No! It was impossible!

So concerned was he over his close friend's situation that Cyan nearly walked into the cottage door. He looked around in surprise, he had arrived so quickly! And even stranger, he thought as he opened the door, only Irving was in the room... and asleep?

"Cyan!" Relm cried. "Where have you been!" she exclaimed in a voice half-ecstatic and half-irritated.

Cyan put a finger to his lips, and the two embraced each other. "Quiet, dear one," he whispered with an eye on the unmoving soldier. "We're leaving," he said gravely.

Relm grinned. She nodded quietly.

"Is there anything you need here?" Cyan whispered as he put her down carefully.

Relm shook her head, her shoulder-length blond hair bouncing from side-to-side.

The two walked out of the cottage and into the snow. Cyan breathed a sigh of relief as they strolled along the old path. He could not believe his luck, that one warden was gone and the other asleep. All those days spent in deliberation convincing himself to break a promise sworn on Elayne and Owain, yet whimsical fate had made all that irrelevant. He pulled at Relm's hand and quickened his pace.

Strago's granddaughter had been looking around the cottage with a frown. "You didn't have to kill anyone, did you?" a look of worry was on her face.

"No," Cyan answered. He was touched by her concern.

She brightened immediately. "So, where are we going?" Relm asked, her excitement was almost palpable. "Grandpa and Edgar have both sailed away, haven't they?"

Cyan nodded. "That they have."

"And what about Terra and Locke?"

"I do not know," Cyan said with a sigh. "But we are not going to search for them in the midst of war."

"So where are we going then?"

"Indeed, where are you going to go?"

Cyan spun around, the sword at his hip growing heavier as he turned to face the innocent, boyish face of Paisley. The Lieutenant was looking at them curiously, his short brown hair peeking out underneath a snow-covered helmet. A grey cloak was wrapped around the soldier, twin short swords peeking out beneath the material.

"Paisy!" Relm cried out in surprise.

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow. "Hullo there Relm!" he said with a grin.

"Paisley," Cyan said slowly. The smile on Cyan's face had vanished when he saw the Imperial. He let go of Relm's hand, took a deep breath and glared at her true jailor.

"Nice to see you again Cyan, I was wondering where you went after Third Reddenhurst. Did you know that even General Starson stopped by to see you? A Major-General now, probably busy leading campaigns to free this area from the grasp of the New Order, and he came in person to thank you for your actions!" Paisley didn't look at all concerned that Relm was outside and Irving nowhere in sight.

But he was moving closer, and Cyan tensed for the expected bloodshed. His hand floated a whisper above the hilt of his sword. Step after step, crunch after crunch in the snow. It had been what Cyan had feared for so long, but there was no going back now.

He would break his word. There was no choice.

And as Paisley's arm moved, Cyan went for his sword... only to find Relm's hand on top of his.

Cyan's breath caught in his throat and time seemed to stand still as his eyes shot towards the child that meant so much. Relm frowned at him, disappointment clear on her face as she shook her head.

The moment passed. Surprise faded away in an instant and Cyan replaced it with an emotionless mask.

"I didn't thank you for saving my life," Paisley looked embarrassed. "Sure everyone cheered for you a bunch of times, but it's just not the same."

Cyan looked down at the outstretched hand, stunned speechless. He took it reluctantly with his left, so that his right would still be free and ready.

The two men shook. "Thank you, Cyan. You don't know what that means to me," Paisley backed up slightly with a faint smile across his face. "Anyhow, you didn't answer my question. Where are you going? And more importantly, do you need a chocobo?"

Cyan blinked. "Excuse me?"

"If you're going far, you'll want a mount," Paisley gestured east. "The stables are in that direction, I don't think you were given a tour of the base, otherwise you would already be headed that way. I'd accompany and guide you there -- after all, General Starson gave me specific orders to make your trip as pleasant as possible -- but I have a meeting that I'm probably late for... and I guess Irving was rude enough to abandon you."

"Yes..." Cyan answered slowly, still surprised at all that was being revealed to him. "I suppose I will need a chocobo."

"You can get travel supplies over there as well, just tell them I sent you if they don't recognize you by face. I'll be honest, pretty much everyone here knows your name and what you look like, but we're getting some transfers from the main force so they might not be up to speed. And Cyan," Paisley pointed at the Knight's feet. "You'll probably want new boots too, those look pretty worn and we're only halfway through the winter. Ask the guys packing your mount, they'll be glad to show you the way."

Cyan continued to stare blankly.

"Have a safe trip, Relm, Sir Cyan," Paisley saluted, his fist bouncing off his chest as he did so, and walked away.

---

They rode along the main roads, long since secured by Danielle Meras' victorious forces. Cyan was deep in his thoughts, though the comforting warmth of Relm against his back reminded him to ride at a slower pace.

Paisley had been right. The entire Imperial base had gone out of their way to do his will. He had new boots now, as well as a strong chocobo to bear him back to the north. Supplies were plentiful and they were of high quality too, nothing like the horrid canned foods they had eaten when trekking through the Tzen Mountains. Both he and Relm had been given new cloaks, of a thicker variety and plenty warmer. Near the end of all the gift-giving, he had to decline the option of an escort, as ludicrous as the idea was!

Cyan could understand that he had saved quite a few rookies with his actions, but he didn't understand how the entire base could be thanking him for winning a small skirmish. Surely there were other heroes that day!

"You were going to kill Paisy, weren't you?" Relm gripped him tightly from behind, her head resting against his back.

Cyan frowned. He had no defensible answer.

Her tone was soft though, nothing resembling an accusation. "He's been nothing but nice to me, but I think I understand."

They rode in silence for a moment longer. Cyan closed his eyes in frustration, shamed at what he put her through. She had seen things no child should have seen. The world was becoming a horrible place...

Cyan turned around. He had heard the rapid thumping of approaching chocobos and in the distance, he saw three birds dashing towards him. Yellow against a field of powdered snow, they were catching up at an impressive rate.

"The New Order?" Relm whispered.

"I'm not sure," Cyan's hand hovered over his sword while he waited for the riders. His heart raced despite being told that the area was secured; it would not be the first time the Imperials were wrong. He felt something poking into his back; Relm was pulling out a dagger. "Put that away!" he whispered quickly.

She frowned, her lip quivering as she looked ready to criticize him.

"Ready a spell instead," Cyan had no time to explain how her easily noticeable blade might be their downfall.

The riders took only a more few seconds before they galloped to a halt. A spray of snow accompanied their quick stop, settling down quickly to reveal a familiar flat haircut. Two stars were proudly displayed beside the red and black Imperial Emblem, immense plate armor protecting an equally large warrior. Cyan breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hi Farin!" Relm waved.

"Hello again, Relm," the soldier smiled at her before turning his attention to the Knight of Doma. "Cyan Garamonde," Farin nodded respectfully.

"Farin Starson," Cyan greeted the General. The two men beside him looked familiar; Cyan probably rode with them from the capital of Tzen but didn't know their names.

"I heard you had just left for the north, so I rode as quickly as I could."

"I received the medal," Cyan said gruffly. "A superfluous gesture, I must say, though I did not decline it."

Farin smiled. "That was not my idea and certainly it wasn't Danielle's. The newly-promoted General Cassidy took the initiative. I told him you wouldn't care for it, but he disagreed. I'm glad to see that I was right about you."

"What is this about Farin? Obviously you didn't ride so hard to chat about your peers," he glared at the Imperial officer.

"I'm sure the entire base has lavished their praise on you, so I won't bother showering you with thanks for your actions. I was pleasantly surprised by what you did, not just cutting off the head of the attack force but destroying their coherency with impressive Magitek piloting, I didn't realize you could drive one of those machines," Farin started.

Cyan's eyes widened. So it had been that.

"I think Danielle was wrong," Farin continued. "You're an honourable man, killing off the treacherous scum who went the distance to murder young and defenceless rookies. I admire what you did. You put your life at risk for people that weren't even countrymen... but I'm sure you don't care what I think."

"The gesture is appreciated," Cyan offered diplomatically. "I heard you did much of the same."

Farin's grin grew. "I suppose after a while, repeated valour is expected rather than praised. However, this is growing longsome. There are traitors to hunt down and people to save from the New Order."

Cyan nodded, he understood Farin's purpose. His hand reached into his cloak and with a quick flick of the wrist, a silver medallion flew through the air.

Farin caught it with one hand. "That's not what I'm here for," he said. He tossed it back. "And you should keep it. Think of it as a gift from me and if you must, as a necessity to travel through our lands."

Cyan pocketed the medallion once more.

"I came here for one purpose, and that's to keep a promise," Farin led his chocobo around to Cyan's backside, smiling at Relm in the process.

"And what is that, Farin?"

"I promised Terra that I would keep Relm safe," Farin sternly said. "I almost failed when the New Order broke through our armies and I swear that won't happen again. You'll be safe as long as you stay in this province, so I pass on a share of responsibility to you, Cyan Garamonde."

Cyan looked down at Relm, his heart warming when she looked back at him. "I would never let anything happen to her."

Farin nodded. He spurred his chocobo back the way he came. "Good, knowing that you're guarding her makes keeping my promise just that much easier."

The Major-General and his two escorts galloped away, a spray of snow marking their passage back towards the war zone known as the Imperial Core. As they left, Cyan thought about Farin Starson. He thought about the promise the Imperial General had made, to Terra no less... this day was full of surprises.

But enough about the Empire. "Relm, where did you obtain that weapon?" Cyan asked with a frown.

"Paisy let me keep it. He thought I could use the protection," Relm replied.

Cyan frowned. "You don't even know how to use it," he pointed out. "You could hurt yourself."

Relm frowned back. "I know how to use it," she grumbled as she pulled the dagger closer.

Cyan was about to point out what he had seen of her aptitude when suddenly, he felt a clear sense of purpose. He was saddened though, because it was depressing to know the world had become so dark. Yet it was the proper thing to do, he knew it deep in his heart. Tradition be damned, this was about protecting life.

"So where are we going? You still haven't answered me," Relm pointed out. "We could have asked Farin to bring us to Terra and Locke, but you didn't even bother."

Cyan nodded. "We're going somewhere safer than that, dear one."

"And where's that?"

Cyan smiled. "North. Away from the war."

"That doesn't answer anything!"

With a chuckle, the Knight of Doma spurred his chocobo into action. Cyan Garamonde and Relm Arrowny rode away from the Core of the Empire, their backs protected by the armies of General Danielle Meras, and into the safety offered by the Province of Tzen. It was the safest option; their friends might have still been in danger, but they could be trusted to take care of themselves.

---

Time was meaningless really. Day or night did not matter when one had been underground as long as she had. It was all just a fading memory now: the feeling of the warm sunlight beating against her face, the refreshing ocean breeze with just the slightest hint of salt, and the salivating smell of roasted Vais Gumes.

But she still hung onto those dreamlike images. It had been real, no matter what they said. She would not forget! In the damp, tiny little hole that she had been placed in, memories like that were all that kept her going.

Her head lolled to the side.

Light had flooded into the room, illuminating a space that neither tall enough to stand upright nor wide enough to lie down. One was eternally cramped against a roughly hewn wall that was moist with some sort of disgustingly sticky, putrid green growth. But the sudden burst of white light blinded her and she scrunched even closer against the sides of her revolting prison.

Pupils slowly contracted, a tall bulky shape was framed in light.

Again. They came for her again, as they always did. Nothing she said or did had ever found her reprieve from the horrors. She knew better than to stay pressed against the walls.

The shape collapsed to the ground. Another -- taller, bulkier, more imposing -- took its place.

"Siana?"

She felt a surge of strength at the sound of that word. It seemed familiar for some reason. In the haze that was her mind, she tried to recall why that combination of sounds would trigger such a feeling. It had been so long since she had heard it though, and as she tried to grasp the implications, it slipped away like a leaf in the breeze.

"For the love of all that's holy, Siana!"

It reached for her from the light. She flinched, preparing for the inevitable strike. Had she misbehaved? She had tried so hard to do as they asked! Were they going to send her to the pit? It had been so dark there! Nothing had ever been so cold -- so suffocating! -- to simply be near. Her eyes snapped shut and she trembled in anticipation. She whimpered fearfully and instantly regretted the action; her punishment would only be prolonged by her cries.

An arm had reached behind her and pulled her into the bright light. Another supported her just beneath the knees. She felt something warm against her side. This was new; different... none had ever treated her this way. The blows were always quick to come, never had they bothered with... sympathy? That was the word, was it not?

Her eyes opened slowly, almost fearfully. She was afraid that it was all just a dream, that if she looked at the face of her saviour, it would all fade away.

Pale orange-yellow light reflected off his hairless scalp. He had a wide chin, and if she focused really hard, she could make out azure eyes that were filled with passion. It was difficult to focus though, she was bouncing up and down in his arms, and there was a dizziness that refused to stop spinning the world.

Suddenly, she was incredibly cold. It seemed to burn her exposed skin, and there was a lot more of that than she had imagined. Her cry of pain was instinctive and again she cursed herself for her weakness. Would she be punished? Were they treating her kindly just to build up her hopes and then dash them to pieces?

Soft warmth covered her. Smooth, silky sheets quickly took to the heat of her body and sheltered her. She sighed in relief as the cold was scared away, then cried out in surprise when she was laid atop some sort of wooden plank.

"We're getting out of here, alright Siana? You stay with me!" his voice was so emotionally-charged that she almost believed that this was no trick; that this was no dream. Certainly never had her visions assaulted her with both pain and joy, just all of one and none of the other. Then he looked her in the eyes and she saw no duplicity in them.

She nodded briskly.

The sound of his footsteps faded away. Dimly, she could hear a conversation exchanged. She focused, making out the voices to her right.

"-do to her you bastard? What did you do in the name of the Patrician?"

Silence followed and she wondered if the voices had simply been too hushed for her to overhear. Then finally! It was the same voice that had saved her, though with none of the warmth. "-to give an answer? Fine!"

A sickening crunch followed. She flinched and nearly hit her head against the wooden board she had been leaning against. Then there was a gruesome snap and accompanying thud. Footsteps approached her again, growing louder with every closing thump. There was some sort of creaking sound, and then he spoke to her.

"Sorry about that, I didn't want to do it but he left me no choice. Now we're getting out of here."

Still huddled within protective sheets, she glared at the bald man in suspicion. Was he going to do the same to her?

"He was one of your guards; thought he might know something useful. Stop worrying, it'll be fine."

There was something about the way he said those words that invoked feelings of trust and worry at the same time. She frowned at the internal conflict, finally deciding to stick with the former. She gave him a nod and attempted to smile.

He walked away swiftly and moments later, when the wooden planks she was sitting on began to rumble, she realized that she was in a wagon of sorts. She heard the soft squawk of a chocobo and sat up, rearranging the silken sheets to cover herself fully. The crisp night air was a refreshing change.

"Thank you," she rasped in a dry crackled voice that sounded nothing like her.

He turned back, a relieved smile on his face. In one hand, he held the reins to the lone chocobo pulling the wagon. The other was a thumbs-up signal.

"You'll be fine, Siana."

---

She woke up under the glare of the sunlight streaming through partially broken panes of glass. A smile touched her face as she basked in the warmth of the winter sun. Siana Deardon wrapped the silken sheets tightly around her, then looked at her abode.

"Sabin?" she asked.

Rest on a real bed, fresh air, and the mouth-watering smell of stew all helped clear the haze in her mind. Siana felt better with every passing second. She flinched when her bare feet hit the cold wooden planks of the cabin. It was a small room that she was in, and considering how everything from pots and pans to jackets and boots seemed to be heaped in a single corner, she was pretty sure that was all there was to the hovel. There was a small table -- barely capable of serving a single person -- and an even smaller furnace in the corner. The blackened heater was broken though; pipes leading outside were snapped.

A fresh change of clothes lay on top of the table. They were as clean as Siana could expect and herbs had been rubbed all over to cover the smell of livestock.

Outside, a thin layer of powder from the overnight snowfall lay upon the ground. Footsteps led to a campfire safely away from the wooden cabin, and in a pot there was stew being kept warm by glowing coals. Siana picked up a bowl and spoon that had been left out, hastily washed it with a fistful of snow, and then feasted. Her long imprisonment might have lowered her standards but she knew poor rations when she tasted them, and this was much superior to the meals-in-a-can of the army. She wolfed down an entire bowl and was helping herself to seconds before she heard quiet muttering from behind the cabin.

Siana put down the bowl with much reluctance and glared suspiciously in the direction of the noise. Carefully making her way through the thick, partially-trodden snow -- for one thing her boots did not fit. For another, she had only a dull knife that had been left in the coals of the campfire -- the muttering became audible.

"-four pillars to protect, a fifth to complete the link-"

"Sabin?" Siana queried as she strolled around the corner of the cabin. He was drawing on the wall, a lump of coal leaving marks against the bumps of the wooden logs. "What are you doing?" she asked as she took a step back. There were a number of strange geometric patterns on the back of the cabin, as circular as one could make considering the wall was not flat, and they intertwined intricately in a mass of triangular shapes near the centre.

Sabin turned around and smiled. "Glad you remembered my name," he said with a smile.

Siana cleared her throat self-consciously. "I was just tired last night. My memory is fine," she replied with a questioning eye on the piece of coal he gripped tightly. "Thank you for the breakfast as well, it was delicious. I didn't know you were a cook, or how you even found all the ingredients."

Sabin turned back to the cabin and with deft strokes, completed the complex symmetry in the geometric shapes. "You've been asleep for two days," he explained. "Since then, I found this abandoned cabin, caught a rabbit with a trap and made some stew. It's funny, snaring the rabbit was more difficult than finding shelter"

"Where are we?" Siana asked, surprised at how long she slept but unwilling to show it. "I don't recognize anything, though I didn't expect to..."

Sabin backed away from the cabin wall. He closed one eye and then turned his head sideways. Judging that the pattern was correct, he tossed the piece of coal into a mostly undisturbed field of snow. "I'll be honest. I'm not exactly sure where we are either."

Siana frowned, at the weird patterns on the cabin wall and at Sabin's ignorance. "What do you mean you don't know where we are? How did you find me then?"

The light-hearted smile on Sabin's face vanished in a blink of the eye. "You really don't want to know that," he answered in a regretful tone.

The former Imperial pilot took a deep breath of cold winter air. The last time she had been free -- it felt like eons now -- it had been fall and winter was many weeks away. They had been approaching Pierpoint in a very nice carriage with an equally nice driver by the name of Heller. And Sabin had hair, she added mentally. Now it was the deep of winter though, they were lost in the middle of the highlands and Sabin was still holding out on irrelevant secrets. There were plenty of sayings that came to mind, though she was sufficiently thankful that most seemed ridiculously rude. "You went through the same as me," she stated blankly.

A grunt of acknowledgement.

"Then you should know it would put me at ease knowing that you punished the bastards that did this to us," Siana growled. The thought of all she had been through had invoked bloodlust that she once controlled. A Magitek Pilot could not give into base emotions.

Sabin sighed. He rotated his arms, stretching them out. Only now did Siana realize his hands were heavily bandaged; even the fingers were wrapped beneath layers of cloth. "They won't disturb us ever again," he said at last. "Maybe another time, right now, I think it's best to forget the past."

Siana nodded in agreement. "That would be nice," she mumbled as her fingers gingerly touched the scar that ran down her right arm from shoulder to wrist. Her eyes returned to the geometric patterns upon the wall. The outermost shape was a pentagram whose inner lines twisted but still symmetrical, forming multiple smaller pentagrams as well as triangles.

"To ward us," Sabin answered her unspoken question.

"From?"

"Magic," Sabin replied. "Is there any stew left?"

Siana was still staring at the alleged magical ward. A confused scowl was upon her face. "That will protect us from magic?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Sabin called out, already out of sight. Siana could hear him scooping stew out of the pot, his spoon kept hitting the side and made clanging noises.

Siana sighed loudly. She cast one last look of unsettlement at the complex mass of geometry, cursed the vile art that was magic, and then headed back to claim seconds of the stew before it was too late.

---

Terra strolled into the farmhouse crackling with magical power, her wolf mantle slightly-open and silken scarf draped over her shoulder. Long grey hair flowed freely behind her, she rather liked the feeling. Beside her was Anthony, the youngest of Norris' handpicked forces and capable medic. Instead of a bow, he had drawn a short sword.

Old wooden planks creaking announced the pair's arrival. The abandoned house was only a single floor, and perhaps it had been a comfortable dwelling at some point in time. But after being raided, having windows broken and cupboards stripped bare, it was little more than another mystery. The furnishings that were useless as firewood were overturned, and a thin layer of snow and ice had built up almost everywhere.

Anthony gave her a questioning look and Terra shook her head. She was sure nothing was nearby, magical or not, and Anthony was satisfied. The soldier trusted her. She had gotten quite good at scanning their surroundings, even if their ambushers were spell-hidden.

Locke stepped through a hole in the brick that had once divided the living space from barn. His eyes shifted from side to side, never pausing on the pair in front of him. He looked unprepared, but Terra knew better. The bow strapped to his back was there to mislead. Around his wrists were two miniature crossbows, loaded and quite lethal.

Terra didn't know when he had gotten those, probably when Miles and Gossman had returned from the army camp with fresh supplies. However, she knew Locke had become quite capable with them. Their journey to Tzen had been extremely dangerous, the New Order was everywhere and they had been attacked twice in two days. Neither had been an ambush, Terra had sensed both approaching squads just in time. Norris had helped Terra annihilate the first. The second, Sherwood and Locke eliminated in the midst of a sleeping village without any noise.

"This is the fifth one," Norris' voice came from behind them. The wizened old man gestured back outside. "There's obviously a pattern."

"Colonel, the house is secure. I'll join Sherwood outside," Locke announced.

Norris held up a hand. "No, search the house again for clues. Terra, help him. Anthony, you're with me. We'll do a sweep of the area and reconvene in ten minutes." He made eye-contact with Terra, and then headed back outside with Anthony trailing.

Terra frowned at Norris' intrusion, even if it was well-meant and perhaps necessary from his point of view. With a grumble, she decided to address Locke, who was already walking back towards the barn. "Locke," she called out.

Locke had a serious but kind expression. "We don't have much time. Norris is right; another abandoned house this deep in the Imperial heartland is no small matter that could be ignored. If we find any clue on who-"

Terra nodded. "I know Locke, I..." she sighed, unsure of how to proceed. But she could still remember the day before. Locke had snuck behind the squad of Imperial soldiers and downed four of them in a blink of an eye. It had been so efficient, so cold. He had tipped the points of his bolts with a deadly poison. Terra had known about the yellow gauze because she had seen both Sherwood and Anthony apply it to their own arrows. It was a horrible weapon that would cause one's muscles to seize up, sometimes immobilizing them so excessively that they were unable to breathe.

She had never expected Locke to use something so vicious.

"I just wanted to know if you're alright," Terra continued.

Locke raised an eyebrow. "There's nothing wrong with me," he said. A smile came to his face. "In fact, you could say that I feel better than I have in a long time."

Albrook. His attitude was the same as it had been in that city, shortly after the Messis Luna and when he had asked Donnach to help him with his archery. "Good," Terra was nonplussed by that connection. "I was worried that the spells I cast might have some sort of strange effect on you," she lied. If she was sure of anything, it was in her magic.

Locke frowned, but quickly hid it. "I haven't thanked you for that, have I?"

"You don't have to," Terra replied. She blinked away the tingling feeling in her eyes. "You've helped me more times than I can count, ever since you saved me in the caves of Narshe. You've always been there for me, even when I wasn't there for myself."

"Terra..."

She smiled back, interrupting him before they embarrassed each other anymore. "I should be thanking you, for everything."

Locke gazed down at his feet. He mumbled something under his breath that Terra didn't hear, except something about 'gave'. She was about to ask about the poison when he interrupted her.

"You're too kind," he answered at last with a soft smile. "I've gotten us into some pretty nasty situations, like when we were caught by Danielle Meras. And I haven't always been there for you, maybe I was getting close and personal to a pine tree, maybe I was dealing with some crazy girl, or maybe I was busy swimming in a pool of my own blood."

He might have been smiling, but Terra could see the pain in his eyes. No amount of magical power could ever erase the events of that day; it would be a constant burden upon his soul. Shivers still ran down her spine when she thought about Gwendolen Ford. The image of that curved blade twisting in his broken body... she knew no matter what she had done afterwards, it hadn't been enough. She might have brought him back from the dead, but that didn't change the fact that he had died.

Died trying to save her.

"Locke, you can't expect-"

Locke held up his hand. "I know I can't," he interrupted. "Just know this Terra: no matter what happens, no matter who stands between us, I will do my best to protect you. I promise you that."

Terra felt warmer than usual. Her gloved hand instinctively hovered over her breast and a smile spread across her face. "Locke... that's..." words faltered as she thought about the poison on his crossbow bolts. "I've noticed you are working closely with Anthony and Sherwood," she noted quietly.

"They've been quite helpful," Locke looked full of determination. He brushed at the brown leather armor beneath his white-washed cloak. "I'll do whatever is necessary to protect you. Sherwood has been in the army for a long time, he knows a lot about handling Magitek Knights that I knew nothing of. We came to some conclusions and I filled him in on some tricks that he didn't know. Anthony also knows his stuff, especially about herbs and what-not. You should see what medicines he can concoct out of winter growth."

"Locke..." Terra whispered. She blinked twice, confused. She swore she saw something small and golden glint near his chest, but knew he didn't wear any jewellery.

"Yes?"

Terra realized that he was still waiting for her to speak and instead she was staring at his chest. Her gaze averted, she quickly collected her thoughts and stowed them away. "It's nothing. I guess I'm still not used to you in that armor," she lied. "It still doesn't look right on you."

Locke shrugged. "It does the job," he waved aside her concern.

Terra frowned deeper. Though she had covered with a quick lie, that wasn't the reaction she had expected. "Listen Locke-"

"Anything?"

The two Returners turned around, shocked out of their private moment by the appearance of Norris. The old Magitek Knight had stuck his head through one of the broken windows, a questioning look on his face.

"No, as usual, we didn't find anything," Terra lied quickly.

Norris nodded gruffly. "Well we did. We need to make a detour."

"A detour?" Locke echoed. "What did you find?"

"Several hundred dead soldiers that way," Norris answered. He pulled his head out of the window and pointed to his right: westward. "We need to move out, and quickly."

"Where are we going?" Terra asked suspiciously. She had been hoping to see Relm before the end of the week. They had left Strago's granddaughter under Imperial guard for long enough, it was beyond negligence now and Terra did not want to delay any more.

But Norris was deadly serious. "We're going to Vector," he said in an icy tone.

Shivers ran down Terra's spine. "The Imperial Capital? Why?"

Norris didn't bother hiding the worry on his face.

"I fear the worse."

Visions of Peace will be continued in The Fifteenth Chapter - A Deepening Shadow

The Fifteenth Chapter - A Deepening Shadow

The Imperial Capital: Center of an Empire that spanned a continent and had clenched its claws around another, Vector was the crown of civilization. It was a cold, industrialized city that bore little resemblance to any other in the world. With cobblestone replaced by flat, melted black rock, metallic skeletal frames stretching high into the sky, a mass of smoke-spewing factories and the dark walls of the Imperial Palace set in its midst, Vector was not a sight to sooth the eye. But it was home to over a million Imperial citizens, larger than even the coastal city of Albrook.

There was a saying: all roads led to Vector. It was arrogant perhaps, but not entirely untrue.

Vegetation seemed to be all but extinct near the Imperial Capital. Dark clouds churned overhead, giving the impression that the city was always grey. It was mostly smoke from the factories and given to the whim of mother nature, but no matter what its proponents said, the city always seemed overcast. As Terra strolled along the main roads that led to Vector, she could not think of a single good thing about the center of the Empire.

She had lived here for sixteen years of her life. She remembered every moment and hated all of them. Even at a distance, she could see the dark walls that ringed the Imperial Palace. They were tall and imposing, a solid mass of black stone that interposed itself against any who sought to enter or leave. The gates were no less ominous, great shafts of metal twice as tall as the greatest Magitek Armor. It was the only passage through the walls.

Terra knew that from personal experience.

Yet despite the vitriol buried deep within her soul, Terra Branford would never have wished this upon the great city.

The factories were silent, the smoke stacks idle. Not a sound could be heard from what should have been the biggest collection of peoples in the entire world. Instead, the fires of war had claimed the greatest prize there was.

The dead were everywhere! It was what Fanshaw should have looked like, a war-torn battlefront riddled with tens of thousands of cadavers. Terra had to step over the bodies that littered the road -- there were so many! -- and into the rubble that was once the center of civilization. Its citizenry were dead, or escaped into the countryside and slaughtered there. An uncountable number of buildings were collapsed, the tell-tale sign of Tek missiles and elemental cannonade everywhere. Even Magitek Armors, their once dominating hulks broken asunder, were strewn haphazardly in the chaos.

And it only got worse the deeper they went.

-=-

He took each step carefully, in as much disbelief as the first time he had climbed the very same stairs. Vector had been aflame then, the Espers had struck down the Empire and killed tens of thousands. This was much the same, though unbelievably more horrific. The crossbows strapped to his wrists felt heavier with every step and he chided himself for letting down his guard. His eyes scanned every nook and cranny. While appearances suggested nothing was alive, he was not taking any chances.

Locke Cole found himself before the entrance of the Imperial Palace, relatively sure that they were safe. Ignoring the red and black banners of the Empire that had been burnt to a crisp, he turned around and froze at the sight.

A fire unlike any had broken out in one section of the city. Behind its wake, there was a crater similar in size to those left by the beams of the Floating Continent. An explosion had been the cause of such a catastrophe. From his perch before the Imperial Palace entrance, he could make out concentric circles of rubble. It took a little effort to see the patterns, but it was definitely there. Shockwaves, again like those released during the Floating Continent's final moments, had devastated thousands upon thousands of homes.

This had been recent. Less than a week ago, Vector was a bustling city of over a million people.

Norris reached the top, his face forcefully impassionate, and was closely trailed by Terra and Anthony. Sherwood was already by Locke's side, and at the bottom, Gossman and Miles made sure no one was following them before climbing the hundreds of stairs as well.

The Imperial soldiers were remarkably composed, considering the extent of death and destruction that had claimed the crown city of the Empire.

"Well," Norris said as he took in the sight of the Imperial Capital from their high vantage point. Dark clouds continued to churn overhead despite the factories being inoperative. "At least this detour wasn't in vain."

The pattern they had discovered had led them to the understanding that people were fleeing from Vector, abandoning everything, over the past weeks. They had guessed that the New Order had done something vile in its rule. It had been the simplest explanation. After all, everyone knew that the New Order had been without mercy or foresight. Monsters had run rampant, starvation widespread and disease unchecked.

None expected this.

"Gossman, take Terra, Anthony and Miles inside. Sherwood and Locke, you're with me," Norris pointed along the ramparts that ran around much of the Imperial Palace. "We'll scout the outside. The Imperial Palace is the only thing in all of Vector that seems remotely in one piece, so it'll be the best place to start sifting for clues. We need to find out what happened here."

Norris gazed long at the six Magitek Armors broken on the ramparts around them. Dozens of soldiers also lay dead in front of the Imperial Palace's entrance, a thin layer of snow covering each like a makeshift blanket.

Clues? Everyone knew what happened in Vector, Locke thought. He glanced back at the ruins of the great city, knowing that there were easily hundreds of thousands of corpses in any direction he choose to look. The scene was an eerie reminder of his past and that was a maddening thought. Had he still clung to that universal, irrational hatred, he might have been pleased at the sight.

But not only had he moved on, he was better than that. Locke Cole did not wish this on anyone, not even to those at the center of the Empire.

"-half an hour, let's move people."

-=-

The three men had been silent throughout their trip around the outskirts of the Imperial Palace. Upon the ramparts that ringed the mighty ruling center of the Empire, one had a perfect view of all of Vector. At any other time, it would have been an impressive sight. Few could fault the Emperor's choice of residence; it oversaw the greatest collection of industrial power in the entire world.

It was not pretty. Never would one see a portrait of the Vectorian cityscape in an art gallery of Jidoor, but it was difficult not to be proud of what civilization had become. From dark days of barbaric scavenging and foraging to the technological might and splendour of the Empire, it was a majestic sight.

But Vector had been flattened. The jewel of civilization was in ruin.

Norris' eyes never strayed from the Imperial Palace, the only building of note still standing within the capital. Its impenetrable walls had protected it from unimaginable energy. The Colonel calmly noted that research would have to be done into that topic, for something had exploded in the midst of the city. That something had left a crater to match those created by the Floating Continent. It was not much of a leap in logic to assume the enemy had an abominable weapon.

His breathing was forcefully calm.

The enemy. Karen had given him a folder with all the information she could compile on the state of the war. It had been snuck into the supplies retrieved from the army camp, unbidden but certainly well-received.

Danielle Meras had been seriously delayed at the Gap near the Gaston Cliffs. That was expected. Norris recalled the bloody war fought there when the Empire had taken steps to curb the Kingdom of Tzen's aggression. The bloody battles fought in the Gap of Reddenhurst could have been used as material to scare rookies for another hundred years. Latest reports had placed her delayed indefinitely; analysts had concluded that in order for General Meras to break the New Order's defence within the month, it would take a miracle.

Well, they were just analysts. Norris didn't put much stock in the pen-pushers' opinions, but at least they had some solid facts.

Still, that meant there was only one person that could have been responsible for sacking Vector.

Norris shivered. Of all places, Vector had been sacked. The world was truly going mad.

In front of him, the team of Locke and Sherwood scouted ahead. Norris had taken the opportunity to silence the three of them -- no noise would be heard -- but he had a feeling that it wasn't needed. He had chosen the two men because as of late, they had been extremely reliable and even more capable.

"This door," Norris stared at the solid iron gate near the back of the Imperial Palace, far out of sight and equally out of mind.

Locke and Sherwood slipped in, each covering the other with their deadly poison-tipped crossbows. Neither was taking chances and Norris was no slouch either. He strolled in behind them, spells readied for all-out warfare.

-=-

Terra swallowed back the bile in her throat.

The Imperial Throne Room, covered by red carpet set against the dark metals that formed the inside of the Imperial Palace. Banners hung from the walls, proudly displaying the emblem of the Empire. It was not the first time she had been here, far from it. She had hated this place as much as she hated any other part of the palace. But never in her wildest dreams had she expected a scene like this.

Hundreds of soldiers had died here, common grunt, noble officer and Magitek Knight alike. The walls were partially melted from the exchange of spellcraft, the carpets blackened from unchecked fires that devoured everything it could. Cadavers covered by brown leather were heaped into makeshift blockades, weapons still penetrating innumerable bodies. The stench of death was everywhere, for though the Imperial Palace was cold, it still retained a bit of heat and some of the corpses had begun to decompose.

Anthony and Miles spread out, but the Imperial Throne Room was easily secured. There was only one entrance and that was where the majority of the bodies laid. Terra's spells searched for life, but as expected, none were left alive.

It was Gossman, the unassuming Imperial officer, who approached the throne first. Terra watched as the man walked along red, bloodstained carpet slowly, almost reluctantly. She had seen the same feelings reflected in all the faces of Norris' men, they were simply stunned at how battle could have spread to the Imperial palace. They had grown up defending this place and considering the strength of the Empire, it might have been inconceivable that such a disaster could have stricken Vector.

Shortly after the Esper strike on the Imperial Capital, Terra knew many in the Emperor's Court had felt the same. Back then, their emotions had been directed towards Terra's brethren. Many called for the destruction of those who dared attack the crown jewel of the Empire. Others had been dissuaded from fighting, saying that they had caused the disaster in the first place. But the one thing that had been uniform was disbelief.

While her mind was stretched out ensuring no nasty surprises within the palace, her eyes watched Miles, Anthony and Gossman closely.

There was a single person draped across the Imperial Throne. Blond hair and bloodied plate armor could be easily seen; a spear had gone clear through the chest. Bodies lay around the tall metallic chair as well, less densely packed there than anywhere else in the room. Many still gripped their blades, some of which were actually embedded in another corpse. Even dead, the soldiers fought on.

Terra made her way through the cadavers, her spirits uplifted suddenly. Perhaps there was a silver lining in this thunderstorm. If Anson Tilton was dead, then the Civil War would end. After all, there needed to be a leader of the New Order if it were to fight back.

Gossman rolled the body off the throne. He glanced down at the corpse.

"Who is it?" Terra asked. She was careful to keep the hope out of her voice. All three Imperial men were sombre; it would be rude of her to be anything else.

Gossman sighed. He bent over and closed the eyelids of the dead man. "Fighting until the very end," he whispered respectfully.

Terra's spirit darkened. Judging by his attitude, this was not the villainous Anson Tilton.

Anthony and Miles, bow and axe in hand respectively, made their way to the throne as well. "Who is it?" the one-eyed Miles echoed Terra's question.

Gossman stood. "General Hector Caleigh."

Sharp intakes of breath accompanied with whispered curses. Neither Miles nor Anthony looked particularly pleased.

"I thought he was the enemy?" Terra asked, confused by the display of emotion. Hector Caleigh had been Anson Tilton's most trusted and loyal supporter. Had the General not have backed Anson Tilton's claim to the throne, the Civil War would never have happened. The military would have remained of one mind, removing the pretender with relative ease and then dealing with the death of Emperor Gestahl properly.

Danielle Meras had branded Caleigh a criminal and a traitor. Remiel Lilienthal had helped Danielle attack Vector to dispose of the pretender. There was no reason for Norris' men to respect this dead general.

In the awkward silence that followed Terra's question, the three soldiers chose to examine random cadavers more carefully. Even Anthony, who was typically quite friendly, ignored her. Terra cleared her throat in annoyance.

Gossman turned around with a look of perplexity. "Terra," he started softly. "As a Returner, I suppose the destruction of Vector doesn't affect you in the same way as it does us." He approached her and put a hand on her shoulder as she was about to dispute his claim. "Not to say you don't have compassion, but you haven't spent your entire life working to safeguard-" he spread his arms and gestured around him, "-this."

No, but she had been imprisoned here for nearly her entire life, Terra retorted mentally.

"I knew General Caleigh," Gossman continued. He stared at the corpse of his enemy. "Half a year ago, I had been recently promoted and an excellent position within the Imperial Guard opened for me. General Caleigh had personally bestowed my rank, we had worked together for a while and he awarded my service. Two days later, Norris approached me and asked if I wanted to go to Albrook. I'll tell you... if it wasn't for my wife and her love for the ocean, I would have been here during the Long Night. I would have been here during the Siege of Vector."

Gossman gestured at the pile of corpses at the entrance of the Throne Room. "I would have been here defending the throne, like any other proper soldier."

Terra folded her arms, closing her wolf mantle in the process. She was impressed by the eloquence of the man.

"General Caleigh was never an ambitious man. He had his heart in the right place, protecting the Empire in his own manner. We might disagree with his actions, and certainly it was unacceptable for him to prop up a false Emperor, but everything he did was to protect the Empire; to ensure peace and prosperity for all peoples."

Gossman turned back to Terra, his eyes blazing with anger. "Anyone that desecrates Vector is the real criminal! Anyone that slaughters the thousands of innocent lives out there and sets fire to a city of over a million must be brought to justice! General Caleigh died fighting these barbarians, and I swear we will continue his battle." He turned and spat, hitting the leather armor of a corpse nearby. Splatter could be seen over a bloody, embroidered insignia. "The Maverick will burn for this."

"Enough!" Miles called from beneath the entrance archway. "Anson Tilton is clearly not here, we'll need to find his body as well."

Terra glanced back to the empty throne as the three Imperial men gathered near the front. Hector Caleigh had died here, one final valiant stand with the remnants of his forces. They had to have been hemmed into the room, a dead-end without any possibility of escape. They had fought to the last man, taking with them probably some two or three times their number.

Surrounded by the dead, she wondered what would have happened had Emperor Gestahl not died. Would the Civil War have broken out? Would so many lives have been taken? The bloodbath she had seen in the streets of Vector rivalled any scene she had witnessed even during the Empire's war with the Northern Continent. The dead claimed by this fallout had easily matched the numbers Danielle had predicted; oh so many months ago back in Tzen.

She had helped Danielle and Remiel come to an alliance to end the war. The treaty aimed to save life though. What was the point of Farin's work in Albrook if so many had died anyways? She had tried so hard to reverse the fallout of the Long Night, almost slaughtering innocent scientists in order to prevent lengthening the war. And even though it was Vector, even though she both hated and feared this place, even then...

"Terra!"

As Terra Branford strolled through the sea of dead corpses, she wondered what she should have done to prevent such a catastrophe.

-=-

Locke frowned as they turned yet another darkened corner. His eyes were sharp, but in the near-pitch-dark hallways of the Imperial Palace, they were of little use. It was just enough to guide them through the passageways as they delved deeper and deeper into the bowels of the royal residence.

Norris had been silent throughout their trip, instead pointing when the hallway split into several. He seemed to know where he was going, and the old man had no trouble navigating the darkened passageways, so Locke did not complain.

Suddenly, the passage ended. An old wooden door was in their way, which collapsed the moment Sherwood put his foot through it. A trail of sparkles shot form Norris' fingertips, flying into the opening as all the men covered their eyes. The blinding flash of light filtered through even that, but they had been prepared. Locke dove through the opening and quickly scanned his surroundings, twin crossbows ready to take down the sightless.

Both Imperials followed after him, nosily tossing the door aside as they did so. A faint glow appeared; Norris had cast some sort of illumination spell. In the dim but constant white light, Locke examined the old furnace room they had broken into.

"This is it?" Locke asked in amazement.

"I had expected a bit more, Norris," Sherwood pointed out as well, his eyes still scanning the machinery as if monsters would jump out at them at anytime.

Locke glanced down at the layer of dust covering the ground. He seriously doubted there were any threats down here.

Norris strolled forward without replying, causing the pair of archers to exchange confused looks. Locke quickly matched Norris' pace, trusting that the old Magitek Knight knew what he was doing. He watched the Colonel mutter under his breath, seeming to count each aged and discarded boiler.

A secret passageway, that's what they were looking for, Locke surmised.

His guess proved to be correct the moment Norris stopped, turned towards an unassuming brick wall, and pressed three fingers against a brick at eye-level. A strange glow spread around his hand and then with a bit of rumbling, the wall slid aside. Norris strolled in without a second-thought and though uneasy, both Locke and Sherwood followed.

The tunnel was a long spiral staircase that wound higher and higher. Norris no longer seemed to be concerned about potential threats, so Locke had a feeling that the Magitek Knight had done this several times before. He radiated a sense of disinterest that could only -- considering the state of Vector -- arise from the boredom of habit.

The stairs ended and another secret door slid open at Norris' touch. Locke and Sherwood entered the room after Norris, their crossbows sweeping across one of the most luxurious and beautiful rooms Locke had ever seen. A royal bed the size of a cabin, covered with silk sheets and a closed canopy was only the start. Locke's eyes indulged and feasted on the treasures before him: the works of art, the shimmering jewels and the precious metals. Even the rug below their feet was a masterpiece, woven with threads of gold and silver, and inlaid with pearls, rubies and even rounded diamonds.

Sherwood swore under his breath in surprise.

"This is the Emperor's room!" Locke declared. The emblem of the Empire was clearly displayed on the walls, hung from the ceiling some ten men-high. An impressive chandelier hung between twin arches of marble, one that put the House of Lilienthal to shame. The crystals... the diamonds... Locke heard Norris order them to guard the entrances, but he was busy tallying the cost of the room. The rug alone must have weighed several tons... and he noted with astonishment that there was still much more to explore.

Locke followed Sherwood as they explored the Emperor's personal chambers. It consisted of six rooms, each as large as the first bedroom, as well as a massive hallway to connect them. Statues lined the sides of that center passage, but the light was too poor for Locke to read any of the inscriptions.

"Place is clear," Sherwood announced. He strolled out of a dining room, looking around in amazement at all the antiques and fine arts.

"I don't understand how this wasn't ransacked," Locke mumbled as he strolled out of a study with more books than most libraries. His eyes wandered across the huge doors that probably connected to the rest of the palace. As he did so, Ifrit, the magicite hanging around his neck, seemed to grow warm. Locke's vision wavered and it seemed like there was something flowing across the surface of the twin doors.

"These are nothing special," Sherwood took his hand off the polished wood. "Not even metal... it doesn't make sense why this area is still unsullied."

"Magic is blocking any access from that direction," Locke answered. He returned Sherwood's surprised look with a snide, confident smile. But while Locke was sure of the magic that barred entry, Ifrit's warmth was something wholly new. Not since the dangers upon the Floating Continent had he felt the departed Esper react this way.

Locke stormed back into the Emperor's bedroom, intent on getting them out of there. But Norris was crouched on the floor, a small globe floating over his shoulder giving off a faint white light, leafing through dozens of folders.

"Colonel?"

Norris glanced up from his readings, a pronounced frown on his face. "Yes?"

Locke narrowed his eyes suspiciously. In the dim lighting, he had caught some of the words on the parchment. Faster than Norris could respond, Locke lifted a folder clear from the old man's lap.

"Hey!" Norris tore the folder from Locke's grasp. But it was too late, Locke had seen enough to know what the Colonel had been reading.

"I'm not going to ask how you knew about that secret passage. I'm not going to ask how you knew these-" Locke pointed at the coloured folders, "-were here. But I want to know why the hell we're in the Emperor's private chambers reading about Terra's life!"

Norris matched the angry, betrayed look on Locke's face equally. He stood up, carefully picked out a beige folder, and slapped it against Locke's leather-armored chest. "Read it," he growled.

Locke didn't even look down at Norris' hand, but continued to glare at the face of the wizened old man. "I don't care about her past," Locke rebuked. "It's just history. I trust her."

Norris pushed his hand harder against Locke's chest. "Read it, and then tell me that."

Locke slapped Norris' hand away. The folder fell to the ground, papers flying all over the expensive gold-threaded rug. "I trust her," he repeated indignantly. He watched impassively as the Magitek Knight waggled a finger, papers seeming to float across the ground of their own accord and back into the opened folder.

Norris bent down, picked up the folder, and held it out to Locke once more. "I never asked you to stop trusting her," he replied. "But unlike you, I am well-versed in magic. I'm a lot more concerned about her health than you are because not only did I witness everything that happened at Gwendolen Ford, but I understood it at a metaphysical level."

The outrage Locke had been feeling weakened just a bit.

"I knew she was in Vector over a year ago, standing right by the Emperor and three of the most powerful Generals in the army. Since even I didn't know about her existence until then, it must have been a highly guarded secret. So where would the Emperor keep his most precious, classified documents?"

"Why didn't you ask her?" Locke growled.

"Because that won't get me the truth. I needed objective records, and it seems like I found her life history in the process. I should have known she grew up here."

"You should have trusted her and asked her directly, instead of deceiving her and-"

"Locke," Norris interrupted. "Did you even, just once, try to rationalize the events around Gwendolen Ford? Or have you been too busy trying to push it to the back of your mind?"

"I know what happened," Locke growled. "The Maverick-"

"-is irrelevant. Four Magitek Knights went after us specifically that day, one of whom I knew personally, so before you convince yourself that it was all coincidence, try to understand that it was not an insignificant assembly of rookies. An elite taskforce that could lay waste to ten times their number ambushed us! They went after Terra specifically, luring her away from the main force so they could capture her!"

Locke scowled. "And?"

"Are you daft? They wanted Terra, badly, and we have no idea why. Maybe you enjoy being ignorant, but I didn't live this long by wilfully ignoring what I don't understand. This Sophis business is important enough for four Magitek Knights to risk their lives. They brought enough men to kill us a dozen times over. Are you following me yet?"

They glared at each other, an awkward silence settling in. Neither made a move in the darkness of the Emperor's bedroom. It was Sherwood who broke the stalemate, having grown tired of staring at an inert, magically blockaded door.

"We're going to be late," Sherwood announced as he took the folder from Norris' hand. He held it out to Locke and addressed his commander. "If we're done here..." he trailed off, waiting for the Colonel to speak his piece. But nothing happened until Locke reluctantly took the folder. The Returner made a show of shoving the parchment into his pack.

"Let's go back," Norris ordered.

-=-

They reconvened at the entrance to the Imperial Palace, humbled by what they had seen. It was not the first time they had seen such slaughter, the soldiers of the Empire had seen such scenes many times throughout their careers while Locke and Terra had been on the receiving end of Magitek cannonade. This was different though. This was a slaughter unprecedented by magnitude and unbelievable in venue.

Fanshaw was but a fraction of the massacre here.

"We haven't found Anson Tilton yet," Gossman was saying. "It's possible that we might have missed him in the ocean of corpses, but we should assume he's still alive."

Terra didn't pay much attention as Norris' men discussed their findings. She only stared out over the ruins of Vector; the rubble stretching past the horizon, homogenous in the devastation. "There are survivors," she stated softly. "They must have fled in droves when it became obvious that the capital was taken."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Norris said. He shook his head sadly. "I'd like to believe it, but this is Vector. I don't think anyone expected that the Maverick would allow his men to destroy the capital, even those being subjugated."

The Maverick; he was the bloody conqueror of Maranda, a remorseless power-monger that had betrayed his allies and was now a monster that had turned on his own people and slaughtered them by the millions. Norris had also believed that Maverick Drummond was behind the attack on Fanshaw and the commander of the men that had ambushed them at Gwendolen Ford. Terra folded her arms, her mood darkening as she thought about their enigmatic foe.

"I'd like to know how any soldier could have done such a thing," Miles growled. "This was home."

Not for everyone, Terra thought. She turned back to the Imperials, but her eyes made contact with Locke's. She gave him a questioning look, but he quickly turned away.

"What do we do now?" Gossman asked.

Norris sat down upon the arm of the broken Guardian, wiping off a layer of snow before he did so. So massive was the war-machine that his feet didn't touch the ground. "There are a lot of political considerations to be carefully weighed now," Norris said.

"Why aren't we continuing to Tzen?" Terra asked.

Norris sighed. "Vector has fallen. This changes everything. Even if Anson Tilton is still alive, such a loss would destroy his popular support within the army at least, if not within the general population. In addition, if he were to lose control of the Palace... the symbolism would topple the New Order."

Locke gawked at Norris as if he had grown wings. "Are you suggesting we stay here and defend this city with seven people?"

"No. But we need to stay here until I can get a few more teams to defend the Palace. We'll get reinforcements from Karen and keep control of this place with a hundred men."

"That's lunacy," it was Sherwood who spoke up. "Locke's right. There's no way we can hold the Palace, even if we had a thousand men! Now assuming Anson Tilton is dead, the New Order still knows that Vector has fallen. A lot of people managed to escape the slaughter. After all, that's how we found out something terrible had happened in Vector... when thousands raided every single home in a week's radius for food and shelter. That'll bring reinforcements from the New Order... at least an army or two."

"Norris, with all due respect, Sherwood's right. The New Order probably has an army coming this way," Gossman added. "The civil war might have screwed around with all the garrisons and the Core contingents might be lacking central leadership, but this is still the Core. Even Mansfield is only a week's march away. Tens of thousands could be here within the day, and that's ignoring the Maverick! He sacked Vector! That alone should tell you that there are several divisions out there that might swing back and retake the capital."

The old Magitek Knight's gaze slowly panned across each of their tiny group, at last settling on Terra. He looked her in the eyes.

"It's an impossible task," Terra offered. "We should continue to Tzen."

Norris sighed again. "The Civil War could end right now," he stated. "We destroy Anson Tilton's legitimacy and bolster our own with a single stone. He has no support. Hector Caleigh is dead. The remnants of the House of Lords assist General Lilienthal. We have very little to lose if we hold the Palace, even if it's just a token force that has to retreat in a few days. But if the phantom reinforcements don't show, if the New Order is in the massive disarray I hope it is in, then we end this war with our actions."

Terra found it difficult to disagree with Norris. As much as she wanted to see Relm once more, this was an incredible opportunity to actually end the Civil War.

"We're going to follow whatever decision you make, Colonel," Gossman quickly added. Everyone was concerned over Norris' melancholy attitude.

"There's no reason not to try," Terra answered Norris' unspoken question. "We'll-" she caught a weird look from Locke, but ignored it, "-stay with you."

Norris stood up. He turned around and stared at the great, broken machine that he had just sat on. "Thank you," he whispered with his back turned, dwarfed by the corpse of the Guardian.

-=-

Setzer Gabbiani folded his arms, closed his eyes and tried to distance himself from the flurry of activity about him. It was hard. His sea-legs were more than capable of maintaining balance despite the turbulent waters, but noise assaulted him every second. He could hear the sound of waves breaking upon the hull and the low growl of the approaching thunderstorm. Wind and seawater peppered his face no matter which way he faced. With a great sigh, he gave up trying to seek just a tiny bit of inner peace.

He readjusted his hat.

"Mister Twig!"

Setzer "the Twig" Gabbiani turned around only after ensuring that the brim of his hat was facing outwards properly. The man approaching had even bigger hat, a gaudy thing with gold trim and a feather sticking out of the top. Setzer had been on many ships in his life. Only one kind of person wore such a headpiece and got away with it.

"Captain!" Setzer acknowledged with a respectful nod.

The Captain, known only as Drake even to longest-serving men aboard the Golden Arrow, was a large man who had deserted the Imperial Navy. Tales about Captain Drake were usually embellished heavily if not outright lies, but Setzer knew a former military man when he saw one. Drake maintained law and order with a crew of bandits. He was respected by most and controlled the rest through terror. Drake was intelligent, capable and ambitious. He was also arrogant and full of pride, which contributed largely to his fall from grace, or so Setzer assumed.

"Mister Twig, I expect good news!" Drake growled.

Setzer nodded. "Mister Williams over there-" he pointed to a young lad they had picked up only two weeks back, "-has a good eye. The freighter is heavily-laden and no doubt we outgun them. In addition, we've got the weather-gauge. Finally, some luck!"

Drake nodded gruffly. "Very good Mister Twig!" he turned away. "Beat to quarters!" he began to shout more orders.

Setzer sighed. He knew what he was about to do was terrible, but he had no choice. Fate had forced his hand, he couldn't hold out anymore without taking a chance! Months back, he had expected making his way to the Northern Continent to be a non-issue. Passage was never truly difficult for those that were motivated, even during the height of the war. However, he had never expected the Imperial Army to commandeer everything from tiny yachts to massive freighters. It had been the first time he had ever an issue finding a ship.

Those who still sailed freely, though all flew the Imperial Banner, did not help him. No one sailed to the Northern Continent. It was a deathtrap, they said. "Anyone with half a mind would turn back, if the storms and monsters didn't claim you, the navy on the other side would."

Setzer had trouble finding someone in command with less than half a mind, so he had hatched a desperate plan. It had taken three tries, but on the third attempt, pirates raiding a coastal village had seen fit to take him aboard. Pirates! Setzer thought sadly. Outlaws had grown fat while the Imperial armies were busy murdering one another; in the absence of authority they pillaged and raided to their heart's content.

At first, Setzer had been stuck with bilging and other disgusting jobs. It had been then that they had labelled him as the Twig. Setzer didn't mind, it was nothing more than a nickname and also helped hide his true identity. During his time as nothing more than a slave, the physical labour had helped rebuild his crippled body. No longer was he gaunt and sickly, still weakened from the poison that had kept him asleep for weeks and nearly claimed his life, but once more he could stand tall and strong.

As his body strengthened, Setzer made sure to stand out whenever an officer was near. After all, he was a master of sailing. From rigging to fleet tactics, Setzer lived and breathed the language of vessels. He was quickly promoted as his skills became obvious. There was jealously from some older members of the crew, but Setzer had made many friends while he was the Golden Arrow's whipping boy. Few could forget what humble origins Mister Twig came from; he used to clean slop right beside them! Thus he had eventually gained the eye of Captain Drake.

That had been a dangerous time. Rumour that Mister Twig was actually an Imperial agent spread like wildfire, but few could argue that the former-cripple had always remained loyal. Not once had he left the ship since he boarded, not even when they went ashore to celebrate their riches with drink and company. Captain Drake's suspicions quickly passed. Indeed, most now assumed that Mister Twig was once an Imperial sailor, one of high standing that had become disfranchised and left for the freedom of the high seas. Perhaps that had been part of the reason why Drake had trusted Setzer so, but Setzer had never once substantiated those rumours. They made him very uncomfortable.

Then raiding had gotten tough. The Imperials had returned with their big frigates and the seas were no longer safe for men such as them. The Golden Arrow had gone from being laden with treasure to sneaking along the coast hoping for a village to raid. It was pathetic, but unlike their other pirate brethren, they had not been defeated by the Imperial Navy.

It had been several weeks past since their last successful raid, almost called off as an Imperial frigate had neared. Indeed during that time, Drake's first mate had been killed in the chaos of their hasty retreat. Later, Mister Twig had taken his place with few disagreements. The Golden Arrow largely adored their newest officer.

Now as they came upon a freighter, of Imperial origins but lacking an escort during these tough times, Setzer brought the eyepiece to his eye and smiled. He set down the telescope and ran over to Drake. A fake scowl was on his face before he spoke with the Captain. "Sir! Imperial soldiers are aboard, I counted at least three on deck."

Drake was quite eloquent at times. He proved this once more with a string of colourful curses. "How many would you say there are in total, Mister Twig?"

"On a ship that size? At least twenty, I'd reckon."

"That's a good guess... and a big problem if we storm'em. We have'em outnumbered, but those soldiers could hurt us badly," Drake cursed again. "Twig, get me the Bosun and then ready yourself. We're going to have a tough fight ahead of us."

Setzer nodded. Captain Drake intended to board himself, a rarity but he was a professional trained with a blade and they had few that could claim that. Setzer had proven his own duelling skills to be amongst the best -- furthering his reputation as a fallen Imperial sailor -- and so would be amongst those leading the charge.

During which, Captain Drake would fall.

Setzer ran through the mass of dirty sailors to find the boatswain. Unfortunately, he had gotten to become friends with Drake. Even though he had intended treachery the entire time, he had no choice. In order to become the first officer, he had to have the friendship of the Captain. Now it was time for that to end.

Reassuring himself that Drake was still a criminal, Setzer yelled orders to the boatswain. Once Drake fell, Setzer would have command of his own ship. In the outburst of emotion following the Captain's death, Setzer would ensure that the Golden Arrow made her way to the Northern Continent. Easier pickings away from the Imperial Navy, he would say.

Setzer retrieved his cutlass and with a cringe at his commander's pompous hat, took his place on the quarterdeck beside Captain Drake. The freighter had seen them finally and was already tossing crate after crate of valuables into the waters. It was a futile display, the Golden Arrow had the wind to her back and was closing on an excellent angle. Setzer turned to face Drake once more, the scarred fallen soldier still shouting orders.

A thunderous roar shook the Golden Arrow. The turbulent waters about the freighter exploded in spray and with a cheer aboard the pirate vessel, one of the enemy's masts fell down in a shower of wooden shards.

The battle had begun. Setzer's grip on his cutlass tightened. I'm sorry, Captain, but my real friends need me.

-=-

It had only been two days since they arrived in Vector when Sherwood returned. He and Miles had been sent south along a safe, but short route to Karen Alysworth and the armies entwined at Maley's Point. In that time, Norris and Terra had been hard at work weaving spells galore to protect the Imperial Palace. Years of experience combined with untapped potential turned the Imperial palace into a magical deathtrap.

While Gossman and Anthony cleared the halls of the dead, Locke had taken the opportunity to secure an escape route. He understood Terra's decision and respected it, but danger was ever-present. They were in Vector, center of the Empire, and attempting to hold the Imperial Palace with five warm bodies. It was lunacy and he would not blindly trust Terra's judgment on that matter. He nodded with satisfaction after a day of digging through the rubble and mapping the dark tunnels beneath.

The escape route he had discovered wound its way through the bowels of the Palace and into the sewage tunnels. It had taken every waking moment for Locke to find a path -- he had gone through three pads of paper stolen from palace -- but success was at hand.

When Locke returned to the surface with the route burned into his memory, things had changed for the better.

Sherwood looked idiotic on his chocobo, and Locke made sure the quiet soldier knew it. But the archer had returned with a squad of fifty-men and incredible news.

Maley's Point was no longer a massive blockade. The timely arrival of General Remiel Lilienthal, the Knights of Odin, and an additional twenty-thousand men had swung the contest heavily to one side. The New Order had cracked and retreated. In the chaos many cavalry squadrons had been sent into the Core of the Empire. This was one of them, and Sherwood led them through the ruins of Vector, through broken gates of the Imperial Palace to a surprised but relieved Magitek Knight.

"Miles has continued south to report; though he will likely be reassigned given recent losses," Sherwood told Norris while Terra explained to the newly arrived men how to avoid the magical traps throughout the palace. "The main force has already received several survivors from Vector, I think a lot more escaped than we thought. The leader of this squadron was sent directly here, it seems like General Alysworth was concerned."

"I expected that the Major's talents would be needed elsewhere..." Norris nodded several times with vigour. "Good! This is good! And news of Anson Tilton?"

"None, though scouts have been sent in all directions. The New Order is quiet, but it's not falling apart," Sherwood replied. He scratched at his scalp of long blond hair. "Still, I think Vector can be safely secured though."

That had been an optimistic assumption that both Locke and Norris did not share.

Two days and five-hundred additional men later, Colonel Norris Ferdinand was the de-facto leader of Vector. Then General Remiel Lilienthal had made that official. In a terse rescript, Norris was told to take control of operations concerning the safety of the capital until friendly armies could safely reach Vector. The New Order had not yet given up and had been harassing Lilienthal's forces to a great extent. Supply lines were collapsing and the advance was delayed by weeks.

It set off alarms that told Norris the New Order was still functioning under a competent, central leadership. He sent scouts in every direction, focusing on the city of Mansfield to the east. The Maverick was still out there, and Norris had confided in Terra that it was to the west his fears laid, but then those thoughts became irrelevant.

A force about five-thousand strong was discovered marching towards Vector from Mansfield. The banner of the New Order was flown with pride. Another fifty-thousand was behind them. Ten days it had taken them to recover from the sack of Vector and rally that kind of force to its succour, but now they were ready to contest control of the capital. They had expected to be fighting against the vicious barbarians that had destroyed the jewel of civilization, and so the odds were all that much more stacked against the insignificant foe that had secured the Imperial Palace.

Indeed they were insignificant. They were outnumbered a hundred to one and in a briefing room located in the Imperial Palace, debate had quickly devolved into heated bickering. There were cowards aplenty in the ranks that had reinforced Norris' original team and Terra found herself disgusted by the newcomers. They only thought of themselves, too afraid to accept the possibility of sacrifice for the greater good.

As Cyan might have said: typical Imperials.

Terra pulled Norris aside. "This is going nowhere," she whispered.

Norris nodded. "Things have only gotten worse now that we know Anson Tilton is leading the advance force. Our hopes that the forces arriving had been hastily assembled and thus of lower quality have been dashed."

"How long do we have?"

"Perhaps until this evening, not much more than that. General Alysworth is closest to the capital with her forces but even at best speed, advance elements won't be here before dawn," Norris strolled out of the room with Terra trailing behind.

Guarding the doors had been three men Terra did not recognize, as well as Locke. She smiled at him and he returned the same, but he was obviously under a lot of stress. Terra waited until they were out of earshot before speaking. "They don't seem to follow your leadership despite your rank."

"They're fools," Norris growled. "Too long have they faced nothing more than monsters... and I am not half the commander a real General is. I can barely keep the men in check, much less have them stand firm in the face of certain death."

"If only Leo were here," Terra mumbled under her breath.

Norris raised an eyebrow. "If only!" he exasperated. "Though if that fantasy were reality then the war might have been averted. Few would dare go against the honourable General and he would never have allowed the situation to degrade into civil warfare."

"I'm surprised I haven't been garrotted, considering the loyalty throughout the Imperial ranks to Leo," Terra remarked. They were strolling through one of the cleared halls of the Imperial Palace. It had yet to be restored, walls still showed signs of fire damage and blood stained the metallic floors, but the festering dead had been removed before disease took hold.

Norris chuckled softly. "I take it you have had some experience with that ill-founded rumour."

"I was under the impression that more than a few people believed I was involved in his assassination."

"There might have been only one thing more persuasive than loyalty to General Christophe and that was distrust of General Palazzo. I, and certainly the men under my command, never believed that rumour for a moment; spread only because Kefka's original lies of treachery would have failed even more pathetically. Never forget, Terra, that you were seen standing beside the Emperor and Leo in front of thousands. That is an image that is difficult to reconcile, especially when one takes into account Kefka's character."

Terra nodded. "So the Imperial Armed Forces aren't of one mind on that matter, I'd imagine," she pointed out.

"That, and many more," Norris answered. "Though in this case, I'd laugh at any who believed such a lie. It's indicative of deeper troubles within the army: our inability to question our superiors. I guess in the past, that kind of free-thinking would have been grounds for a court-martial. Treason, insubordination, who knows what kind of charges a commanding officer could bring to bear? So instead, we end up with sword-wielding sheep," he sighed wistfully. "What we need is a great leader... the men will follow any with strength of will, and that would end this damned war."

Terra clasped her arms behind her back and thought about Norris and Karen's conversation just a few days earlier. Factions amongst the Imperial Armed Forces with controversy that ranged from more than just a difference in leadership... "If Tilton successfully retakes this place, what happens?" she asked as they strolled through the halls of the Imperial Palace.

"The Civil War continues," Norris answered plainly. "Without Danielle Meras, we don't have the forces to keep our back secure and lay siege to Vector. The entire countryside seems to rise against our forces, the New Order has somehow managed to persuade even the common folk to reject us," Norris shook his head in disbelief. "Our forces arrive to protect them from monsters, offer food and shelter, yet they're still fighting us. I wouldn't have believed it if it wasn't in so many different reports!"

"There are five-hundred of us at most," Terra continued, ignoring Norris' comments. She knew what the reports said; she had been reading them as often -- if not more -- than Norris did. "Against just Tilton's advance force-"

"I know the odds," Norris snapped. The pair of magic-users had gone out to a balcony now, a place where the two had discussed many things over the past week. It was secretive, safe, protected, isolated, and most importantly, it offered a view of Vector to constantly remind them of the true cost of war. "It would be absolute lunacy to stand our ground. We'd be lucky to delay them even an hour, even if their forces didn't have any Magitek Knights with them!"

"This Anson Tilton," Terra continued. "Everything I know about him is second-hand, but I'm under the impression that he's smart, brilliant, charismatic, and extremely popular."

"Somehow despite the loss of the capital," Norris growled reluctantly.

Terra stared out at the pulverised remnants. The winter sun shone down and illuminated the snow-covered destruction for all to see. There had been no time to clear the rubble; it would take months to restore Vector to even a fraction of its former glory. "I still don't think it's a lost cause. The war has to end," she said passionately. "Anson doesn't sound stubborn. Maybe he'll listen to reason."

Norris smiled. "Have I told you how much I admire your spirit these days?"

Terra clasped her hands behind her back. "Not recently."

Norris chuckled. "You're right, and I know exactly what we should do."

"Really?"

"Anson is coming here blindly. He has not sent out scouts or else we would've encountered at least one of them, so he has no idea what's in Vector. Certainly he knows the general situation with the retreat of the Maverick and his barbarian horde, but he can't have an accurate assessment of our forces."

Terra nodded. She could see where Norris was going. "We're going to bluff."

"Partly," Norris replied. He gestured to the east. "Before the sun sets tonight, we're going to force Anson to the bargaining table. I hate to admit it, but he's a smart man. He knows what the loss of Vector will do to the Empire. In our mutual weakness, we'll co-operate for the greater good."

Terra smiled. "A peaceful resolution?"

"An attempt," Norris grinned. "It'll require one hell of a facade."

Terra folded her arms. "And since you can't detach too many people from the palace, you want me to come with you," she smirked. "That's your plan, isn't it?"

Norris' grin faltered. "Anson Tilton isn't your average scientist," he warned. "He's also surrounded by powerful men, as well as some of the better Magitek Knights. It would be best if we didn't come to blows."

Her long grey hair shimmered under the winter sun. Terra Branford drew her wolf mantle around her as if it were regal in nature. "I wouldn't worry," she dismissed his concerns.

-=-

There was something about the situation that brought a smile to Terra's lips. Perhaps it had been that a force of barely twenty men had stopped the march of five-thousand. Or that they were attempting to stave off another ten times that number with smooth words and the threat of the unknown. Even better, success meant halting the civil war and saving millions from suffering the fate of those in Vector.

They had ridden to intercept the New Order's advance forces openly; after all they were a diplomatic mission. Armored chocobos met them along the road, no doubt alerted to their presence by more stealthy elements. It was the first time Terra met soldiers of the New Order, but they didn't seem too different from the Imperials she already knew. Brown leather and grey cloaks hollered for them to halt, swords drawn and arrows nocked. Their sigils proudly bore the black and red of the Empire, though it was tempered with something that Terra had never seen before.

It was a splash of white beneath the black emblem, a shadowy kind of effect that looked oddly like a hammer.

The New Order's cavalry wasn't all too impressive, and it seemed they thought the same of them. Norris spoke with their Captain, the two men alone and an equal distance away from both groups.

There were no Magitek Knights amongst the New Order's soldiers, so Terra knew they were in no danger. She explained the situation to Locke, who had ridden slightly ahead of her and was eying the New Order riders. He didn't relax, but shook his wrists from side to side. She had gotten used to seeing that motion, Locke did it to ensure his wrist-mounted crossbows were clear of his sleeves.

At last Norris waved to them and they were off. Their group of twenty rode with the New Order at a brisk pace until they left the road and trampled into the deep snow, chocobos slowing down substantially as they cut across the plains. Twenty minutes they crossed the countryside as such, nothing but farmland and a few speckled buildings -- abandoned houses -- in the distance. All of a sudden, the New Order's squadron of chocobos veered towards a specific farmhouse. As they approached, they could see that it was swarming with soldiers. Tents had been hastily setup around the two-story house, carriages were being unloaded, and chocobos were tended to.

"It seems like Anson Tilton has prepared a little meeting for us," Terra remarked as she dismounted.

"This couldn't have been done on such short notice," Norris said under his breath. "Sherwood," he turned to the dark-haired soldier. Of Norris' most trusted men, only the archer had accompanied the Colonel along this mission. The rest had been ordered to stay back in Vector.

While Norris and Sherwood spoke, Terra turned to Locke.

"I don't like this," Locke was already beside her. He kept his voice low. "This was planned in advance."

Terra nodded. "I can sense a number of Magitek Knights," she whispered equally quietly. "Be careful."

"I'll get us out of this if things get rough, don't you worry," Locke exuded confidence. "Keep your mind on Tilton, I'd like to see this war end just as much as you do. I trust you."

"Thank you Locke," Terra beamed with joy. She felt a tap on her back.

"Let's go," Norris said as the smile on his face melted away.

-=-

The staircase railings were broken, but was of little concern as they strolled into the meeting room prepared on the second-story. It had been recently cleared of rubble; broken glass swept aside and snapped pieces of wood tossed into another room. It smelled of mildew and the floor was caked with dirty water and half-melted snow. Yet a clean, freshly varnished table was in the center with six comfortable looking chairs as well.

No one was sitting though. Five figures stood at attention, each wearing a piece of unassuming, brown leather armor. Three men, one boy, and a woman. Three of them had been imbued with magic, Terra discerned this before she noticed any other features. The ones capable of spellcraft were two of the men and the lone woman.

The man in the center was still wearing his grey cloak. He stood tall -- not a large man but imposing nonetheless -- and the New Order's emblem was proudly displayed above his heart. His hands were clasped together, a look of amusement on his face. His brown hair was brushed back and around his neck hung what looked to be a pair of spectacles.

Norris stepped in first, Sherwood trailing and then Terra last. Locke had stayed outside the house with the rest of their escort, though Terra didn't doubt he would be close at hand if things got rough. Her eyes drifted from the man in the back-left corner, of large muscular frame and long black hair, to the woman at her immediate right. She was also in brown leather, a wicked pair of short-swords strapped by her right hip with blond hair cut so short that it reminded her of the clean-shaven heads of Reinhardt and Donnach, Farin's friends.

Terra hadn't scanned either of the two Magitek Knights, they might have felt the intrusion. But her gut told her they were inconsequential, unlike...

The man in the center was staring intently at her. She had pulled off her hood, grey locks cascading down her shoulders as she did so. There had been no time to dye her hair and Norris' men had gotten used to it anyhow.

"Colonel Norris Ferdinand. It has indeed been a while," the center man said without eyes leaving Terra.

Terra didn't back down from the stare and returned it with equal intensity.

"Anson Tilton," Norris addressed the leader of the New Order without any titles. "It's been a while since I stepped foot in the Magitek Labs."

Anson's amused smile grew as he broke eye-contact with Terra. "Yes, though I had never thought that Governor Lilienthal would allow you to head a diplomatic mission. I must admit I'm rather surprised that you would be here at all." He gestured through the broken window. "I would think that you would be placing all your efforts into defending Vector."

Norris crossed his arms. "We're tired of war after witnessing what has befallen our proud capital. General Lilienthal had delegated sufficient authority for me to parley with you. Further fighting over the corpse of Vector would benefit no one."

Anson was certainly nothing like the scientists Terra remembered. Neither introverted nor erratic, he had the air of a leader about him; a General of equal authority to that of Remiel or Danielle. He was about Edgar's age and carried on in a fashion similar to the Figarian King. He was certainly a pleasant sight to behold, without the scars of battle blemishing his face.

He didn't look like a pretender to the throne though. In fact, Terra didn't get the feeling that Anson had claimed anything at all. He was dressed modestly, General Leo would have looked more pompous next to Anson, and spoke with little indication that he was nobility. She had expected someone similar to those she met at the Messis Luna. All of Remiel's guests had been cut from similar cloth; of high society or royal upbringing. Anson Tilton was neither.

"Yes... well Colonel, you could say that no one really desires war," Anson replied. He had not yet made a move towards the seats or table and didn't look like he planned to. "But yet here we are, fighting against former colleagues and allies."

"Mister Tilton-"

"Anson, please."

Norris sighed. "Anson, if you simply saw what Vector looks like, you would understand."

"I have already witnessed, with my own eyes, the barbarism that Drummond has displayed of late," Anson folded his arms. "Norris, I'm only entertaining this meeting out of respect, for you, and the notion of peace. But don't think for a moment that you are fooling me with this charade."

Terra frowned. He knew?

Norris was impassive. "We do want peace," he stressed.

"We?" Anson echoed. "Perhaps you do, you've seen more than I ever have and I thank you for your years of service. However, both of us know that you report to Remiel Lilienthal. There's certainly no chance that he would entertain any sort of peaceful treaty between us. He's part of the old guard."

Norris was confounded. "I am here-"

"As a pawn of the nobility," Anson interrupted. His colleagues nodded briskly as he said so. "The very same House of Lords that feared the late Emperor enough to pass resolutions stripping him of his title and powers, the same House of Lords that begged me to take a subset of Gestahl's authority, and the same House of Lords that ran to the House of Lilienthal when the common folk rose up against them, those are the people you represent."

The elder Magitek Knight was struck silent. A frown creased his face. "And yet none of that has anything to do with our desire for peace," he answered at last.

Terra frowned. What was going on here? Why was Norris not refuting Anson's statements? She knew Norris well enough to tell that he was being awfully passive. Where was his characteristic mocking laughter?

"It has everything to do with this, for knowing the motivation of your command tells me that this entire meeting is absolute bullshit. I'm insulted."

"This meeting is for peace, and if you're telling me that you don't want such to entertain-"

"Colonel Ferdinand!" Anson slammed his hand upon the table and rudely silenced his elder. "I have had enough of the games! Even if I didn't know how weakly Vector is defended, how you spent the last few days weaving spell after spell in the halls of the Imperial Palace-"

Terra barely stopped the surprise from showing on her face. How did he know?

"-even if I was stupid enough to enter Vector without knowing the numbers I face -- even assuming all that, Ferdinand! -- even then I wouldn't take your statement at face value! I know Remiel Lilienthal," Anson growled. He shook his hand at Norris. "I know he can't stand that sight of me! He hates my very existence and I doubt very much that he has even acknowledged that the New Order exists, much less send his pet Magitek Knight to bandy sweet words and forge the makings of a truce."

"And here you are, with the gall to continue lying to my face. Desperate, aren't you?" Anson folded his arms again and quickly regained a calm countenance. "So desperate you would risk exposing yourself in order to stall my forces for just a few hours so that Karen Alysworth could send reinforcements." He shook his head sadly. "Whatever good a few hundred chocobos would do," he muttered under his breath.

Dumbfounded, it was the only word Terra could use to describe the feeling in the atmosphere. Even Anson's colleagues were taken aback by what their leader had revealed. The young boy and the male Magitek Knight in the back corner exchanged looks of concern.

"Nothing to say?" Anson asked. He did not seem at all smug, but looked disappointed. "I can't say I blame you. I considered your situation and that is why we are here in this abandoned home. It crossed my mind many times to simply kill you for your deceit. The sheer arrogance of what you expected to get away with was simply insulting! If Hector was still by my side, he would have counselled for your deaths to pave the road to victory."

The leader of the New Order ran a hand through his greasy brown hair, taking a deep breath while Norris attempted to recover. "But Hector is dead," he continued in a softer, more humble tone. "Vector has fallen, her once glorious splendour reduced to rubble. Several hundred-thousands have been slaughtered by the barbarians that once called themselves Imperials, and this is in addition to the hundreds of thousands that have already died in the past several months." Anson Tilton spread his arms and his grey cloak opened regally, like that of a make-shift cape.

"I felt compassion, even a small gesture, would be monumental."

The moment was awkward, to say the least. Terra could see that Anson's colleagues, still not yet introduced, had not known what was on their leader's mind. They seemed astounded at Anson's words -- why were they here if the entire meeting was intended to be deception from both parties? Equally surprised, but without showing anything on his wrinkled face, was Norris. To his left, Sherwood gave no outward sign of aggression but Terra was sure that he had already worked out an escape plan with Locke. The blond-haired archer watched the big, long-haired Magitek Knight at the back-left corner of the room; it appeared Sherwood had accurately pinpointed one of the magic-users without spells of his own.

As for herself, she calmly waited for the proper moment. In the meantime, she would listen to the words of Anson Tilton and evaluate the situation accordingly.

"Anson," Norris said at last, one hand had drifted down to his hip and pretended to smooth out the wrinkles in his robes. "I never thought you were stupid. You are the inventor of the Aegis Enclosure, which alone speaks volumes. But if all that you said is true, then your compassionate streak will only cost you the capital. Why agree to this meeting and a small display of mercy when it would weaken your bargaining position with my power-hungry commander?"

"I had thought you more clever, Colonel Ferdinand," Anson smiled. "There is a reason why we are so far off the main-roads and it is not for my protection."

Terra went white. He didn't!

"You never stopped your army from marching," Norris accused.

"They will arrive in Vector within two hours," the leader of the New Order acknowledged. "In return for an insignificant number of my troops, I have removed you, Colonel, from the equation."

"The notion of peace indeed," the old Magitek Knight snorted.

"Cold numbers," Anson responded. "Remiel Lilienthal was never one to be popular with Magitek Knights. Your support of the Governor aside, I doubt very much any other senior Knights to be in the ranks of Albrook. I, on the other hand," he gestured to his bodyguards, "can easily afford the loss of a few if your men are deprived your command, experience, and spellcraft."

Norris straightened. "You would dare strike ambassadors of peace?"

"Nothing so crude," Anson replied instantly. "I am not as ruthless as Lilienthal would have you believe, nor a despot without a sense of mercy." His gaze hardened. "But until my forces are firmly in control of Vector again, none of us shall leave this house."

Terra had heard enough. She flexed a gloved hand and called the power forth.

"-You will not be harmed though. As you insinuated, it is unforgivable to attack during a meeting of peace."

Terra hesitated just before the white sheen covered her vision. It took great willpower to avoid visibly morphing.

Norris did not seem to know what his most powerful ally had just intended, for he had crossed his arms and returned the same deadly look that Anson had given them. "Not unless you wanted to be known as the next Kefka."

His words, perhaps not aimed at her, still broke her will for the fight. The power receded as quickly as it had been called with a modicum of shame.

"I would like to believe there are no more men of such immorality in the upper ranks of the Empire," Anson replied. "The people could not bear such another embarrassment, nor would the army support any leader who showed such warning signs."

"And yet they supported you when you issued unacceptable demands to Alfort-Brougham," Norris growled.

"Playing the blame game now?" Anson asked with a smirk. "I suppose after knowing that your bluff has worked against you, there's nothing left but to regain a measure of dignity by insulting me verbally."

The elder Magitek Knight did not take the bait. His anger, as brief as it was, faded away.

"Remiel already had his troops mobilized long before I demanded the nobles of Albrook and her territories to support the demands of the Equality Crusade. That rescript was one long since drafted by Emperor Gestahl from his glory days, but left to gather dust when the nobility opposed him vehemently. He had neither the force of will nor the desire to break the bourgeois that were steadily strangling our Empire. His mind was always outward, never inward, and instead of repairing the growing difference between factory workers and owners, he directed our industrial capacity towards war with other countries."

"I have heard inane speeches like this before," Norris replied. He pulled out a chair and rudely sat down. "Let's just say I am unimpressed with your rhetoric, Anson, nor that of the hundreds that advocated the destruction of factories for any number of reasons. The Empire has grown strong thanks to our technology and the nobility joined by the talented factory owners that were once common folk, just like your humble origins until your ascension as the head of the Magitek Factory."

"And yet many of the common folk suffer on the streets and cannot find work outside the army. The world is unfair, but the Empire is civilization and shelters her people," Anson replied passionately. "Protection from monsters is but one thing that our government can provide. Why not help those in need? Why not give food to those who suffer on the streets? Why not provide shelter and warmth to all who are under the umbrella of the Empire? We have bent our will towards spreading civilization to other nations and now nearly the entire world bows to the might of our armies. Why can't we turn all that industrial might towards providence?"

Norris frowned at Anson's idealistic words. The bodyguards were clearly enamoured by their leader's speech.

"Because of the old guard," Anson answered his own question. "The nobility and the newly ascended business owners wish to keep their power and wealth. The House of Lords has long since strangled any movement towards equality. Fortunately, they were too frightened by what Emperor Gestahl had drawn from the darkness of the past. They turned to me, for I was popular with the army and yet without close ties to the Emperor. They thought I was a naive commoner, a tool they could use to reshape the Empire. Instead, they provided me with the powers to force the change they had feared for decades."

Anson smiled. "And when the common peoples of the Empire supported me -- when my good friend Hector Caleigh would not listen to the House's assassination orders -- they ran to Remiel Lilienthal, champion of the rich and noble."

Terra felt shivers run down her spine. Was this how the Civil War started? This was not what she had been told! Instead of a struggle between power-thirsty despots, was it an internal struggle over providing for the poor?

Could she be on the wrong side?

"You say you want to help the common people, but this war has only hurt them," Norris answered in a soft tone. It appeared the old man was attempting to fight Anson's seductive words. "Those in poverty are always first to fall to starvation, to disease and the chill of winter. Continuing the civil war has only put their lives at stake while the rich lounge comfortably far from the lines of battle."

"Revolution cannot be always bloodless, nor can I stop the avalanche I have begun. The peoples of the Core have risen. They have had enough of the nobility and the heartless bourgeois. They see Remiel Lilienthal as a dictator, and those that ally with him nothing less than exploiters of the Empire." Anson Tilton glared at Norris, still standing with his cloak open like a cape, and hammered the table with his fist. "Veterans have come to my aid and the academies overflow with volunteers for the army! The fall of Vector has only breathed fire into my people. We will retake our fallen capital and spit on those that dare strike the Empire; the New Order!"

"They forgive you for your inability to protect the hundreds of thousands in Vector?"

"I asked for their forgiveness when news arrived to me in Mansfield and they have," Anson answered sadly, diminished. His arms dropped to his sides and his cloak cascaded around him. "But they will never forgive the ruthless barbarians that have struck Fanshaw and Vector. Fire flows through the blood of the New Order and retribution will be had. That is why my forces will retake Vector, not because of our numeric superiority but because we have righteousness on our side, for you are nothing more than murderers!"

Norris shot to his feet. "We did not attack Fanshaw or Vector!" he screamed, enraged. Terra's eyes went wide; she had never seen Norris lose his temper in such a fashion.

"Your ally," Anson hissed.

"Drummond is not ours!" Norris snarled. He leaned aggressively over the table and stuck a finger in Anson's face. "I have sworn to kill the fucking Maverick with my own hands; I saw first-hand the debauchery in Fanshaw. Don't you dare think for a moment that I had anything to do with that barbaric bastard!"

Anson took a step backwards. "Calm yourself Norris, I know what happened in Fanshaw. I was not there for it but the reports were clear. But don't think for a moment that recants the sin of what you had planned to do to my hometown."

Norris' eyes went wide. He retreated a step back and bumped into his chair. "How-"

"Not everyone in Lilienthal's camp is there because they believe I am a pretender to the throne," Anson replied stoically. "There are many that believe in my cause and work against you. Or did you think that the men you had given such free reign, to think for themselves and express even contradictions to your command, were unable to see the situation beyond the sweet words of Lilienthal?"

Speechless. Terra had never thought any of Norris' men could be traitors and she was a Returner! Norris was stricken into submission; a father betrayed by his sons.

"I was merely stating the fact that Lilienthal seems to be the head of the treacherous provinces to which the nobles have fled. That the Maverick so callously snuffed out the jewel of the Empire only proves to the people how little they're cared for by the old ruling class, for who is hurt most by the loss of Vector but the million that lived and worked there? Things are even worse when one realizes that all the nobility have fled the Imperial Capital."

Norris was obviously unable to respond, his wrinkled face looked dozens of years older. Terra found herself unable to remain silent any longer though.

"If everything you say is true, then retaking the Capital will only continue the war indefinitely," Terra said, surprising everyone for until now, there had been an understanding that only the heads of their respective parties would talk. "Remiel will never back down, so you'll only continue the bloodshed that you hate so much," Terra judged Anson.

Anson frowned at her interruption, but Norris was incapable of reigning in his subordinate so Anson redirected his forceful gaze back at her. Similar to when they met initially, she returned his penetrating glare with one of her own.

"I don't believe we've met," Anson remarked.

Terra folded her arms but did not offer her name. "I don't generally speak with warmongering hypocrites," she said instead.

Anson raised an eye at her rebuke. "As I said, I do not want this war to continue any longer than it must. But I cannot simply call off the war without reason. The people demand vengeance and restitution. I am simply their most vocal supporter. They lead themselves."

Terra refused to be swayed by his honeyed tongue. He had the power to stop the war, all he had to do was allow Norris to make good on his word. She didn't believe Remiel would be unreasonable, especially if Norris had returned with a treaty on his hands. The leader of Albrook had dealt with Danielle and forged an alliance there, why would it be any different with Anson?

No, this man was preventing the truce that would end the war. He pretended to want peace, but did not jump on the opportunity before him. He pretended to care for all those that had been slaughtered, but only gave orders to continue the war.

It made her blood boil.

"-They lead themselves," Anson was saying.

Terra's eyes had drifted down to the floor unwillingly as she thought of all the lives that she had seen taken. Of the ruins of Fanshaw and Vector, of the deaths she had witnessed and the struggle that she had been thrust amongst. She thought about Farin and Norris' desires, to protect and save the innocent from the horrors of war. She thought of the refugees fleeing the Core and the sea of cadavers within the Imperial Palace.

"I might be the main representative of the New Order, but I have never claimed the powers of the Emperor," Anson said. "The House of Lords gave me one title, First Citizen. That is what I continue to be, not a dictating leader, but merely a symbol of their will."

Hooded eyes were drawn to Anson, his aura unassuming but for the passion that inundated his soul. Yet he still possessed the leadership qualities that had drawn millions to follow his commands.

"A symbol that must be unmade," Terra growled in a deadly voice.

She would never fail again; to take action when decisiveness was necessary; to end the Civil War.

The white sheen took her instinctively. In an instant, great feathered wings expanded and flames swirled about an outstretched arm. Time itself bent to her will.

Magitek Knights, his protectors, her allies, too slow were any to react. They had not her power; insignificant in comparison and even the best were mere pretenders to the seraphic powers that flowed through her veins. The eldest -- the wizened Norris -- was experienced but time had eroded his reflexes, not that he would move to stop her.

Anson Tilton was frozen in surprise as she revealed herself. Fire shot forth from Terra's lithe form and blasted towards the leader of the New Order at incredible speeds.

But it was not instantaneous, and there was but an instant for him to react. It was enough for a yellow shield to appear, and even as it buckled, the combined spells of his bodyguards came to his succour.

And amidst the inferno that suddenly raged, Terra saw something she had never, in her wildest dreams, expected. In the eyes of Anson Tilton, there was neither fear nor anger. Behind the reflection of the roaring flames, there was...

There was adoration.

A second volley of fire, dozens of times fiercer and hungry for prey, had already come into existence. But instead of adding to the inferno that threatened to engulf the entire dwelling, it paused at the command of its mistress.

No one else saw those eyes, wide-open in astonishment and filled with reverence. In the crimson glare of the blaze, Terra decided to be merciful.

Even as the flames retreated, Anson Tilton had fallen to one knee. Before the smoke had vanished at Terra's command, the Magitek Knight bodyguards had done the same.

Sherwood had been in motion, twin crossbows aimed at those dangerous magic wielders. Norris had also snapped out of despondency, spells readied to add to the devastation Terra had begun. But to see their enemies fall to their knees with heads bowed was cause for even the most heartless, experienced Imperial soldier to hesitate.

Terra's blood-red eyes had never left the leader of the New Order. Her purple hair fluttered without a breeze and her feet had lifted off the ground ever so slightly. Her wings had been spread wide, almost in Sherwood's way, and the aggressiveness of her posture was not lost on Anson's remaining upright colleagues. The soldier and the young boy had both stepped back, gawking openly at Terra's change and their leader's submissive stance.

"Sophis," Anson whispered.

That word. She had heard it before. "Explain yourself," her authoritative voice seemed to echo in the sullen air.

Still head bowed and eyes on the floor, Anson spoke reverently. "My Sophis, forgive me! We had no idea you had already descended! The books; they had said your coming would not be for decades!"

Beside her, Norris had backed up several paces. He seemed unperturbed, not a hint of surprise was on his face.

Terra coldly noted his apprehension; but this was not the time for an inquisition. "And yet I am already here," she glowered at Anson's kneeling form.

"Please forgive my insolence, Lady Goddess! We have worked for decades to prepare for your arrival. We would never dream of harming you!"

"Look at me," Terra demanded. She did not understand what was happening, but...

Anson's eyes looked up. They were subdued and humble dark globes that told Terra one, undeniable truth.

Anson Tilton worshipped her.

"Who is this 'we'?" Terra asked. The aggression in her voice had faded away, she was confused but willing to play the role that the leader of the New Order had seemed to think of her.

"The Loyalists, my Goddess," Anson replied in a half-panic. "Since the end of the War of the Magi, we descendents of Mage Warriors have worked in secret to prepare civilization for your return. Though I fear that the ancient texts were not as accurate as we believed."

"You..." Terra struggled to speak the word, the sound of it was so preposterous. "You worship me?"

"Everyday of my life," Anson whispered. "There are few of us remaining, and none still with the abilities that had been blessed upon us. But in the recent years, that has changed! These two," he gestured to the two Magitek Knights on their knees, "they are of the proper descent. Forgive the insolence of the rest; they are not as devoted as we."

Terra's bloodlust had all but disappeared. She looked at Norris, whose suspicious expression told her that she had not gone crazy. This was indeed happening.

She, Terra Branford, was being worshipped by the leader of the New Order. Anson Tilton, a man whose intellect had given him vast political powers, whose charisma and foresight had made him popular beyond imagination within the Imperial Core, this man had thrown aside all dignity to grovel at her feet.

To be honest, Terra found it flattering.

"You say you're devoted to me, but you reject the peace that I came here to forge," Terra said. She briefly wondered whether she should revert, but quickly discarded the notion.

Anson visibly swallowed. "I had not realized it was you. I didn't think-"

"What about now? Will you prove your devotion by walking along the road to peace?" Terra interrupted, her voice still echoing of its own accord in the heavy air.

Anson frowned. "I did not lie, Sophis. I cannot stop the armies; they would merely find another capable of delivering speeches to take my place."

Terra folded her arms. "That is unacceptable. I have had enough of this war. It has claimed too many lives!" she growled angrily. Her voice echoed menacingly in the small room.

Had Anson not been on his knees, surely he would have taken a step back. Instead, his face was ashen. "It's possible," he stammered. "It could be possible to stop the battle for Vector, but without concessions from Lilienthal and Meras-" Anson took the opportunity to glare at Norris. I know about your secret alliance, he said without words.

The two Magitek Knights still kneeling shifted uncomfortably. Terra quickly motioned for them to stand again, and Anson took to his feet the moment she gestured.

"-without at least a total ceasefire," the leader of the New Order continued, "guarantee of amnesty for all troops, halting of military activity and official apologizes for the crimes of the Civil War, not to mention recognition of the Equality Rescript, I don't think I could keep the armies from beginning the war with another leader."

Terra frowned. She looked at Norris.

"Those demands are insane," the elder Magitek Knight said. He had recovered from all the surprises as well as could be expected. "At the very least, we are not even in constant communication with General Meras. I can't guarantee what she would do when given such a haughty ultimatum."

"What can you do, Norris?" Terra growled. She didn't like the way he was avoiding the topic.

Norris' brow furrowed in thought. "Cessation of military activities, war crimes ignored, apologizes extended if those of the New Order are willing to do the same. I can promise that much, though certainly not on General Meras' part."

"That's unacceptable," Anson said. Terra glared at him and he quickly qualified his statement. "Listen, you can't expect some two-hundred thousand soldiers to put down their weapons when half the enemy forces won't promise to do the same!"

"General Danielle Meras will agree to a ceasefire," Terra declared. Both Norris and Anson looked at her in bewilderment. "I speak for her," she explained.

"I didn't think you were that good of friends with General Starson," Norris grumbled under his breath.

"If the Sophis says so, then I am willing to begin preliminary negotiations," Anson stated. He ignored Norris' expression. "Recognition of the Equality Rescript could be delayed until both Generals are here, but official apologizes, excommunication of the Maverick, in addition to declaration of him and his followers Domus Proditor, those must be immediate."

"Domus Proditor?" Terra echoed.

"Something only the Emperor can do," Norris explained with a wrinkled frown. "It officially brands one a traitor to his homeland."

"It would be legitimate so long as our Triumvirate agrees," Anson pointed out. "This leads me to the next point, that until official negotiations, there will be a loose coupling of leadership through a council between our three leaders."

"You would cede the majority to an alliance that is already in place?" Norris asked.

"It would only be for, at most, a month. And I would not think that during that short time, much more than humanitarian aid would be discussed. Vector is in ruins and the people require the full support of our armies in order to survive through the winter."

Norris nodded. He mumbled to himself, quickly going through all of Anson's terms.

"I believe we have a truce," Terra interjected before more demands were made and things became unreasonable.

Norris's gaze drifted from the handsome visage of Anson Tilton to the pale skin, feathered wings and glowing crimson eyes of Terra Branford, and then back to the man that had symbolized the rise of the New Order and beginning of the Civil War. "It seems like that," he said. "Though we will have to act fast to prevent another conflict in Vector. After that, I will need to return to speak with my Generals immediately."

All eyes turned to Anson.

"I will leave now to halt the Fourth Army," he stammered. "With your blessing, Sophis?"

Terra nodded.

Anson Tilton pointed at the lone female bodyguard. "Catherine, you will tend to the Sophis. Tell her everything she wishes to know, I will be back by nightfall." He turned back to Terra, his gaze softening instantly. "No amount of delving into the annals of the past could have prepared me for this day. Since the moment I was born, I have been waiting for your arrival."

Terra Branford's feet slowly touched the ground. Her purple hair stopped fluttering the breeze that wasn't there, and her wings were drawn protectively inward. Glowing crimson eyes judged Anson Tilton.

"Thank you, my Goddess," his demeanour was nothing short of reverent. "You have stopped the Civil War."

Visions of Peace will be continued in The Sixteenth Chapter - Daybreak

The Sixteenth Chapter - Daybreak

"You're right Sabin," Siana whispered incredulously. They were both hidden from sight beneath the underbrush, snow drifting off the top of her hood as she examined the wagons. They were halted on the road, three in total, but one had veered into a ditch. "It must have lost a wheel," she analyzed. "The icy dirt road did the rest."

Sabin laid beside her upon his belly, his face an emotionless mask. Siana had deferred to his expertise more and more as the weeks had passed. His background in the wilderness was superior to hers; and his ability to cobble tasty meals from what he foraged was more than enough to earn her eternal gratitude. But most importantly, without him, she would have been dead thrice over.

The martial-artist, only slightly diminished in stature from his incarceration, had tended to her for weeks while she regained her strength. He had raided abandoned cabin after cabin for the few items he could not find in the deep of winter, such as medicinal herbs that had brought down a nasty fever. Finally, she had recouped enough of her former strength for them to travel together. They headed north; Sabin believed they had been south of Pierpoint and neither desired to be near civilization.

The world had gone crazy, after all.

"I see children," Sabin growled in a deadly tone.

Siana nodded gravely. She could see at least two young, innocent kids that were chained inside the furthest covered wagon. They were barely clothed, thin from malnourishment and huddled together for warmth. Several guards were nearby... Imperial only in uniform. Siana felt no sense of camaraderie; never again would brown-leather be a comforting sight. "We need to do something," she whispered.

Both of them knew that this was a caravan destined for the Patrician and his damned Guild. For the past week, they had crossed paths with many a soldier, and not one of them had claimed loyalty to anything but the Guild.

The thought of those children going through what she had... Siana felt the bile rise in her throat. "Quickly Sabin! We're lucky enough that the wagon broke down. They'll have the wheels replaced in a couple of minutes, and we can't abandon those kids."

"Wait," Sabin whispered. He gestured. "That one, with the long brown hair leaning against the back-wagon. Do you see him?"

Siana brushed aside a naked branch and looked closer. "What about him?"

"Magitek Knight," Sabin growled. "An inexperienced one."

Siana narrowed her eyes and tried to make out details. "Him? He's not wearing grey robes, those sashes, or anything that else that might stand out. How can you tell?"

"He dies first."

The tone of Sabin's voice was chilling and despite the lack of evidence, there was no reason to believe he was wrong. For the last few weeks, Sabin had been eerily correct in identifying magical threats. The last time she questioned him, they had ambushed a messenger who had seemed too innocent and naive to be so dangerous. But the fireball taught her otherwise and Sabin had just barely managed to save her.

She knew he was right. It was just unnerving.

"Fine," she pulled out a hunting bow they had found in an abandoned cabin. Her archery had suffered since the days of the academy, but she did more good with a dozen arrows than with her knives. And unless they found a derelict Magitek Armor, it was doubtful she could be more helpful. "What about the others? Can we let them go?" she glanced over hopefully. But Sabin's attention remained focused on the convoy, his hands idly tracing patterns into the snow.

This would be the fourth group of soldiers they had ambushed as they made their way towards the sea and away from both the Imperial Core and Pierpoint. While the largest numerically, Siana doubted they were in any danger. The magical threat was already identified, and the rest were hapless grunts. Surely there was no harm in letting them go.

Sabin disappeared beneath the underbrush to sneak closer; his silence was answer enough. Siana sighed as loudly as she thought it was safe, waiting for a signal to attack. She wished there was another way. She wished... she wished she didn't have to kill her own people; even if they had gone mad.

Then came a loud cracking noise that drew everyone's attention. Siana gaped at the massive, multi-story tree toppling over.

How did Sabin do that without an axe?

Turning to the situation at hand, the battle quickly became a slaughter. Siana's arrows found two marks by the time Sabin snuck behind and killed the Magitek Knight. The tree rolled down the hill and smashed into the rearmost wagon, sending the group of soldiers scattering. Siana picked off another soldier while Sabin ran through the chaos, his fists and feet flying as he dispatched everyone in sight.

A dozen men were dead before the snow had settled. Siana strolled past the broken tree and pulverized wagon with a paranoid look. Sabin was rushing to the children, ensuring their safety above all else, but she had an equally important job.

Siana knelt down near the corpse of the Magitek Knight. His neck was snapped, eyes still wide-open in surprise. The Imperial Emblem upon his collar was soaked with blood. He was definitely dead.

"Barbarian," Siana spat. She wiped her eyes of the unexpected tears. Reassuring herself that they were doing the right thing, she rifled through the dead Magitek Knight's pockets, picking out a folded piece of parchment along with a ring of keys. She opened the note, but it was just a mundane list of supplies.

Sabin had already been freeing the children from their chains, but looked relieved when Siana tossed him the keys. One knee hit the snow as he unlocked the bindings on all five kids.

"Hey there," Siana forced a smile when one of the children ran up to her. She was no more than nine years old and threw her thin little arms around Siana's waist. "It's alright, you're safe now."

"They came from a village called Dorset," Sabin announced. A boy, maybe six years of age, sat on his broad shoulders. "That's the name, right Ben?" Sabin grinned when the kid nodded so rapidly he almost fell off.

"Thanks for saving us, Miss," the oldest girl said politely. She was wearing the tattered remains of a dress, shaking from the cold, but still wore a relieved smile despite all the wounds.

"You're welcome," Siana replied. "You can call me Siana," she introduced herself as she looked around for clothes. "The big lug over there is Sabin."

"I'm Linda," she pointed at the girl holding on to Siana. "That's my sister, and that's Ben, and-"

"Linda," Sabin interrupted. "What happened here? Did these men take you from Dorset?"

Linda nodded.

"They made mommy cry," Ben added from atop of Sabin's shoulders.

"They hurt grandpa!"

"Daddy tried to stop them, but they had swords!"

Siana had found a pile of winter cloaks that the soldiers had kept; though they were far too big, they would do. As she handed them out, she exchanged a look with Sabin. He nodded back, they had committed to this the moment they decided to free the children.

"Linda, do you know the way to Dorset?" Siana asked softly. She had never heard of the village, it couldn't have been anything remotely sizable in this corner of the world.

Linda nodded. "Me and daddy used to come down this road every week, to visit my uncle in the big city."

"Then show us the way," Sabin said. He hoisted Ben higher on his massive shoulders. "We'll take you back home."

-=-

It was Terra's second time in a carriage. Her first taste of the nobility's lifestyle had been as Remiel Lilienthal's escort. Unlike that time, now she was thankful for the luxury. They would be late otherwise and had they have ridden upon chocobos, she couldn't have enjoyed the company that she was with.

Anson Tilton sat across from her, watching the frozen landscape roll by as he thought of an answer. While the two had grown accustomed to each other's presence, there was still a slight awkwardness between them. All too often, Anson deferred to her in embarrassingly dramatic ways. With no small amount of effort, he had finally stopped kneeling and bowing his head when conversing with her. She had even gotten him to address her by her name, sometimes.

If there was ever suspicion of duplicity, now there was none.

"Well?" Terra pressed for an answer.

Anson sighed. "You're asking for the impossible. It's hard enough to explain the politics of the House of Lords when given plenty of time, much less with scant minutes before we arrive. You'll just have to accept that this is the way it is."

Terra frowned. "I still don't understand why Emperor Gestahl could bend the Empire to do whatever he wished without thinking of the consequences, and yet now we can't even sign a truce -- something in everyone's best interest -- without a circle of military leaders and this House of Lords getting involved."

"Emperor Gestahl was so powerful he didn't really need the title. His popularity is still without comparison, and he had such clout amongst both nobility and army personnel that opposition was unthinkable. Certainly you saw how easily he committed to a treaty with the Northern Continent; with little more than his word, he gave up territorial gains and made reparations," Anson rubbed the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Anyhow, it's not the entire House, just the Duke of Mansfield," Anson pointed out with a wisp of a smile. "Really, you should be glad that it's just him. He's the most powerful of all the nobility and was Speaker of the House during their last session, a couple weeks before the Civil War broke out. He is more than just a figurehead," he finished with a quiet chuckle.

Terra's brow furrowed. "I think I've met him," she mused.

A raised eyebrow. "Really? You surprise me everyday, my Godd-"

"Terra," she interrupted with a frown.

Anson cleared his throat. "Lady Terra," he corrected embarrassingly, but with no less reverence.

Terra sighed loudly. She glared at the First Citizen of the Empire, beyond popular throughout the Imperial Core and just as intelligent. Anson Tilton had lost little of his authority in the days that had passed since a temporary peace accord had been declared. He was still the leader of the New Order, the most powerful faction of the divided Empire.

And he was hers to command.

Terra was still stunned by all that had transpired in the last few weeks. First seeing Vector a broken shell of its past, nothing like the dark fortress that had imprisoned her for sixteen years of her life. Then the peace she had forced upon three factions of the Empire. She had been ready to kill Anson Tilton, but instead he offered her everything she ever wanted, and more.

There had been little dissent from Danielle Meras or Remiel Lilienthal. Both Generals had agreed to the cessation of hostilities quicker than any had predicted. Norris had expressed his surprise to Terra, confiding in her that it had almost been too easy. Terra assumed the old Colonel had leaned heavily on Karen, who had pressured Remiel to accept the temporary truce. Knowing the relationship between Norris and Karen, as well as the Major-General's sovereignty over Remiel's armies, it was an acceptable stretch of the imagination.

But Terra agreed that Danielle's ready acceptance had been worrying. It had been unnecessary to speak with Farin or seek a private audience with the female General. Letters carried by messenger birds were all that had been required to convince Danielle to lay down her arms. That seemed ludicrous.

But no action had been seen in the past month. Even if Danielle's forces still held their military gains, the lack of warfare was all that mattered to Terra. Perhaps even Imperial Generals could tire of bloodshed. The world prayed that this was the case.

"Are you going to lay down your powers today?" Terra asked.

It was an important day in Imperial history, for two warring Generals and the First Citizen would meet and prepare the foundation of a permanent treaty. Peace, at last! It had been hard-fought, but the future would be no less of a struggle. Guiding the Empire down its chosen path would test every fibre of her soul. The temporary truce was a delicate affair, only held together by a collection of will between herself, Anson and Norris.

What would happen when both eccentric Generals and their factions congregated? Would ambition for power plunge the Imperial world back into Civil War?

No! Terra would not permit it.

Anson's soft brown eyes locked with Terra. It was something he often did when he knew she would disagree with what he had to say.

"I do not intend to abdicate."

Terra sighed, but she had already guessed that would be his answer. In Anson's eyes, she could see that he was shamed of his inability to acquiesce. That knowledge eased her burden slightly, for at least she knew he did not desire power.

He was First Citizen because in the hands of anyone else, that title would only cause more bloodshed.

"I doubt I'm the only one whose has given thought to killing you in order to end this war," Terra pointed out. "Of course you're right though, our journeys together have been more enough to discourage me of such naiveté."

Terra had spent the last month visiting the New Order's holdings in the Imperial Core. She had travelled with Anson far and wide, from the city of Mansfield to the armies locked in the chaotic stalemate that was Maley's Point, and the First Citizen was always received with joy and celebration. He was highly respected by millions; be they man or woman, civilian or solider. They hung onto his every word, adoring all that he said and following in his footsteps.

The First Citizen of the Empire, leader of the New Order, had halted the war with impassioned speeches. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers thirsting for revenge -- to avenge the monstrous slaughter of Fanshaw and the horrendous rape of Vector -- had to be convinced that peace was best; that further fighting would only invite more grievances. It had not been an easy task.

Anson focused on the concessions given. The cease-fires and humanitarian aid sowed the seeds of trust. Supplies were flowing from the outer provinces and several regiments of the New Order had already begun distribution. Shelter was being erected for the survivors of Vector, food was handed out to those starving, and pacification squads deployed to deal with the growing monster threat. But even riding on the surge of popular support, Anson had to make deals with his own Generals, promised the improbable in his speeches and sometimes deceive in order to convince his followers that a truce was in their best interests.

"I have always been truthful in your presence, Lady."

Terra looked up and down the man who commanded the New Order. A smile touched her face. Anson could look so regal upon his chocobo while he delivered speeches -- with the aura of a king and twice the authority -- but yet he always regarded her with so much respect and admiration. Without his surprising allegiance, it was doubtful that the Imperial Civil War could have been halted without further devastation. Perhaps battles and sieges leading to the loss of Mansfield, one of the few unsullied jewels of the Empire, might have brought the New Order to the bargaining table. Yet if it came to that, internal strife would plague the questionable unified Imperial government for decades.

"While we're both harping on how we met, I should apologize," Terra offered. She held out a hand to stop Anson from interrupting. "I had no idea what kind of madness had gripped the New Order. A part of me always believed that everyone desired peace, that no one really wanted war. I assumed that the citizens of the Empire wanted nothing more than to be happy and safe... but I never met them."

Terra sighed and ran a hand through her long grey hair. "I never asked what they wanted," she lamented. "I should have talked to them, like what we've done in the past month. I should have gone out there, used my magic to heal as many as I could and asked them what they wanted. Instead, I just assumed I knew what was best."

"You do know what's best," Anson stated flatly. "From basic analysis made by my finest advisors, the damages of the Civil War have already set the Empire back by decades. Years of technological progress has been lost with the total destruction of the Magitek Labs and the economy itself only functions thanks to the military. Further warfare once my forces took back Vector would have crushed any hope of a truce. There would have been permanent conflict between factions of the Empire, steadily order would have disappeared, centuries of advancement erased, and the eventual resurgence of petty kingdoms warring over scraps. A new age of darkness, my Lady; that is what you have singly prevented."

His words warmed her heart. "Anson, you're flattering me again."

"It's simply the truth," Anson replied. "Scholars warned me of the risks, but I was too busy holding the reins of the bloodthirsty millions. Our sciences had already predicted the dark outcome, but I didn't have the force of will to fight my own people. I became First Citizen to ensure their wishes were met, not to become a dictator myself and ignore their voices. Yet sometimes, one must draw the line."

"But where?" Terra asked. "I want peace for everybody, but the people don't. They want war-"

"Lady, governance is not an easy thing. There are no hard and fast rules. Everything is situational and what's best for the people may not be what they desire."

"That sounds like something Gestahl might have said before invading Doma," Terra grumbled.

Anson cast a long, distressed look at the woman he followed. He decided to try a different tactic. "A sovereign is solely responsible for their own actions. Their strength will be reflected in their followers. This is why a ruler must be just and righteous, and these are things that stem from the self. I believe in you because you are moral, because you care for all. Please stop doubting what you have done. Through your decisive actions, millions will be saved."

"Decisive action," Terra echoed. "Well, maybe you wouldn't be so quick to declare I know what's best. I thought if I decisively... eliminated you, that the New Order would collapse and magically become peaceful," she wet her lips. "Now, I can easily imagine what would have really happened if you were no longer around: the New Order would have continued, maybe accelerated, its aggressive posturing and we would have been at a loss to find anyone with the authority to end the war."

"Sophis," Anson used the most authoritative title that Terra did not oppose -- mainly because its meaning was so obscure -- and put a hand upon her knee. "You are not omnipotent. As an Avatar of the Goddess-"

"Anson, how many times have we gone through this? Your Goddess does not exist anymore, the War of the Magi saw to that conclusion. As well, I have not been sent here by any deity, I've seen them and they're in no position to change the course of history!" Terra growled in frustration.

"Yes, the Statues that you speak of," Anson beamed with confidence. "Honestly Sophis, did you truly believe that Gods would seal themselves away so completely? That they would give up on creation after warring with each other and putting their own livelihoods at stake? The Gods will return. That you have recently met their personifications only proves that you are chosen to represent their will."

Terra's frown became more pronounced. "Anson, I don't feel this special."

"You are a half-Esper, an unheard of miracle. It's not even biologically sound! Your very existence is proof enough of deific intervention."

"I've heard this before, it was the same reasoning that brought the Returners before the Sealed Gate of Esperkind and led to their subjugation by Kefka," Terra recanted with dread. "We thought we were saving the world, but instead we caused so many deaths. I never want to make that mistake again."

"You are still young, Sophis, and you cannot do everything yourself. This is why the Loyalists exist, to serve and empower you. For now, you need education and knowledge to guide the Empire on the right path. That is why I am here, to advise you and provide all the necessary information for your instincts to make the correct decisions. Though few, we are the shadow beneath your eminence."

He leaned closer to her, so that she could smell the light scent of herbs in his hair. "In time, you will no longer need my guidance in order to usher in the next age. When that day comes, you will know it. Politics will become another tool that you command effortlessly, just like the grandeur that is your magic. Until that day, I am honoured to be your servant."

Charmed speechless, Terra smiled weakly.

Anson leaned back, breaking the connection between them. "You should not be so nervous," he said in a softer, kinder tone. "Armed with only the understanding you gleamed from Colonel Ferdinand and his soldiers, you were well on the path to ending the Civil War. Now Norris is no mere flunky, but I wouldn't say he is a veteran of the political arena. That you did so much with so little is testament to your abilities."

Terra nodded. "As always, you flatter me. I wish I trusted myself as much as you do."

"I was raised as your servant," Anson explained. "I admit I have had crises of faith at times; ancient prophecies from the War of the Magi suggested that you would appear in my lifetime. When I read those passages myself, it always smelt of deceit. A thousand years in the future, so far ahead in time that the alleged prophets would long be dead and the benefit they gained from their followers irreversible. My parents, before they passed away, always seemed to be fanatical. Our life in Fanshaw was tough and to believe that we were chosen to guide a Goddess-" he averted his eyes from Terra's angry glare for using that word, "-into our world really seemed delusional. Instead of praying at an altar, I devoted much of my life to science and engineering, building up a reputation for being dependable and securing prestige that no commoner could ever dream. I suppose my beliefs sometimes run counter to my work..."

"I don't even know if I believe you," Terra interrupted.

"Well I believe, and even more so with every passing day. And we Loyalists are not alone. Have you missed the looks you have been given?"

Terra's brow furrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

"In nearly every village we visited, the children adored you. Their parents smiled for the first time in months thank to your arrival."

"Anson, that was because I was curing sickness and tending to the injured. We also arrived with food and soldiers to help build shelters," Terra frowned. "They flocked to me because it was probably the first time they had seen the kinder side of magic, not because they thought I was the personification of a Goddess. And need I remind you how scared they were of my spell-craft originally? Most of the Imperial Core is scared to death of magic! That they didn't lynch me was only because of your presence."

Anson shook his head. "That, my Lady, is a perversion of the truth."

Through the curtain-covered windows, one could see tents pass by the hundreds. They had almost arrived.

"The people didn't care when I asked them to support peace. They only wanted revenge and praised soldiers for striking down the barbarians that sacked Vector. They didn't listen to me. How could I be this Sophis if I can't even convince a little boy that war is bad?"

Anson folded his arms. Not once had his faith been shaken, he always had an answer to her questions. "My Lady, as I have said, you are not yet prepared for politics. Worry not about the common folk. They will follow as long as someone shows them the way."

"I want to help them achieve their dreams, not force them to do as I wish," Terra growled. "I want to help them all, and every time I talk to them, every time I-"

The carriage had come to a halt, so they both knew their conversation had to come to an end. Anson interrupted her with an apologetic expression. "It is your kindness that is both strength and weakness. You want to give people everything they desire, going so far as to spend weeks speaking to them and using your powers to heal a select few."

He pointed outside at the masses.

"But you must never forget that there are millions more out there. While it is always important to find out what each person wants, you must never forget that their needs will always conflict with each other. What is good for one may not be good for many."

The door opened and the thinly shaven head of Catherine, Anson's Magitek Knight Bodyguard and one of the few Loyalists, nodded respectfully at both her superiors. A clairvoyant woman, she was quiet but quite capable. Catherine donned a thick, form-fitting dark leather lorica that was made from many individual segments. Twin short swords were strapped by the hip and from her belt hung several strange looking crossbow bolts.

Anson took a step out of the carriage, but quickly turned back. "Follow your heart, my Sophis," he added. "Today, we are three seals away from ending the Civil War because of your instincts. Tomorrow... who knows?"

-=-

First Citizen Anson Tilton and Lady Terra Branford could go nowhere without an honour guard. They were both equally renowned, especially since rumours of Terra's involvements had become wide-spread. Without any supporting evidence, it was said that Terra was one of Emperor Gestahl's greatest agents. Upon the mighty leader's death, many presumed Terra's return had forced Danielle Meras and Remiel Lilienthal to set aside their grudges and work together. They said that she foresaw the destruction of Fanshaw and Vector and had struggled to reunite the Empire against the barbarian. When it was clear that was not enough, she had personally sought the First Citizen's aid and persuaded him to end the war.

That there was not a shred of evidence was unnecessary. A hero was desired; someone that had remained neutral throughout the war; someone that had been seen beside the august Emperor Gestahl; someone who had friends in all three factions of the divided Empire.

Her magic and deep connection to the Espers was a forgiven and forgotten fact.

Terra was most often seen with Anson, and that only bolstered her credibility. For the New Order, they saw her as their beloved First Citizen's close confident; for the factions under Meras and Lilienthal, a friend that held the leash of the pretender. Rumours conflicted wildly at times, mostly due to the opposing feelings the people of the Empire held for Anson Tilton. However, the end result was the same. Whether as an extension of Anson Tilton, Danielle Meras, or Remiel Lilienthal, the half-Esper was seen as the principle reason that the Civil War had ended.

There was cheering and roars of approval as she strode through the Imperial Camp. That they were headed through an area that was, in large, populated by troops loyal to Danielle did not dim the applause. Anson had a sly smile on his face at this, causing Terra's face to briefly go red in embarrassment.

At the centre of the Imperial Camp stood a giant tent surrounded by Imperial soldiers, Magitek Armors, and several Magitek Knights in ceremonial garb; all three factions had sent their finest. There, waiting for them, was a red-haired woman in plain leather armor with a weathered green cloak draped over the shoulders. She had heard the uproar and knew exactly who amongst their high-powered guests had arrived.

General Danielle Meras smiled.

They exchanged quick pleasantries for the benefit of those watching. Handshakes and salutes to the heart between General Meras and First Citizen Tilton caused a rupture of applause. It was the end of the Civil War: no more fighting former comrades, no more bloodshed in the homeland, no more war!

The centre tent was neutral ground, only a few soldiers were there and few were armed. Each officer had been allowed a single armed escort, Anson had Catherine and Danielle had...

Terra frowned. "Baldric?"

The statue nodded.

Danielle gestured to the seats surrounding a large circular table. Terra surmised that the shape had been chosen specifically to avoid having anyone sit at the head. Anson took a chair only after Terra, settling down politely and pulling out various folders of pertinent materials for the historic day.

"I have to admit, it's a pleasure to see you here, Terra," Danielle said as her fingers thrummed against the thin table.

Terra's eyes met Danielle's. It had been a long time since they had last spoken and Terra did not intend on allowing the female General to gain the upper hand. Things had changed greatly since they were captured in Tzen.

"It has been a long time, Danielle," Terra answered with a smile. "Forgive me if I am so direct, but there is something of grave importance I wish to inquire before business commences. Is Relm truly safe with Sir Cyan Garamonde?"

Terra caught a flash of surprise on Danielle's face. Without a doubt the General had not expected diplomatic deportment from a woman that had last broken down into tears from a few hard questions. Terra mentally thanked Lindsay -- Remiel's seamstress and her teacher -- as well as Anson for his preparatory explanations.

"I suppose you want to hear it from me instead of just reading a message delivered by bird?" Danielle asked.

"It would warm my heart," Terra announced with a nod. She wanted to hear Danielle say the words herself, rather than read something penned by her many subordinates.

"Very well, indeed Cyan Garamonde has left with Relm. He denied the privilege of an escort and left for the north. General Starson personally oversaw the exchange; he said it went without any issue and was friendly all-around. Your darling Relm is safely with your friends."

Terra gaze lingered on Danielle for a moment, wondering whether she could really be trusted. A favour from Norris had ended in a communiqué from Danielle stating the fortuitous news: that Cyan had left with Relm already. Terra wanted to believe the message, but that had been difficult. Yet as always, there was no reason for the red-haired General to lie. Danielle had nothing to gain by holding onto Relm; and Terra knew Edgar and Cyan would have stopped at nothing to get Strago's granddaughter back.

With a sigh of relief, the burden was finally lifted from her shoulders. The last few months in the Imperial Core had been without a clear conscience, Relm was never far from her mind and Terra felt responsible for Strago's granddaughter. She would thank Farin later; indeed it was his personal oversight that made Terra confident in Danielle's truthfulness. Terra doubted the General knew of her subordinate's promise.

"Where might be General Starson?" Terra asked. There were only two people she wanted to see this day: Farin and Remiel. It had been ages since she had spoken with Leo's friend, and she wanted to see the look on the latter's face; to know that he was wrong about her and magic's place in the world.

"Farin is late, as is General Lilienthal. But we still have an hour before the meeting officially begins," Danielle stopped tapping on the table. Her relaxed gaze settled on Anson. "First Citizen, I don't believe we've met."

The tent seemed a tad colder.

"Just Anson, please."

"Danielle, likewise."

There was animosity in the room no matter what kind of sugar-coated words were used. Terra had dreaded this day knowing it would stretch her patience and require all her skills.

"It's unfortunate that we didn't meet," Anson surmised. "I suppose it was just bad luck, your assignment in Tzen was not positioned towards the research and development of technology. As for myself, I did not enter the public eye until very recently."

"The Aegis is a remarkable invention, simple yet effective," Danielle connected Anson to his display of engineering prowess. "It is a compliment to the Empire."

"From the pilot of the Crimson Armor, that is praise to be cherished," Anson replied. "Your achievements a decade ago might have faded from public memory, but in a few months, you made up for years of idling in Tzen."

Danielle's tone darkened, though her face retained a fake, cheerful disposition. "Today is not a day for accusations. We have a common enemy, the Maverick, so let's forgive the sins of the past as you requested. Or perhaps I should remind you of your reprehensible actions towards the nobility before they managed to find sanctuary?"

Terra frowned. Anson had admitted to her that the nobles had suffered during his reign; that they had to flee after the people rose against them for their opposition to the Equality Crusade. She didn't press the issue, but perhaps she should have. There was still so much she didn't know.

Anson folded his arms. "This will be a long day if we decide to pass around blame. I apologize, the proscriptions were without merit."

The room became very chilly with that accursed word.

"Without merit? Is that all you have to say when pressed about the state-sanctioned murder of innocent and loyal peoples of the Empire? That you stripped them of citizenship, took their estate, put a price on their heads and then displayed those trophies within the Imperial Forum; all of that was nothing more than an oversight? Do you know what you put those families through? The Mansfields? The Driscolls? The Cassidies?"

Danielle's tone had grown very deadly at that moment, but it was clear that Anson could have retorted equally. Yet instead, he only bowed his head. "You're correct, and I am sorry. But let us move on to more pressing concerns, such as the criminal Maverick Waldgrave, and put the past behind us."

Before the female General could retort, another entered their high-powered circle. Shoulder-length brown hair framed a wrinkled face, prematurely aged from the stress of the past months. Major-General Karen Alysworth entered with little ceremony. Remiel Lilienthal's military figurehead and brilliant strategist looked exhausted.

"General Lilienthal has been delayed by an hour," Karen explained. "He sent me in his place, for now, to show no disrespect. I would have been here sooner, but a certain newly promoted Major-General wanted my opinion on stratagems."

Danielle smiled warmly. "General Alysworth, it has been a long time."

Anson gestured. "Please, take a seat."

"I take it that Farin was the source of your delay?" Danielle asked. When Karen nodded after taking her seat, Danielle's grin widened. "I guess he's looking for advice from the best."

Terra stood up. All three Imperials looked at her.

"I think it would be best if business was to wait," she explained. "Since Remiel is late, I would like to take this opportunity to speak with General Starson."

Nods from all around the table. "I don't see a problem with that," Danielle said with a quick tap of the finger.

"Catherine," Anson gestured and the Magitek Knight saluted.

Terra slipped out of the tent -- holding the fabric aside for Catherine to slip through as well -- and was relieved to be away from the tension. She pulled her hood over her head, hopefully hiding the grey locks that soldiers had become good at spotting. With a forced smile to let Anson's bodyguard know all was fine, she set off to find Farin.

Commodore Douglas Pellyn rubbed his eyes in frustration. It was another one of those days; just a few hours had passed since he had arrived at port, but his patience was already exhausted by the long-winded Admiralty. Had they been remotely competent, perhaps he could have tolerated their antics. However, their continual second-guessing of battlefield decisions despite their nigh-uniform lack of experience was absolutely infuriating.

His flagship sat in the calm waters, docked outside South Figaro along with the rest of his fleet. They would have to make sail again. The men would not be happy that they were to leave so soon after their last deployment, but they needed to be relocated to a more strategically sound location. The Commodore wiped the sweat from his brow and glared at the maps of his country. Perhaps if he stared long enough, answers would magically appear.

There was a thump outside his door. Douglas was not one to typically care for such noise, but he was irritated and that was enough for him.

"You there!" he shouted as he threw open the wooden door to his cabin. Slouched over due to the low ceilings, his eyes narrowed in suspicion when there was no one to be seen. While the majority of his crew had gone ashore to celebrate their good fortune, it still felt eerily quiet.

"Marine!" Douglas ordered. He waited a few moments and heard rhythmic footsteps down the hall. Douglas didn't recognize the soldier, but that was expected given the shuffling of personnel as soon as they docked in South Figaro. "I want the guard on this deck doubled."

"As you command, sir!"

Douglas closed the door and locked it. Paranoia was a natural reaction given the situation, he reassured himself. After all... a glance at the maps spread out upon his desk, charts piled above that and various nautical instruments strewn about; including an aging sextant. Prominent above the mess were several reports with the seal of His Majesty.

An Imperial Fleet; Douglas shook his head and sighed as he sat back down. None of the Admirals had believed him when just three months ago, he had asserted that the Imperials could strike at anytime. They had laughed at him! Now they came crawling back after losing three battleships. Three! With a numerical advantage and full reports on the enemy's movements, they had suffered as badly as they forces they claimed victory over. If the Captains of those vessels had survived, Douglas would have personally flogged them before the fleet.

"Two battleships," Douglas mumbled. It was perplexing. The force was too small to be a credible threat, but too big for it to be a mere scouting mission, written off if things went sour. But what could the Imperials be planning? Could they have kept an even larger force farther out to sea? Yet it had been over a month since the Imperials had tried anything since their highly dubious attempt to rake the coast. Surely their supplies were getting low, unless there were traitors amongst the Figarian Navy.

Understandably, the Admiralty wanted someone in command with proven experience even if he was politically inconvenient. But Commodore Pellyn was not a man to simply integrate any and all vessels into his fleet. His was a cohesive unit; he trusted each and every commander under his thumb. But this rag-tag band of barely-christened ships that called itself the Home Fleet...

Their battleship compliment had been shamed. A Vice-Admiral was at the bottom of the ocean. And then there were the reports from the rest of Home Fleet -- from the smallest sloop to the most prestigious cruiser -- that were so pompous they were likely worthless. More propaganda than an after-action report, Douglas scoffed. Damn the aristocrats and their bought commissions.

Even more damning, the entire fleet had complied with the King's latest directive, despite the barbarism of such an order! The number of executions had been so high that only verified officers had been given public hangings, the rest had simply been slaughtered in the water or left to die.

"Ludicrous," he growled. "The world has gone insane and now they're handing me the reins. What do they expect of me, a miracle?"

His train of thought was broken by an insistent knock on the door. "Yes, come in!" he shouted. Then he mentally chided himself, the bolt was still in place.

It was the marine from before and there was another beside him. "Commodore, we doubled the guard as you asked, but there was something else that requires your attention."

"Well? Out with it!" Douglas was in no mood for dramatics.

"We caught a spy, sir, on deck," the marine explained.

Douglas' brow furrowed. "A spy?" he echoed. "That's absurd."

"Yes sir, an old man too. We've got him in irons; do you want us to take him back ashore? The garrison there will have room for him."

The Commodore shook his head. "No, where is he now?"

"Isolated below, sir. We've got a guard on him."

"Very good, I'll deal with this myself," Douglas stated. "Might as well take my mind off these ridiculous reports," he mumbled under his breath.

After Douglas retrieved his fine blue bridge coat and adjusted his hat, the two marines escorted him below. It was dark, damp and smelt of both sweat and salt, but Douglas had long since grown used to the smell of a boat. He ducked beneath an exposed beam, passing by wall-like stacks of supplies and nodded briefly to the marine on guard.

The prisoner was old, that was for sure. He was wearing a soaked red coat, likely from falling into the ocean for his white hairs were slicked back and his beard still dripping. His eyes were half-closed, giving the impression that the prisoner was also drunk. Douglas snorted at the spy, briefly wondering if his marines were playing a very poor joke.

"What is this?" Douglas managed to straighten his posture, positioned between two overhanging beams supporting the low ceiling. "What are you doing on my ship, old man?"

"I have a secret message for one Sir Douglas Pellyn," the spy answered. Despite his appearance, he sounded quite healthy and alert.

Douglas laughed and the marines joined him. "Of course! A secret message," Douglas mocked the old man. "Well then, out with it!"

The spy glared at the three soldiers accompanying Douglas. In a split-second, he had gone from seemingly drunk to sharp and confident. "Secret, Commodore. That would tend to imply no outsiders."

Douglas folded his arms. The fine hairs were standing on the back of his neck. For some reason, despite the spy being chained, he felt threatened. Yet the threat did not seem to be directed at him. It was rather an overarching sense of... wrongness; Douglas wasn't sure how else to describe it. The world simply did not feel right.

"Marines, leave us," he ordered against his better judgement.

"Sir?"

Douglas glared at the leader of his guards. "I said leave us! He's already in chains and cannot possibly be a threat."

"Yes sir! As you command sir!" the marine stammered.

Douglas waited until his escorts had finally gone back above. He sighed deeply. "Out with it, now," he glared at the old man.

"Sir Douglas."

Douglas spun around, almost hitting his head against one of the supporting beams. His hand had gone to his hip but then he swore loudly. His sword still hung from the hooks of his cabin!

"Who in the blazes-" Douglas gaped at the sight of the ghost. His mouth couldn't seem to close.

King Edgar Figaro sat calmly on top of a crate behind him.

"My King," Douglas whispered.

Edgar clasped his hands together. He looked a bit older, his hair dirtier than usual and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. But Douglas had watched his King grow up and would never mistake His Majesty for anyone else.

"This is a nice ship, is she new?" Edgar remarked calmly, a touch of awe in his voice. He looked all around the dark room, seemingly unconcerned. "She's very impressive. You should be proud, Douglas."

"My King, where did you... how did... when- dammit!" Douglas slammed his fist against the low ceiling. "King Edgar, they said you were dead!"

Edgar raised an eyebrow. "Really," he said with a click of the tongue. "I feel quite healthy. In fact, I've been enjoying the fruits of our homeland for quite a while now. Did you know there is a wonderful new restaurant in South Figaro? It's in new eastern district, the Key Something or Other. Marquis McCormick was rather impressed as well, and you know how picky he's been lately."

Douglas rubbed his temples in mute, frustrated astonishment. He glanced back at the prisoner curiously.

The red-coated old man scratched his suddenly-dry beard. His chains lay in a neat pile on the dirty floor and his white hair was clean of dirty seawater. "Strago Magus. I'm pleased to meet you Commodore," he introduced himself with a wry smile.

Douglas groaned. He had seen enough of the impossible for one day and simply accepted the old man's change. He turned back to his king and tried to put words to the haze of his mind. "Wait, Fatty McCormick?" he echoed.

"He really needs to cut back on the shellfish," Edgar remarked off-hand.

Douglas growled at how nonplussed the King seemed to be. His mind spun as he thought of the Admiralty, many of whom were recently promoted and certainly unqualified. It made sense now. Everything finally made sense. "Those bastards at the Castle, at the House and..." he trailed off.

"And?" Edgar asked.

"And there will be hell to pay!" Commodore Douglas Pellyn announced with flourish.

King Edgar Roni Figaro smiled. "That would be an understatement."

-=-

"Lady Terra?"

The voice came from behind; strong and authoritative, but with none of the gruffness of Farin Starson. Terra pulled her cloak tighter, not intending to speak with anyone but the fine General. Catherine tapped on her shoulder though and Terra sighed with frustration. She did not have time today, even if the man sounded harmless.

"My Sophis, I know that you wish to remain undisturbed by the riffraff, but that is the Duke of Mansfield," Catherine whispered in her ear. "It would be folly to ignore his eminence."

Curious, Terra turned to face an elder man wearing an impressive dark cape. The red and black of the Empire was accompanied by silver and gold trim, it was an expensive overcoat matched with an equally expensive triangular hat. A fine rapier was set at the side, ceremonial for it was inlaid with what appeared to be rubies. He was slightly hunched over, but in no way did it diminish his mantle of authority.

"Ah..." Terra hesitated. She recognized the nobleman, but couldn't remember anything more than his title.

"Lady Terra Branford, I do not believe we have been properly introduced, though I suppose I cannot fault Governor Lilienthal's manners, for it was I who so rudely interrupted and discussed business," he gestured extravagantly with a wide grin. "I am Charles, Earl of Castille and the Duke of Mansfield," he removed his hat, bowed and kissed her outstretched arm lightly. "While even casual acquaintances tend to address me as Lord Mansfield, I desire nothing more than to have such a beautiful woman speak plainly."

Terra drew back her gloved hand. "As you wish... Charles?"

The old nobleman chuckled. "Thank you. I note that you lack a suitable escort. Would you allow me the pleasure?"

"We do seem to be headed in the same direction, I would be honoured," Terra knew better than to deny a person of his lineage anything so minor. A quintet of soldiers escorted the powerful nobleman but had drawn back to give them space to speak. Catherine did likewise, shadowing respectfully.

Charles Mansfield carefully replaced his hat atop thinning grey hairs. "I must apologize, when we met at the Messis Luna, I thought of you as nothing more than another pretty face. The good Governor has never been one to attend with a witty consort; I had wrongly assumed you to be another of his..." he trailed off.

"Conquests?" Terra finished.

"That would be an un-gentlemanly thing to say," Charles responded without further correcting her. "The Governor gained quite a bit of standing with you by his side; and after the events of the past months, I was clearly and baselessly wrong. I beg your forgiveness."

"No offence was taken," Terra prayed she wasn't forgetting anything important. It had been a while since her lessons in deportment and the time since then had not been spent acting like a noblewoman. "I am curious though, what do you mean by 'gaining quite a bit of standing'?"

Charles straightened. Though he was old, easily Strago's age if not more, he was still taller than she. "One of the late-Emperor's personal advisors accompanying the Governor would certainly sway any undecided minds," he answered as he brushed back his extraordinary cape. "He could not have gained more support from nobility had the Emperor's ghost appeared and declared the Governor to be the proper successor!"

Terra was taken aback, but tried not to show her surprise. "Strange, there are soldiers aplenty that would believe quite the opposite."

The nobleman clasped his hands behind his cape. He raised an eyebrow, wrinkling his face even more. "Has that silly rumour of Palazzo's gained so much traction? The common soldier is such an easily swayed thing, but I'd be surprised if even they still believe such nonsense. There is so much evidence to the contrary! Speak not of such tomfoolery; there are matters of much more pressing significance in this world."

Terra remained quiet on that note. Charles was right, while in the beginning there had been the occasional group of soldiers that believed she was General Leo's assassin, they had become rarer with each week that passed.

"On a lighter note, I must congratulate you. This treaty you have created is an impressive piece of work, for the effort alone I would commend you, but to see it come to such a conclusion... I owe you a deep debt of gratitude, Lady."

Terra raised a finger. "I was not alone. Colonel Norris Ferdinand-"

"-is not here, is he?" Charles interrupted. "Come now, this is not the time to be modest! I am not a senile old man, I can plainly see that you are here for a gathering of important peoples, and yet the fine Colonel is nowhere to be seen. It doesn't take a Magitek scientist to determine who was really behind the creation of the truce."

Terra sighed. There was no point in arguing.

"Your perseverance is admirable. Becoming friends with Governor Lilienthal is no easy task, but I can see that it has empowered you to end the warfare tearing apart our Empire. Now look at you! Positioned to rein in Anson Tilton, accompanying him everywhere in order to counter his honeyed tongue. Your achievements will be remembered, do not worry. I already have my finest minstrel composing an epic ballad as we speak. He is fond of the violin though, perhaps overly so, but I assure you that it will be magnificent despite such a flaw."

Charles lowered his voice and leaned close. "Be weary of Anson Tilton though. I do not trust that man, even in defeat. He is calculating and shrewd. He knows that all it takes is political power in order to enact any change, even something as ill-advised as the Equality Crusade. He will do everything he can to hold onto his powers as First Citizen. A woman of your talents would do well to tread lightly around him."

Terra stopped in her tracks, suddenly fed up with the elder nobleman. "Our paths diverge here, it seems," she gestured in a random direction. "It has been a pleasure speaking with you, Lord Mansfield," she curtseyed as best she could without a dress.

Charles bowed once more, deeper than the last. When he straightened, he had to brush his thin grey hairs out of the way before replacing his hat once more. "It has been my pleasure, Lady Terra. May your deeds always bring glory to the Empire."

-=-

Locke opened his cloak slightly; sweat was running down the back of his neck. He strode through the Imperial Camp, unimpressed with the security, and yawned. He was tired. Both day and night had been spent on the back of a chocobo in order to arrive on time. He rubbed his empty stomach absent-mindedly and hurried along the snow-covered main road.

Sherwood was equally hungry beside him.

"What a chaotic place," Locke grumbled.

"Three factions that should be at each other's throats, two regiments each arranged to defend their leaders. That over ten-thousand soldiers that either hate each other, or have friends on the other side of the line," Sherwood pointed out. "I'm surprised it's so orderly. Where's the drinking? The idiotic games? The duels? The brawls?"

Locke pointed to his right. Four men were pounding on each other with their fists, clearly inebriated but all smiles.

"Alright, so it's not that orderly. You can't blame them for the lull in discipline."

"This mess wouldn't survive ten minutes if it was attacked."

"No one has the strength, that is, unless you fell asleep and let the Maverick and five divisions pass."

Locke was about to scoff at the jest when a group of soldiers rudely cut him off. He growled at the six men, shaking his fist at the back of a pompous black and red caped old man that the others were clearly escorting.

"Calm down," Sherwood put a hand on his shoulder. "And stop waving your fist like that!"

Locke rolled his eyes. "No manners, you Imperials."

"No brains, you Returners," Sherwood retorted back. "Open your eyes! That wasn't some random geezer cutting in front of us; that was the Duke of Mansfield."

Locke frowned. "You mean of the city?"

"The one and only, especially since all of his relatives are probably dead now... I heard he didn't escape the proscriptions unscathed."

"So he's an old man with a title that shares its name with a city. Why should I care? He still cut me off."

"The Duke of Mansfield is the single most powerful nobleman in all of the Empire. Outside the military, his clout is second only to the First Citizen. He's also an unforgiving one, always planning revenge. I heard once, he waited a decade before politically crushing an opponent who accidentally insulted his cousin; he ruined the man's reputation, took his belongings and exiled the entire family to a deserted island."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Albrook," Sherwood answered. "Colonel Ferdinand used to make me baby-sit more than just Terra."

Locke chuckled at his friend's misfortune. "Ah Sherwood, the Colonel's just matching your vast talents to the job at hand."

Sherwood sneered. "Things haven't changed."

With the wind knocked out his sails, Locke proceeded away from the Duke of Mansfield. The two men picked up the pace slightly, both unused to the preponderance of friendly troops. Certainly Locke had never thought there would be a time when he could point at an Imperial squadron and say, "those guys are on my side." Yet he had spent the last month with Norris and his men, scouring the countryside on a mission to locate the Maverick and his barbarian forces.

Locke briefly remembered his surprise when the New Order's leadership knelt in front of Norris and Terra. He had been there that day, sneaking on top of the roof to cover Terra just in case there were more than two Magitek Knights for Sherwood to handle. He had scurried away afterwards and was unsurprised by Norris' news that the Civil War was over.

Terra had been unwilling to shed light on what had happened. But Locke was no fool and Sherwood had been there. It wasn't long before Locke knew everything.

"Sophis," Locke mumbled under his breath. He shook his head, annoyed that Norris had been right once more. "Where is the Colonel anyways?" Locke asked. "I thought he would ride with us, this is rather important."

"He refused the invitation and let Gossman take some time off instead," Sherwood answered. "You would know that if you didn't sleep through the last briefing."

Locke grinned. "It was your turn to get up at that ungodly hour," he pointed out. "After twenty in the field, you can't blame a guy for catching what shut-eye he can."

"Yeah, well the Colonel's getting suspicious. I don't think our little scheme is going to work for much longer."

Locke shrugged. "After the peace treaties get signed today, I don't think we'll need to be out there on the lookout for the Maverick and hunting down the damn Guild. There will finally be enough warm bodies to adequately patrol the Plains of Callaghan."

Sherwood didn't answer. "That's strange," he noted in a much lower voice.

Locke followed Sherwood's slight gesture of the head to a man walking through the Imperial camp. Alone, he wore a white-washed cloak that covered most of his body. But both eagle-eyed archers immediately noticed the grey peaking out beneath the cloth, as well as a white sash.

"The Guild?" Locke asked quietly. Both men swerved towards their cloaked quarry.

The Guild: it was the name of the organization that attacked them in Gwendolen Ford. Even finding out that much had been a tough task; it was the conclusion of an adventure that Locke preferred to never think about again. The Guild worked under the Maverick though and that was all that mattered.

Both Locke and Sherwood instantly associated grey robes and white sashes with the Guild now, and both men were on this one with lethal intent. They pushed their way through the crowd of soldiers, almost getting into a fight with a drunken fool, but the pair shadowed the robed man without fail.

In the midst of a cluster of tents, surrounded by several hundred Imperial soldiers that were all in good cheer and drinking to their heart's content, the robed man stopped suddenly. Locke snuck off to the right, knowing that Sherwood would cover the left, and tried to make out the hooded face.

Locke didn't really know why he did what he did. It had been instinctive, so long had he travelled with Ifrit that the ancient Esper was really like a sixth sense. Locke's attention was inexplicably drawn to one of the tent entrances instead of the robed man's face, and out of that tent strolled another hooded figure. The shape was feminine, and her hair was silver in the sunlight reflected off the snow.

Silver... like a shiny grey. A shiver ran down his spine.

Locke spun around. The vibration of a spring snapping into place shuddered up his arm and from his sleeve, a crossbow bolt lanced through the air.

The robed figure was faster though. Air wavered around him and two crossbow bolts -- from front and behind -- went off-course. Before either bolt flew past their target, a column of ice erupted forth.

"Terra, get down!" Locke screamed.

Terra had not been motionless. Her hood was already off and eyes glowing a deadly red as she pushed aside a blond-haired woman. Her hand came up and the column of magic, twice her height and composed of thousands of sharpened picks of glimmering ice, smashed into a solid barrier. They exploded into a spray of harmless snowflakes, but as Terra's skin took on a white hue the ice vaporized instantly into steam.

Locke whipped his dull-black knife as he charged forward. The knife stopped in the air an arms-length away from the Magitek Knight, but Locke was only another arms-length behind that.

His arm came up and a crossbow bolt was embedded between the shocked eyes of his magical enemy.

Another bolt hit the back of the neck and then Locke was on top of the Magitek Knight. He grabbed his knife -- still suspended in the air -- and slashed the throat of the assailant. The grey robed man toppled to the ground, dead thrice over. Locke reloaded his crossbows while scanning the area around him. Sherwood was covering them with his bow, and Terra...

A white-winged Esper met his gaze.

"Are you alright?" Locke asked as Terra reverted. Grey hair fell partway down her back and a frown creased her face as she looked down at the dead Magitek Knight. The blond-woman that Terra had pushed aside trailed behind, covered with snow and looking quite flustered.

"I should ask you the same," Terra pointed out. "Thank you, as always, Locke."

Locke tried not smile as he let his sleeves drop down and cover his crossbows. "He was specifically after you."

"He wouldn't have succeeded. But I'm impressed. They found yet another way to hide from my spells," Terra folded her arms. "That won't work again, but their stubbornness and perseverance is somewhat admirable." She did not sound impressed though, but rather annoyed.

"My Sophis, are you sure you're unharmed?"

Locke's eyes narrowed at the blond-woman that asked the question. The Imperial was heavily armed, wearing a style of armor that Locke knew to be lighter than his and easier to move around in, but far less effective at turning blows. There was a deadly air about her and she moved with the grace of a cat. His eyes were attracted to her belt, where strange-looking crossbow bolts were strapped tightly.

"Yes, thank you for trying, Catherine, but you would have gotten in my way. Magic is the last thing I fear," Terra remarked. "Locke, be nice," she added when she noticed the glower on his face.

Locke shrugged. "Anyone protecting Terra is a friend of mine," he said in a non-committal fashion. He turned his attention back to their surroundings... and at last noticed the hundreds that were staring at them in shock. Many had drawn their weapons and there were the beginnings of a major scuffle taking place.

"It's alright folks, the threat is eliminated," Terra strode past Locke and waved at the soldiers. With her head uncovered, sunlight seemed to softly caress the long locks of silver hair that flowed over her shoulders. "There's nothing to fear or anyone to blame. I'll head the investigation into this problem, so everyone should relax and forget this."

Her words seemed to put the crowd at ease and most went back to their celebrations. A few continued to openly gawk at Terra -- she had just recently shape-shifted into a white-winged angel -- but the authority she radiated had placated the volatile situation.

"You know we can't be sure no one else was sent by the Maverick," Locke whispered under his breath. He made eye-contact with Sherwood and the blond-haired soldier snuck around behind them. "We can stop his armies from infiltrating, but not individual spies or assassins."

"That's fine," Terra stated blankly.

"It's a lie. What happens if there's more?" Locke asked. His eyes scanned the soldiers around them, only half-concentrating on the conversation.

"Then we'll kill them when they reveal themselves. For now these troopers need to hear unambiguous words from a source of strength," Terra answered as she pulled her cloak tight. She straightened her hair. "Men like them need strong leadership, or else they'll panic and then we'll find ourselves in real trouble."

"Yeah," Locke mumbled in response. He was watching the crowd.

"Anyhow, I wouldn't worry. My magic will be more than capable of protecting us," she said with a meaningful smile.

Locke smiled back, but his attention was quickly taken away. His eyes narrowed on a group of six that squeezed their way past the crowd. They all looked quite winded. Locke recognized the leader; it was the young boy that had been part of Anson Tilton's entourage.

"Sophis!" the boy came to a halt gasping for breath. "I've been looking for you and Catherine, but could not find either of you."

Locke and Sherwood exchanged a glance with each other.

"What's going on?" Terra asked authoritatively.

"Lady-"

A roar came from the crowds nearby, an eruption of outrage, swearing and cursing. But above that, they could hear the news with crystal clarity. Anson's messenger had only been seconds earlier than the spread of news.

"Assassins! Assassins have attacked!"

Visions of Peace will be continued in The Seventeenth Chapter - An Unavoidable Destiny

The Seventeenth Chapter - An Unavoidable Destiny

There was an army of soldiers surrounding the center tent, many squadrons with steel bared and lines drawn in the snow. The elite of the elite, personal bodyguards to some of the most powerful people in the world, commanders of highly recognized squadrons, pilots of some of the most renown Magitek Armor squadrons... everyone was screaming at each other and blaming all but themselves.

Ranks upon ranks of soldiers were positioned aggressively in battle formations. There had been no bloodshed yet, but tempers ran hot and conflict seemed inevitable. Magitek Armors were powering up and Terra recognized several of the chocobo knights by their famed emblem: the Triple Triskele. With three interlocked drinking horns -- like a crescent with one end abruptly cut off -- of the colour crimson upon deathly black, the Knights of Odin were unquestionably Remiel Lilienthal's finest soldiers.

Thick black knots of smoke still rose from the tent, but the inferno that had raged was long gone. The scene near the now-broken circular table was exposed to the outside world for all to see. The assassins had struck not only at heart of the camp, but the heart of each faction.

There would be no forgiveness.

A path parted through the mass of angry men as Terra marched through. Near the tent, there were a few guards that looked like Magitek Knights, but their uniforms were strictly ceremonial. Terra could sense no magic in them and she doubted that the Empire had enough of their kind to spare on such a trifle job -- those mages still remaining would likely be similar to Norris; commanding their own units, not acting like grunts. Most likely these were elite soldiers trained to mimic Magitek Knights, the threat of force rather than force itself.

Even elite bodyguards scrambled aside when they saw the dark look on Terra's face. Those with nerve found themselves withering under the force of her angry glare. The few who paid her no attention discovered her protective shadows -- Locke, Sherwood and Catherine -- to be even less patient than the Lady they escorted.

Of the five dead bodies, Terra identified two wearing the grey of the Guild. Her blood boiled upon seeing those distinctive sashes again. She should have known that the Maverick's forces had infiltrated this encampment with more than subterfuge in mind!

"Locke, please take care of the security of this tent," Terra ordered. "Catherine, help him."

Twin nods and her three escorts spread out to ensure her safety.

Terra did her best to avoid running, it wouldn't be good if anyone saw how distressed she truly was. Grey hair fluttered behind her back as a nigh-visible magical aura made the air quiver around her. Her leather boots dipped into the icy ground, leaving melted pools of water rippling in her wake.

"Anson!" she called out when she saw his crumpled body.

"Sophis," Anson bowed his head as he sat atop of the broken centre table. Pierce, a Magitek Knight with long dark hair that was Catherine's equal, was tending to the burns on the First Citizen's arm.

"Are you hurt?" Terra asked as she hurried to his side. The wounds looked superficial.

Anson gestured behind him. "They need your help, not I."

On the opposite end of the table, two more grey-robed cadavers laid sprawled on the frost-covered dirt. A bloodstained blade still stuck out of one's back while the other's face had been burnt to a crisp; no one could ever identify that body. Beside the slain, a red-haired woman was hunched over. Her brown uniform fluttered in the breeze as light blue sparkles danced from her fingers, twirling around the body of-

"Farin!" Terra dashed beside Danielle.

Farin Starson had a weak grin on his face. He was propped up against the broken table, blood running down the side of his face, plate armor ripped apart by inhuman strength and his right arm a mass of blackened, leathery skin and melted metal. "Good day, Ms. Branford," he coughed in pain.

Terra put an arm on Danielle's shoulder. "You're doing it wrong," she told the General sternly. "If you don't heal the flesh beneath those burns, the cost will be his arm and perhaps more."

Instead of a snappy response, blue sparkles faded away as Danielle scurried aside. She gestured at Farin. "Please," Danielle asked simply.

An unnatural wind swirled around Terra as a bright azure aura surrounded her and Farin. The skin on his right arm, burnt to a crisp and of such expanse that it was doubtful whether it could ever heal again, flaked aside and floated away in the updraft. Healthy flesh appeared beneath, muscles visibly weaving around exposed bone, as more and more blackened pieces of skin were gently ripped off Farin's arm.

"Thank you," it was not Farin who spoke, but Danielle behind her.

Terra ignored the General of Tzen until she was sure that Farin's injuries would not hamper him. The melted armor was a grave problem, but she had some experience healing such injuries and worked as quickly as she could. Gritting her teeth, she willed the metals aside. "I'll deal with the rest when we have more time," she smiled and reassuringly squeezed his leg.

Farin grimaced.

Terra let go quickly. "Is there a wound-?"

A devious turn of the lip. "I'll be fine, Lady Terra," he stressed the appellation. "Go! There are more important matters today than a stupid warrior who decided to throw away his sword before fighting a man encased in a wall of flame."

Terra shook her head and chuckled despite herself. She carefully drew a sheathed dagger from an inner pocket in her white wolf mantle. The yellow gemstone that sat amidst an embroidered star glinted in the sunlight. "Perhaps you need this more than I do," she answered slyly.

Farin snickered for a moment and then doubled over as it became a ragged cough. "Please," he groaned with a straight face. "Now you're just insulting me. Go on Terra, all your sacrifices will be for naught if you keep delaying. There is a treaty to be made, traitors to hunt, and an Empire to spread goodwill and cheer."

Terra rolled her eyes at his formality, but took his words to heart nevertheless. She stood up and addressed Danielle. "Are you injured?" she asked as she slipped the dagger of the Starson household back into its secret pocket. It was only then that Terra finally noticed that despite Farin's near-crippling wounds, Danielle was largely unscathed. There were a few smudges of ash across her armor, but that had been from trying to heal her executive officer. The red-haired General was only slightly shaken from the attack.

"I'm fine," Danielle folded her arms and shook her head in clear disapproval. "He should have let me handle it. It's supposed to be magic against magic, not bare hands against scorching flames." Her fingers rapped rapidly against the broken table. "Damn chauvinistic fool," she whispered under her breath.

"You know, my hearing is still fine," Farin interjected from below them.

Terra chuckled again as she looked down at Farin's flatly shaven head of hair. "General Starson," she began in a formal, almost haughty voice. "Might I inquire as to the location of Donnach and Reinhardt? Are they not the comic relief?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Danielle had smiled.

-=-

Locke found himself with little to do. Highly competent soldiers, unlike most of the rabble he had waded through, had already formed lines of defence. The situation had changed since they just arrived. Instead of blaming one another, the three factions had apparently worked together and formed a safeguard of several hundred elite soldiers, including the mounted, and even had Magitek Armors clearing a zone around their leaders.

"You there, just from the tent, what is the status of General Starson?"

Locke folded his arms and sighed. All his efforts and yet the Guild was still threatening Terra. Damn the Maverick and his underhanded methods! He wondered what Norris would have thought of the situation. The Maverick had sent in quite a number of Magitek Knights on suicidal missions. What kind of leader would do such a thing?

"I say you there, soldier! Get over here!"

Locke turned towards the sound, frowning. Though he had worked with Norris for several months now, the last thing he ever wanted was to be called an Imperial soldier. Who did the arrogant officer think he was?

"Dammit Locke," Sherwood was suddenly by his side. "Are you trying to piss off every single person of importance around here?"

Locke muttered under his breath as the man who had shouted approached them. When he saw the single star hanging from his armor, Locke mentally kicked himself. A General?

The brown-haired officer was young though, barely Locke's age. And behind him was...

"Well what a surprise. It's a pleasure to see you again," said the woman with two-stars on her chest. She put an arm on her fellow peer's shoulder and pulled him back. "Terrance, this is Locke Cole," Karen Alysworth explained. "He's a civilian," she added meaningfully.

Terrance seemed to catch her meaning. "Sorry about that, Mister Cole. I thought you were one of the Guard, considering you just accompanied Lady Terra."

Beside Locke, Sherwood straightened. His legs snapped together and he saluted. "General Alysworth!" Sherwood barked.

"Lieutenant Sherwood, I do believe it is?" Karen waited until he nodded. "At ease," she ordered. "Now where is your commander? He's late and there's one hell of a mess here that he needs to sort out; it's about damn time he started earning his pay-grade."

"He sends his regrets, ma'am," Sherwood was clearly uncomfortable. "A few issues in Halstead required his personal attention and he was unable accept your invitation. I was sent in his place."

Locke folded his arms. Perhaps he should have gone to the last meeting with Norris, he wondered what was so engrossing to the old Magitek Knight that he would skip out on such a historic day.

"That's awfully fortunate for him," Karen grumbled with a slight frown. "Very well, if you were sent in his place, then you will take over in an official capacity. Speak with the Captain over there and ensure the security is up to your high standards. I do not want anymore mistakes and I expect a man of your experience will not tolerate further transgressions from the Guild."

"Yes ma'am," Sherwood spun on his heels and marched away. Locke pondered if he should help his friend, Terra had already asked him to do the same thing anyhow.

"Wait, Locke Cole?" Terrance repeated with the voice of a man who just connected the obvious.

"Locke," Karen gestured at the officer beside her. "This is Brigadier-General Terrance Cassidy. Terrance, Locke is a highly valued guest of Albrook, if not of the Empire proper. He is under my protection, do you understand?"

Terrance cleared his throat. "I was just surprised. Lady Terra, one the Emperor's finest, I could understand. But this rebe-"

"General Cassidy!" Karen raised her voice.

"-I was merely wondering if General Starson is safe," Terrance quickly changed the topic. Karen was clearly in command of the situation and held the younger general's leash.

Locke shrugged. "I doubt Terra would let him die," he answered to nods all around. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened here? Terra asked me to secure the area, but it doesn't look like I'm needed. There must be several hundred soldiers gathered here."

"Just over a thousand, actually, and many more on the way," Karen pointed at the smoking tent. "As for your question, Magitek Knights managed to sneak by disguised as Imperial Guardsmen here to defend Mister Tilton," Karen answered. "Five of them came in unannounced, though I don't know how many had magic. Danielle's bodyguard, that living statue over there," she gestured at the tall form of one of the two men Locke had long since given up hope of distinguishing between, "pulled me out of there."

"Considering Mister Tilton, his bodyguard and General Meras are all Magitek Knights, I dare say it was the right choice," Terrance interjected. "Your safety was paramount, and they could not defend you and deal with the traitors."

"Yes, well it would have been fair odds had we stayed," Karen growled, clearly annoyed at the way she had been babysat. "We were all very lucky that General Starson had just arrived, he dashed in there like a man possessed with his blade thundering... literally," she added.

"What happened then?" Locke asked.

"I'm not sure, all I saw was the aftermath," Karen gestured back to the still-smoking tent. "General Cassidy arrived recently as well, reinforcing our positions here. No one gets through without being triple-checked by all three factions now," she growled. "The Maverick will not play us against each other."

"Knowing General Starson and the manner in which he behaved during Third Reddenhurst, he probably charged headlong into a blast of fire with his sword swinging," Terrance surmised. "He is a warrior of renown; honour would have dictated nothing less than self-sacrifice."

"The good General's guess isn't far from the truth."

The three of them turned around. The newcomer was accompanied by two men. Locke gritted his teeth when he saw the black trim lining the Imperial brown leather, he didn't even have to note the insignia of twin-swords upon the men's shoulders. He knew where the loyalties of these men laid: the Imperial Guard, Kefka's favourite minions. They were the same bastards that had protected the Emperor on the Floating Continent; nothing more than fanatical sheep that were blindly dedicated to the safety of the Empire's leadership.

"Generals," the newcomer nodded respectfully. "Locke, I do believe your name was?" he held out his hand.

Locke folded his arms and glared at the evil looking man; moustache and all!

"Ah, so you are the Returner. I thought you looked familiar," the new arrival took back his hand, un-offended by Locke's rebuke.

"The Major is in charge of the real Imperial Guard," Karen added, gesturing to the long-haired moustached officer.

"Here to defend the First Citizen," the Major acknowledged. He had a peculiar accent that was foreign in the Empire. "Though we were too late and our names tarnished by those traitors of the Maverick's. To answer your question, Mister Cole, apparently General Starson killed one mage by throwing his sword like a dagger, and then charged into a column of flames with nothing but his hands."

"What valour," Terrance whispered in reverence. "Truly a great man."

Locke's eyes were still narrowed on the Major of the Imperial Guard.

"And please Mister Cole, any more intensity and I fear you would kill me with your gaze. I have no relation to the former leader, Nairne. Actually, I was sentenced to death for refusing to follow some of his illegal orders. I have the Long Night to thank for my survival and subsequent promotion. I feel nothing but hatred for Palazzo's pawns. That makes us friends, I believe. How does the old saying go? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

Locke's retort was quickly cut short. He spun around as he heard Magitek Armors powering up their elemental cannons. The whine of such weapons was impossible to forget.

"You there! Stop or we'll shoot!"

At southernmost of the checkpoints, a number of soldiers had already drawn bows and crossbows. One of the smaller Magitek Armors, three times a man's height but hundreds of times his mass, barricaded the road. The pilot inside pulled shut the clear enclosure that protected the cockpit.

Fast approaching was a chocobo rider. He was galloping towards them with such fury that the bird's legs were kicking up packed snow from the well-trodden ground.

Sherwood, almost forgotten amongst the higher-ranked officers, took a few aggressive steps forward instinctively. Karen Alysworth was his superior's superior and even if that were not the case, Norris would likely flay him alive had he failed to keep her out of harm's way.

"This is your last warning!" the voice came from an armored Knight upon an equally armored chocobo. A great black cape, bearing a symbol of three horns twisted together, flapped behind him. "PFC, fire when you have range!"

The Magitek Armor took aim.

Karen stepped out front to everyone's surprise, breaking Sherwood's grip on her shoulder. "Belay that order!" she barked.

The checkpoint was likely an amalgamation of men from all three factions, but when a Major-General gave a direct order to soldiers that would likely never reach the rank necessary to polish her boots, they obeyed. Enough ammunition to flatten a charging behemoth remained trained on the chocobo rider, but that was obviously unnecessary when they saw how injured the rider was.

"Lieutenant, get up there, now! That's one of ours!" Karen shouted.

Sherwood strolled through the blockade of archers without a second question and he was not alone. Locke followed his friend and the Imperial Guard's new commander also gave into curiosity. The three men advanced, the chocobo slowing down as it reached them.

The rider was injured, blood dripping down his side. It didn't look like he was capable of hanging onto the chocobo, and Locke nodded to himself when he noted that the soldier's arms had gotten caught in the bird's reins.

"Oh no," Sherwood whispered as they saw the bloodied face of the rider. He was long since dead.

Locke held out a hand. "We should be careful, it could be trapped-"

Sherwood's eyes were wide-open in surprise, a naked expression that Locke had never seen. The Imperial archer spun around. "General Alysworth!" he shouted unnecessarily, for the Major-General was already trailing them with ten of her own bodyguards as well as the two remaining Imperial Guardsmen. The blockade of soldiers remained in position, they knew better than to get involved.

"Damn," Karen whispered. The premature wrinkles in her face seemed to deepen as she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "War," she breathed.

"Sherwood," Locke growled quietly.

"We're in trouble," Sherwood answered Locke's question with a low voice. "That's the Captain of the General's personal guard."

Locke didn't need it stated explicitly. He knew the problem now, though he wasn't sure he understood the full effect it might have on the affairs of the Empire. Yet the sinking feeling he felt at the bottom of his stomach was likely correct.

General Remiel Lilienthal was dead and with him, the prospect of peace.

-=-

The noble houses would refuse to follow the treaty. In turn, their connections would turn the majority of the Imperial industrial base at odds with whatever ruling council could be cobbled together. With the Empire's economy already at the brink of collapse, the last thing anyone wanted was the forceful state seizure of thousands upon thousands of businesses. Not even the military could accomplish such a task, even if there were no defections amongst enlisted personnel, and any attempt would surely be the deathblow for the Empire.

A new dark age: the collapse of civilization. Vector and Fanshaw would be just the beginning. Not even the Generals of the Empire could hold their armies together once the factories closed and necessities of life became scarce. They would turn inward and fight over scraps.

Anarchy. Chaos. Savagery.

Terra's eyes met Anson's, his soft brown eyes telling her what she already knew.

"Not even I can do anything about it," Terra groaned.

Remiel Lilienthal was dead. His carriage was burnt to ashes and his personal guard slain upon the sides of the road. A battle had been fought here; blades, arrows and sorcery intermixed to take the life of one of the most powerful men in the Empire. He had been the only person capable of convincing the nobility to set aside their differences, ignore grudges that ran generations deep and throw their unequivocal support behind him.

And now he was dead.

"Find me the Duke of Mansfield!" Anson ordered one of his bodyguards. "And hurry!"

Terra was crouched over, almost ready to cry. She wiped her eyes and blinked rapidly to clear her vision, focusing on the crippled body that had been a keystone of their truce. A man who had promised her that he would end civil strife and usher in a new age of peace...

She had held up her end of the bargain and he had done the same. Yet fate had conspired against them all.

Remiel was recognizable for only one reason, his clothes. There were few that dressed in the same manner, a military General whose uniform was a contradiction of the term.

Anson delicately put his hand on her shoulder. "Lady, please let us handle this."

Terra shook her head. With a deep breath, she regained her composure and coldly examined Remiel Lilienthal's corpse. It looked as if his flesh had been devoured from within, his skin hung off bones like rags and his face was nothing but a gaunt, wrinkly mass. He was housed in plate armor, but his body was so thin that it looked like a metallic cage rather than protective gear. He ranked of decay, like a corpse several days old despite the fact that there were still pools of blood not yet dry.

Only his eyes were untouched, but no longer were the jade orbs more unnervingly-aged than any other part of his body. Indeed it was the opposite, for his skin was wrinkled, his body skeletal, and even Remiel's long brown hair had turned an ashen grey.

Like hers.

Terra bit down on her lip. Focus! Yet even her willpower was insufficient, for her vision began to water again. She shot to her feet, frustrated and shamed of her inability to calm the torrent of emotion within. There were others depending on her for guidance here! She could not break down into tears at this moment, not even if this meant that war would begin anew. The soldiers would see her insecurity and weakness. They would pounce and exploit it, causing only further death.

Another deep breath and sparkles began to dance over the corpse.

Remiel was saturated with magic; perhaps a trap? The residual aura about him was what made him seem like a Magitek Knight to the casual scan. But there was nothing to fear here, because Terra was sure that no ruthless mage had spelled the body. It was merely Remiel's... uniqueness.

Terra took another deep breath in a futile attempt to calm down. Her gaze drifted, but quickly averted from the huge swarm of Imperial activity. She chose to focus on the texture of the frost-covered road.

"First Citizen, orders?" it was the leader of the Imperial Guard, his thickly accented voice stood out amongst his brethren.

"I have no need for your fine abilities as of the moment. However, perhaps General Alysworth could use the extra men on security detail?" Anson was, as always, composed and thinking politics. "The area has yet to be secured."

"Speak with Lieutenant Sherwood over there," Karen pointed, "I have placed him in temporary command. I trust that you will offer a hand, rather than attempting to pull rank?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir."

As the Imperial Guardsmen left with their leader, Karen and Anson began exchanging quiet whispers that Terra could not overhear; not that she cared to, there was something about Remiel's death that was on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes glazed over as she let her subconscious mind wander.

"-command falls to me! I don't care for appearances. My priority is to locate these assassins and deal with their treachery!" Karen barked. "I've had enough of these ridiculous games."

"General Alysworth," Anson growled. "If you do not turn your mind to placating your own soldiers and reassuring them that the assassins were of Drummond's command-"

"We don't know that!" Karen interrupted.

"You wouldn't insinuate-"

"No, but I will not lie to my men! The last thing they need after dealing with the death of their General is a deceitful replacement. I have will not throw away decades of my reputation in the army to pander to your little schemes, Tilton."

"Two words: mass defections. They'll start within the day if you don't address these issues! Unless you wish to deal with another war, you're going to have to take his place completely, not just as a military officer!"

"Anson," Terra's voice was low, certainly without the passion that gripped the two embroiled in debate. But nevertheless, Anson Tilton's attention was immediately directed towards the grey-haired half-Esper.

"He was poisoned," Terra declared. She turned away from the corpse of Remiel Lilienthal and into the First Citizen's soft brown eyes. Her long grey hair fluttered in the chill breeze of winter. "That's what sapped his strength."

Anson took a few steps forward, almost glowering at the dead body of the noble-born General. "Do you mean this was no assassination?"

Karen's ears perked up. "What's going on here?"

Terra shook her head. "I don't even know how you came to that conclusion, Anson."

"At a glance, it looks like his corpse has aged beyond the mortal coil. If you're telling me that it was merely his decade-old affliction that finally took his life, then that is good news... in a manner of speaking."

Terra narrowed her eyes, a chill travelling down her spine as she glared at Anson. "How did you know?" she asked.

"The same way you did?" Anson replied back, oblivious to her suspicions.

Terra folded her arms. "I highly doubt that."

"General Lilienthal's affliction was no secret, Lady Terra," Karen interjected authoritatively. "It is rather difficult to hide the fact that one does not age, especially when one is in the public eye as often as Remiel was."

"Though this was a special case, as most of the public didn't really make the connection. They just assumed he had youthful good looks," Anson finally perceived Terra's confusion. "But for the nobility and most of the commanding staff, it wasn't exactly a secret that Remiel had been 'poisoned' early in his career. Although most failed to see why it caused him misery rather than joy..."

"You mean people knew he had eternal youth and just accepted it? That's unbelievable," Terra pointed out in shock. This kind of talk was coming from the Empire, from no less than the lead scientist of the Magitek Labs? Preposterous!

"Most didn't care, and those who did wouldn't dare touch House Lilienthal. In addition to that, Remiel was once a close friend of Emperor Gestahl; perhaps even still in the last days of the late-Emperor's rule. It was absolute folly to move against him, even if he held the secret to eternal youth. But that's beside the point; I've seen the scars upon his chest." Anson pointed at the thick grey skin that hung from the bones of Remiel's corpse. "Now that you point it out, I have to agree: this doesn't look much different."

Terra nodded. "There's more though," she pointed out. "It's rather deceptive. Look for yourself."

"Perhaps it would be worthwhile to take his body into the labs. We'll look into cause of death in detail there," Anson said as he knelt down and began scanning at her behest.

"Lady Terra," Karen interceded. "Now that the Mister Tilton is looking into the death of the General, I was hoping you could turn your talents to the injured."

Terra nodded. They would have deal with politics later. "Lead the way."

"My Sophis," Anson made eye-contact just as she was just about to leave. He knew what was going on in her heart. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

Terra hesitated; she could feel tears welling up just beneath her eyes again. She took the time to calm herself, hoping that Anson assumed she was deep in thought. "Let's just make sure we find out what killed Remiel; this poison should be of utmost priority," she said at last. "Afer that, then we'll deal with the future."

"That is an excellent plan, my Sophis."

If only she believed it herself.

-=-

Locke waded deeper into the frozen bush. Remiel's convoy had been rather large; a number of knights on chocobos as well as wagons and carriages had been escorting the General. Since he, Terra and the rest of the Imperials had arrived with a force equal to the number dead alongside of Remiel, Locke was more than a little uneasy.

Whoever had attacked had done so efficiently and quickly. Then they had disappeared into the wilderness.

Locke's bow was out; the chance of encountering enemy soldiers was high. Some might have been left behind, similar to the way the Maverick had left units guarding the rear after sacking Fanshaw. Locke would not be surprised again.

Sherwood had asked him to scout the perimeter. Locke had grudgingly followed his friend's suggestion after losing the two inexperienced soldiers that tried to tag along. It was obviously safer to take care of threats before they could become a menace, and with Terra, Karen and Anson all in the same area, they couldn't take any chances.

So it was that Locke, alone and following a trail of broken branches, footprints in the snow, and instinct when all else failed him, heard a pained cry just over the crest of a hill.

Arrow nocked, Locke crept up the hill inaudibly. Two chocobos were lying upon the ground, their blood seeping into the thick snow. He counted seven bodies and noted that three bore a symbol Locke had seen only in one place. Neither the New Order nor the symbol that Lilienthal's forces had worn, he realized that just like in Vector, the Maverick's forces had been forced to retreat without taking the bodies of their comrades.

His ears twitched when he heard another groan of pain, weaker this time, barely audible even to him. Locke gritted his teeth and ignored the dying man's suffering, choosing to encircle the area first. He moved as quickly as he dared and when he finally felt it was safe, he lit a rocket from his backpack and sent into the sky a blazing red flare.

Keeping his bow between him and the corpses, Locke advanced carefully. Both chocobos were long dead, one rider had been crushed beneath the armored bird while another had landed upon his back and split his head apart. The remaining two soldiers had died with swords in them, taking to the afterlife three of the Maverick's men. Locke kicked aside a cloven shield and heard another groan of pain.

Around a dead chocobo and through crimson snow, Locke's mouth dropped open.

Both brown hair and beard had been soaked in blood, now frozen and matted solid. A large gash had opened the man's abdomen. The life was bleeding out of him; painfully and slowly. He wore not the armor of an Imperial soldier, but a simple tunic and white coat beneath a thick winter cloak. Woven above his breast pocket was a coat of arms that had been burnt into his memory, such was its prominence in the Lilienthal Mansion.

"Kenneth," Locke whispered.

The doctor's eyes opened with great effort. He looked up at his rescuer.

"Locke?" it was definitely his voice, though faint and trembling. "Locke Cole?"

The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Faint words drifted out of his memories, innocent on their own but the picture they painted when brought together... the specific, rare herb from Alfort-Brougham; the insistence on a storefront-only purchase; the already-prepared reports on all the Returners; the incredibly detailed dossiers on their movements starting within Nestil.

"Kenneth," Locke repeated louder. "It was you."

"I'm glad-" Kenneth coughed, splattering fresh blood onto his clothes, "-that you're alive."

Locke replaced his bow, hooking it behind his brown leather armor and white Imperial cloak. The doctor was beyond his ability to save, even if he had the supplies to bandage a wound of that size. "I can't believe it. It was you the entire time, a doctor!"

Under the grey winter sky and surrounded by dead soldiers, Locke stood over the doctor of Nestil. He knelt and looked the man in the eye. "Tell me the layrl was actually necessary. Tell me that all that I've gone through -- all that I've suffered because of you! -- tell me it was all for a good cause!"

Kenneth's head lolled to the side, he had not the energy to match Locke's gaze.

Locke grabbed the doctor's hair and pulled. "Answer me!"

Kenneth nodded as well as he could. "I couldn't cure Setzer otherwise..."

"You were the one who told Danielle!" he screamed. "You were on her side the entire time, you two-faced bastard! You sold us out!" Locke's hands were trembling and despite the obvious pain that Kenneth was in, Locke still grabbed the man by the chest and shook him repeatedly. He knew he was shouting. He knew it was a dangerous act.

He didn't care.

"No!" Kenneth gasped. "Never that scheming bitch," he coughed. "I never worked for her."

"You liar! You almost killed Terra and Relm!" Locke's sleeve fell down and revealed his wrist-mounted crossbow. Yellow gauze glinted off the sharpened, metallic end. His fist almost touched the doctor's nose, the deadly weapon filling all of the traitor's vision. "Stayed in Nestil out of the kindness of your heart, did you? Didn't care for money, right? How much did she pay you? How much did you sell our lives for?"

"Lord Lilienthal honoured me," Kenneth said in a pained whisper. "So that I could... be what my father was. To make amends for..."

Locke shook with rage. The more he thought of the past few months... the closer his fingers came to the trigger.

But he couldn't.

Locke laid Kenneth back against the side of the dead chocobo, knowing that the corpse was still warm and the soft yellow feathers a comfort in the man's dying moments. Locke stood up and wiped the tears off his face, smearing dirt across his cheeks.

He couldn't bring himself to do it.

"I'm sorry," the doctor whispered. His voice was barely audible.

Locke stared into the sky, took several deep breaths and sighed. "I forgive you, Kenneth," he whispered as he stared back down at the dying doctor. "I forgive you for betraying my trust, for your lies and treachery... for hurting me, for getting me killed."

Locke Cole closed his eyes. He could feel the phantom blade on his insides, cold metal against moist flesh. He could feel it twisting still.

"I forgive you, Kenneth," Locke said at last. "Because if it wasn't for you..." he looked down at the pathetic, last moments of the dying doctor. "If you didn't betray us, Terra would never have stopped the Civil War. She would never have met Farin, or Norris, or even Anson."

Locke licked his lips.

"She would never have smiled when thinking about her heritage, or when talking about the future."

Locke wasn't sure if Kenneth's eyes were dilating because the life was draining out of him, or whether the doctor even heard him. But it didn't matter. Locke knelt down once more and looked Kenneth in the eye.

"Thank you, doctor. You healed her as well."

Silence.

Locke didn't know how long it was before he heard them arrive. He had remained still, watching impotently as Kenneth laboured to stay alive. But he was in motion the moment he heard chocobos charging down the same path that the deceased used in their attempted escape. His bow was out and crossbows clear, but he relaxed when he saw long locks of grey hair flowing in the wind.

Terra arrived with her blond Magitek Knight bodyguard and a few soldiers. She dismounted and exchanged words with Catherine, who directed the escort into establishing a perimeter.

"As happy as I am to see you, Terra, I didn't expect you to follow the flare," Locke pointed out. "Where's Anson or Karen?"

Terra shook her head and ignored his question. "I just needed to get out of there," she exasperated. "Karen's a nice woman, but she's been in the military too long. I don't think she realizes how much it hurts to know that everything I've worked for is about to fall apart."

Locke put a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be fine. I'm sure things aren't as bad as you think they are. The world has a funny way of making things right. I mean, just a few months ago, we were prisoners of Danielle. Now look at us."

Terra sighed. "I suppose," she admitted reluctantly. "It's just frustrating. Sometimes, I wish I could just take command of all these armies myself and order them to stop."

With a leery glance, Locke decided to change the subject. "How are you feeling right now?" he asked. "You look tired."

"I said I'm just frustrated," Terra grumbled. "Anyhow, there weren't many of Remiel's guard that needed healing, most were quite dead."

Locke felt his hopes rise knowing that Terra was well-rested. "Come on, you need to help someone we know."

Terra shot him a questioning look. "Who?" she picked up the pace and followed Locke around the dead chocobos. The sight of Kenneth froze her in her tracks.

"We have to save his life."

The animosity on Terra's face set Locke back a step. "No," she growled.

Locke took a deep breath. "I know what you're thinking Terra, believe me, I thought the same thing. But we have to save his life. It doesn't matter if he betrayed us, we're better than that."

Terra glared at him. "It doesn't matter?" she echoed. "Are you listening to yourself, Locke?"

"We're better than he is," Locke repeated. "Please Terra, just forgive him and-"

"Forgive him?" Terra snapped. Her eyes blazed with anger. She pointed at Kenneth. "How can I forgive a man like that? You know what's he's put me... no, what he's put us through! Everything that's happened since we entered Nestil -- everything! -- has been his fault!"

She was furious. Locke shot a glare at one of the soldiers who dared look in their direction, the Imperial quickly glancing away once caught. The others were smart enough not to make the same mistake.

"Terra, what he's done is inexcusable. But we can't simply let him die."

"Why not!"

Locke swallowed, he had never seen Terra so angry, so emotional! "He's still human," Locke reasoned quietly. "He's a doctor too, so if we save his life, he'll help others in turn. Please Terra, just find it in your heart to forgive him and-"

"I won't forgive that thing!" Terra screamed. "I won't excuse a doctor who broke his promise to allow no harm to come to his patients. I won't forgive someone who's betrayed us!"

She pointed at the dying man. Her deep blue eyes blazed with anger, almost seeming to glow crimson with fury. "He endangered our lives and nearly killed all of us! We trusted him, and all he gave us in return was pain!"

Even her hand seemed to glow now, the air wavering with unnatural heat. "It's an unforgivable crime!"

His heart skipped a beat. Locke turned away in shame as his face went red. He felt nauseous and he held his stomach as it seized up.

A man who betrayed those who trusted him.

"Locke?"

Locke turned back to Terra. She had calmed down, but his vision still wavered for some reason. "Please, for me... just save Kenneth's life," he begged.

Terra took one last look at Kenneth. Her face was impassive. "I can't."

An unforgivable crime.

"You can't, or you won't?" Locke snarled.

Terra was taken aback by his sudden outrage, but only for a moment. "What did you just say?" she snapped. "He's dead Locke! I can't resurrect him!"

Locke didn't miss a beat. His hand tapped against the phantom wound on his chest. "You brought me back from the dead! Bring him back too!"

"I can't simply bring back the dead!"

"You mean you don't want to!" Even as the words left his mouth, Locke knew he had gone too far. But it had been too much; his heart ached in pain and all he had left to hold onto was the red-hot fury of righteousness.

Terra glowered at him. "How dare you," her voice was deadly cold. "How dare you question me."

Locke folded his arms. His heart was pounding, the blood rushing to his head was causing him to go dizzy. But still he scowled at her.

"You have no idea what it cost me to resurrect you," Terra growled. "You have no idea how much I sacrificed in order to save your life! After all we've been through, after all that I've done for you..." she paused in disbelief. She rubbed her temples and grimaced in disgust.

"How dare you question me!" she screamed at him.

They glared at each other for a moment, time seeming to slow as their twin tempers boiled. Locke's scowl weakened through, and Terra's sapphire eyes broke contact shortly after.

"Terra," Locke started.

Terra twisted aside, her grey hair flying in the wind like a curtain between them. "Catherine, we're leaving!" she barked as she marched away.

-=-

The world was a daze as Terra rode back into camp. She remembered vaguely asking about Anson's whereabouts and being told that he had left with Karen. She remembered that Remiel's body had been missing and that apparently, one of Anson's Magitek Knights and several of the Imperial Guards had seen to taking the cadaver away. Something about an examination, Terra didn't remember much of the explanation.

The Imperial Camp was in an uproar, but Terra paid little attention as she rode through the thick of things. Catherine proved her worth as she and several of Terra's escort cleared the road, deftly handling hostile soldiers -- many drunk -- that crowded their path. The blond Magitek Knight did not kill anyone of course, but her magic was more than capable of decisively expelling the rabble. They dismounted as a group and marched through the blockades that protected the central tent.

Terra tried to clear her head. It would do her no good to be emotional when she returned to deal with Danielle, Karen and Anson. There was still the truce to be signed, and she would not allow Remiel's death destroy the only hope they had for peace! She knew that it was the right direction for the Empire to follow, knew it with every fibre of her body.

She didn't care what anyone else thought or what they wanted. Vengeance? Power? Money? Her teeth grated together. No, they would have peace, dammit. The Empire would have peace!

There was still much work to be done and she had to have her wits about her. Yet she could do nothing but think about what Locke had said; what he had accused her of. Her cheeks still felt red from his rebuke.

So it was that she walked directly into the red and black of the Empire. Backing up a step, she noticed the silver and gold trim too late.

"Lady Terra," the Duke of Mansfield steadied her with gentle, wrinkled old hands. "Are you alright?"

"Charles!" she stammered. "I'm terribly sorry, I don't know what came over me," Terra quickly apologized.

Charles smiled. "No harm done, I take it that you just returned from the horrifying scene?"

Terra pressed her lips tightly together, afraid of her own voice, and nodded.

"Such a display of barbarism, these traitors. Damn the Maverick and his men, to think we once thought of them as fellow peers!"

She glanced around and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Does everyone already know?"

"Of course, news as such would spread like the wildfire," Charles frowned. "It is a sad day indeed, that such a fine young man was taken in his prime. He was a magnificent leader, a genius who was unappreciated for much of his career."

Terra nodded half-heartedly. Her eyes stayed glued to the ground. She had only scraped the surface of what Remiel Lilienthal had done for the Empire; her knowledge of those matters had been cut short because Anson told her there was too much to learn. The House of Lilienthal was a nexus of power that had been concentrated in a single individual. To lose that had been unthinkable.

"You are worried," Charles remarked.

Terra nodded, barely catching herself before she snapped at the obviousness of his comment. Manners, she reminded herself. Charles was still the Duke of Mansfield, no matter how he much he resembled a doting grandfather, it was not wise of her to relax in his company.

"It's unavoidable, considering..." Charles trailed off. "Still, you must be strong. The common man depends on you and I. They will not panic so long as we do not panic. We must always guard our emotions."

"Of course, Charles," Terra took out a handkerchief and dabbled at her cheeks. "I apologize for bothering your Lordship."

"Please! It is fate that I was here to receive you during your time of need," Charles gestured around them. Terra suddenly realized that despite being in the heart of the Imperial camp, there was not a soul within earshot. The Duke of Mansfield's soldiers along with Terra's personal escort had cleared a protective cordon around their charges. "My faith has been shaky as of late, but I remained true and I still believe."

Terra blinked blankly.

"Lady Terra, I understand at last why we met. It had seemed like such coincidence, but truly this was a meeting ordained by the Gods."

Terra glanced quizzically at the old nobleman's face. He smiled softly at her. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Charles gestured around them, his grandiose cape swirling about as he did so. "All this, the Empire, teeters at the brink of further warfare. To lose a leader such as Lord Lilienthal, at this hour, should have been the killing stroke. However, we, despite the vast number of differences between our two stations, have been brought together not once, but twice on this historic day!"

Terra shook her head. "I still don't understand."

Charles smiled thinly. "Remiel must have known the risk. That is why he sent you to hold Anson Tilton's leash for so long, that is why he took your hand as his consort at the Messis Luna. All is clear to me at last."

"What are you talking about, Charles?" Terra exasperated.

The Duke of Mansfield bowed deeply once more. "Why Lady Terra," he said after he readjusted his hat again. "It is simple, really! Lord Lilienthal intended for you to replace him as the voice of the nobility. And after witnessing your glorious actions, I fully agree with the late Governor's actions. You have my wholehearted support, Lady Terra, as well as all the nobility!"

"Charles," Terra felt shivers run down her back. "Please tell me you're joking."

The Duke of Mansfield glared at her, reminding her that he was still an aristocrat that was not to be trifled with. "I do not 'joke' about such things, Lady Terra. You have my blessing, and I will ensure that all shall know what I have decided. The House will not opppose you."

Terra found it hard to breathe. What was going on here?

"The Empire shall grow strong with your assistance!" With that, the Duke of Mansfield left her alone, his bodyguards trailing after him. Terra wiped away the wetness in her eyes with her almost-forgotten handkerchief, frozen in mute astonishment. Her assistance? His support?

Terra found herself staring at the back of the elder noblemen, towards the west. Warm rays of afternoon light gently caressed her face. Something had stirred deep within her soul and the feeling worried her.

For some reason, it felt like the sun was still rising.

-=-

Sabin found Siana standing outside, alone in the cold. Her cloak was loose and snowflakes were piling on top of her. She was staring into the east.

Towards the Empire.

"The Elders have accepted my offer," Sabin remarked. He followed her gaze, but there was little to see. The sky was grey with clouds and flakes of snow poured endlessly from the heavens. Furthermore, they were in a valley. Even had it not been snowing and the thick forest before them was cleared of its canopy, she still wouldn't have had a view of anything! "They also said they understand your outburst," he added.

Siana shifted and the snow that had piled upon her shoulders and hair cascaded to the ground. "That's kind of them," she murmured indifferently.

Sabin frowned. "Don't tell me you disagree."

Siana shook her head. "No, you did the right thing," she sighed. "We had no choice... still," she sighed and turned around and faced him. There were streaks of dirt running down her cheeks.

She had been crying.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Sabin asked, concerned. He knew she wasn't injured.

Siana gestured back to the village of Dorset. It was a tiny little place, located at the bottom of a valley far away from civilization. Equally distant from both the Empire and the former Kingdom of Maranda, it had been neglected and forgotten. There were barely two hundred people, many of whom were farmers, though some were of the skilled trade by inheritance.

They had been utterly defenceless against an organized military squadron. They could fight off the occasional monster of course, but men of the Empire? Even the smallest unit could have slaughtered the inhabitants with relative ease.

"I just wish we didn't have to teach these people how to fight," Siana whispered. "They seem so happy, so naive..."

They had been overjoyed to see their children back and accepted Sabin and Siana with open arms. There had been a feast that very night and afterward, Sabin had approached the Elders to try to learn what the Guild and the Empire had intended with Dorset.

"Everyone knows how to fight, they've survived for generations despite monsters," Sabin pointed out.

Siana's lip quivered. "It's the Empire's fault that they were hurt... my people brought this upon them..."

Sabin remained silent. He couldn't console her. It was, after all, the truth.

Imperial troops had arrived in Dorset only a few weeks ago. They had declared the village to be theirs, and then forced the people to swear allegiance to the Guild and the Empire it represented. The people of Dorset had been weary of the strangers and eventually, the elders described how the troops had taken the children. There had been a brief struggle, but they couldn't fight trained military men. Ben's father had been crippled when he tried to fight back, losing his arm and almost his life. How ecstatic he had been when he saw his son back!

Sabin felt there had been no choice. He had offered to help protect the village. In addition to their skill, they could train a small militia to keep the valley clear of future Imperial aggression. After Sabin had offered, Siana had been quick to convince the elders of Dorset. She revealed that she was a former Imperial pilot and explained how the army worked.

For whatever reason they wanted children, Dorset was still too far away for any serious force to be sent to pacify resistance. In addition, the valley was difficult to cross as well. In the summer, the forest was overgrown and roads would disappear as quickly as they were made. In the winter, snow piled up and swallowed men alive. Crossing the wilderness, Sabin and Siana had almost died twice, and they had been lead by children that grew up in the area.

Siana concluded that the Empire would only send a token force. If a squad disappeared, they might send another. But they would quickly lose their nerve with every additional soldier lost. Dorset was simply unimportant.

The only danger was if some arrogant commander made it his personal mission to avenge his fallen men. But that was an easy thing to fix; they just had to make it seem like the squads had died from the journey and not by the villagers. It wouldn't be hard; the militia was going to create traps wherever it seemed safe to descend into the valley.

Sabin had deferred to her superior understanding of the matter, but had been left alone in the company of old men when she suddenly stalked off, overcome with emotion. He had been left bewildered by her display.

"Sabin... be honest with me," Siana eyes were downcast, staring at his feet.

The son of Figaro, far away from his element and deeply missing his friends, looked into the former-Imperial pilot's eyes. "What is it, Siana?" he asked.

"Why did you come back for me?"

Sabin inadvertently inhaled a snowflake. He coughed.

Siana's pale lips twisted. She turned her back to him, looking east again. "We've never really been friends. Why would you risk your life to come back for me? I was the one that brought Godric down on us, separating you from your brother, the Relentless and the other Returners."

He was silent. Sabin didn't know how to answer her.

Her voice trembled. "You hate me," she whispered. Her arms wrapped around her waist protectively. She wandered forward, further away from Dorset.

"Siana," Sabin said. "Don't-"

Siana spun around, twin trails of moisture running down her cheeks. "Don't what? Go back to the people that tortured me for months on end? Go back to the people that think I'm a traitor, or my former-friends that would gladly throw me to the courts and laugh as they sentence me to death?"

She pointed east. "Do you think I want to go back to the dark, evil child-stealing baby-eating Empire that I spent my entire life protecting?"

"Well? Don't what?" Siana screamed. "Don't what?"

She was panting hard, ragged gasps in the chilly winter air almost hiding her angry tear-soaked face.

"I don't hate you," Sabin muttered under his breath.

"What?"

Sabin took a few steps closer to her. "I said... I said I'm sorry," he put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry you had to find out the truth like this."

Siana tore herself from his grasp. "Damn you!" she shouted.

Sabin had been expecting to be slapped, but it never came. Instead, Siana just glared at him and panted. Sabin offered nothing in response; he just impotently stared back wondering how to calm her down. Eventually, his indecisiveness was rewarded and the anger bled from her face. She slouched dejectedly, slinking away with no destination in mind.

As he watched her walk away, Sabin thought about how she had been abandoned and betrayed by something she had trusted. For the first time, he reflected on the airship crash. Enforced discipline had allowed him to forget that disaster, so that he would no longer have to feel the heat of the Blackjack's burning corpse. So that he would not have to think of all that was lost on that day.

So that Sabin would not have to think about... him.

But watching the once-fiery ex-pilot wander off... the son of Figaro realized he was not the only person out of their element and sorely missing close friends.

"Siana," Sabin jogged beside her once more. "Listen, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking... if it's any consolation, I never thought about leaving you behind. Not once."

Siana was unresponsive.

"These people need us, Siana. Without our help, the Guild's forces will come back looking for their dead allies. When they find out what happened, they'll want revenge. The people of Dorset need us to protect them.

"You keep saying 'us'," Siana's voice was weak, trembling with each syllable. "But we both know you don't need me. I'll just get us into more trouble. I'll just get us killed."

"I don't know how these troops think, how they'll react and what it'll take to stop the Guild from sending more squadrons," Sabin answered. He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her around to face him. "We're a team, you understand? I can't do this without you."

Siana stared blankly at him. Aside from their breathing, the world was silent.

Behind Sabin's muscular form, the village of Dorset looked like a scene straight from a painting. Tiny little straw huts, whips of smoke rising in the air, all covered by a blanket of pristine white snow. A snowman had been built in front of the nearest house, an armless-father and reunited son making the best of their time together.

Siana lip quivered. "Alright Sabin. I'll stay in Dorset," she whispered in defeat.

Sabin Rene Figaro let go of the ex-Imperial's shoulder. "Thank you."

They walked back into the village together, neither sure of the future to come.

-=-

Locke arrived in a stupor, his heart still pounding viciously as he looked around the debris marking the site of Remiel Lilienthal's death. He frowned, Terra was nowhere in sight.

In fact, Locke did not recognize anyone. He couldn't pick out Anson or Karen, and even Sherwood was nowhere to be seen.

"Damn," he growled. He walked back into the cluster of trees where he had tethered his chocobo. "The day just can't get any worse," he mumbled. He knew he had to find Terra quickly. As much as he dreaded the likely fight, he had to make amends. Then Locke cursed himself, saying something like 'it can't get any worse' aloud was bad luck.

Fortunately, his chocobo was still waiting patiently where he left it. But the frown on Locke's face deepened when he saw that there was an Imperial Guardsman gripping the reins of the other bird beside his. After a few choice curses directed at the entirety of the Imperial Guard, Locke did his best to hide his discontent. He kept his head down and tried not to make eye-contact with the soldier.

"Hey there."

Damn. "Hi," Locke answered as non-committally as he could. He took the reins of his chocobo.

"You are Locke Cole, aren't you?"

A deep sigh. "Yes I am," Locke grumbled.

"The Major asked me to escort you back."

Locke glanced up at the Imperial Guardsman, doing his best not to look at the twin swords that he hated so much. The black trim of the leather armor was still a telling sign though. "Thanks, but I won't need it," he said before hesitating in confusion.

There was something odd. The Guardsman was young, younger than Locke certainly. He was clean shaven and his red hair was short and cropped. Locke knew he had never seen the soldier, yet there was something strangely familiar about him.

"Unfortunately, I don't take orders from you. So you're having me as company whether you like it or not," the soldier held out his hand. "I'm Stefan," he introduced himself.

Locke sighed and shook Stefan's hand. "Locke, though you already knew that."

"Well-"

"Hey! Malsbury! Stop dawdling! The Major wants that civilian back ASAP!" came a shout from the direction of the camp.

"Yes sir!" Stefan shouted back. He turned back to Locke. "Come on! We're wasting time here."

Locke's mouth was open. "Malsbury?" he echoed.

Stefan nodded as he mounted his chocobo. "Let's move before there's more trouble."

Locke shook his head in disbelief. "Was Davis your father?"

The young Imperial Guardsman froze. He looked down in surprise. "You knew my father?"

Jumping on his own chocobo, Locke grabbed the reins and hustled the bird into action. Stefan quickly followed beside him. "You knew my father?" he shouted again.

"Yeah," Locke laughed. He shook his head... it really was a small world. "Yeah, I knew your father."

"Where is he? He's been missing since the Long Night and I haven't heard a word from his unit! He was stationed in Albrook, right? And you're with Lady Terra, so you had to have come from Albrook," the hope in his voice was audible, even above the sound of their running chocobos.

Locke didn't know how to answer, and despite the surprise, his mind was still on other matters. What could he say to Terra? He had to apologize, but if he phrased it wrong... Locke remained deep in thought.

But his silence was understood and the light in Stefan's eyes dimmed. "He's dead, isn't he? I feared as much."

Locke turned to a kid he hardly knew, the son of a father he owed his life to.

"He died fighting for what he believed in," Locke answered. "He was a warrior until the end; best Magitek Pilot I've ever met. I owe him my life."

Stefan mumbled something to himself.

Locke looked the Imperial Guardsman up and down, his hatred for the black trim about the brown leather seeming to seep away. The kid looked so dejected... his eyes alternated from Stefan and the rapidly approaching Imperial Camp. He made up his mind.

"Come on, there are traitors to hunt down," Locke said as he pulled on the reins of his chocobo. The two riders stopped in the middle of the road. "We should secure this area first instead of gathering in one place."

"The Major-"

"We'll make sure there's no danger and in the meantime, I'll tell you about your father," Locke smiled when he saw the look on Stefan's face. He pressed his advantage. "There's nothing to do back at the camp anyhow, we'll just be another couple bodies getting in the way. Out here, we can do what's necessary to protect them."

Stefan nodded in agreement. "Alright, but afterwards, I'm taking you to the Major and I don't want any complaints," he said as he convinced himself.

Afterwards... yes, perhaps after the day had ended. Locke took one last glance at the shapes of the Imperial Camp behind him.

"Good luck," he whispered. "I know you'll do it. I believe in you."

Locke hustled his chocobo and rode away.

-=-

Terra marched into central tent, the meeting place was once again covered by canvas and surrounded by dozens of elite soldiers. Terra knew by the way these men acted -- with incredible discipline; focused on nothing but their job -- that this time, absolutely no liberties were being taken in terms of security. They were all cut from the same cloth, plate armor and blades galore protecting that which was most important.

A number of officers were within the tent, many in uniforms that Terra recognized belonging to support staff rather than soldiers. The table was overflowing with papers and Danielle stood in the middle of the chaos, giving commands and acting like the General she was.

She did not see Anson or Karen, but Farin was standing off to the side. His plate armor was still on, and he looked incredibly bored as the staff sergeant beside him droned on. Terra walked directly towards him.

A smile spread on the Major-General's face and Farin shoed the officer away. "I heard you went out there, I do hope it was safe," he said, welcoming her with open arms.

Terra shrugged. "I wouldn't worry," she answered before gesturing at the mass of officers. "What's going on here?"

"Danielle is doing her best to keep the men in line. After rumours spread that General Lilienthal was dead, a couple brutal fights erupted. They weren't contained in time and it spread everywhere. We had some motivated commanders fighting their own miniature war for a while. It's been chaos for the last couple of hours," Farin shook his head.

"It's already falling apart," Terra whispered. "No..."

"Well, I'm not out there taking care of errant officers, so it's not as bad as it sounds," Farin quickly pointed out. "However, you're right... we've already sent General Cassidy to take field command. Things are getting bad; it's a sign of things to come," he sighed deeply and shook his head. "I'm not sure what we can do now. General Alysworth has eluded all attempts at contacting her. We're already planning on moving this command centre, just in case."

Terra moaned. "There has to be something we can do, Farin!"

"Yeah, well I thought General Alysworth was one of the most honest two-stars I've ever met. I can't see her preemptively attacking, but Danielle certainly won't risk it. And it's not as if your special friend is any better."

"Special friend?"

"Anson Tilton? The Emperor?"

"He's only First Citizen," Terra corrected. "What do you mean by that, anyways?"

"We've also been unable to contact him! I don't like what's happening at all. Treachery abound, we've got numerous brushfires spreading all over the place... if you want, you can come back to Tzen with us. You'll be safe there."

Terra shook her head. "No!" she said passionately. "We're not abandoning the truce, not after we've come so far!"

"There not much choice, Terra. Your Kingly-friend sailed back to his country a couple months ago, but I do believe Cyan Garamonde is still within the province. I doubt he and Relm would complain if you decided to stay with them... you would be safe. This isn't your fight anyhow."

"Farin! You can't be serious! What about peace?"

"What can we do?" Farin sighed. "We've made so many sacrifices, so many amends..." he gritted his teeth. "I've fought my own people, pushed my own morals into a corner and fought the good fight." His fist slammed against one of the rods holding the tent up. "We've endured, but we still can't calm the storm!" He shook his head in frustration. "Dammit it all!"

"General!"

Both turned around as a familiar shaven-head came into view. Completely protected by plate-armor and with enough weapons strapped to his body to act as an armory for two dozen, Donnach ran into the tent breathless. In one hand was his helmet, in the other was his unsheathed blade.

"Report, Captain!" Farin ordered. "And put that sword away! You know better!" Behind them, Danielle and her staff only looked up for a moment, and then returned to their chaotic work.

"General Alysworth and Anson Tilton are coming," Donnach's face was a mask of surprise. He slammed his blade back into its sheath. "They're surrounded by escorts: Knights of Odin and Imperial Guardsmen are both out there, sir!"

That got the attention of every officer in the tent. "Are they hostile?" Danielle barked.

"Weapons aren't drawn... yet," Donnach answered.

The silence lasted for a split-second, and then the tent was a flurry of activity. Danielle had already anticipated this and her staff began to orderly clear the table of their charts, maps and reports. They began to file out the back of the tent.

Danielle strolled to Farin's side. She checked that her sword was clear in its scabbard. "Farin?"

"Donnach, get your men into position immediately! I want you to look like an honour guard but those chocobos better be ready if things get heated."

A salute and then the bald man ran off.

Farin glanced over to Terra. "Thanks for healing my arm again -- I'll probably need them both for the fight to come -- but I think it's time you find a safer place."

Terra shook her head. "Anson is out there," she answered darkly. "We will have peace, I swear it."

Danielle raised an eyebrow. "Very well," she said, interrupting Farin and decisively settling the matter. She twirled a lock of red-hair about her finger. "Let's go."

The three marched out of the tent and into the winter air. The skies were grey and there seemed to be a muted shadow around them; what sunlight Terra had seen before was completely gone. The blockades that had protected the tent were no longer, for those men had stopped cooperating and now turned inwards.

Donnach stood at the head of some three dozen heavily-armed men, each wearing plate-armor with their lances held high and shields ready. Terra could see there were several hundred more behind the tent -- including the gigantic Baldric -- escorting Danielle's staff away, and the unmistakable sound of Magitek Armors powering up was all around them.

War was but a single gesture away.

Karen and Anson stood side-by-side, a good sign to Terra, but it drained the colour from Farin's face. Danielle was unreadable, but Terra could sense that she was reaching deep into her own powers. The female General had many spells prepared.

"Karen," Danielle growled as the three leaders of their respective factions, in addition to Terra, met in a no-man's land centred between the Imperial Armed Forces' most elite units. "What's the meaning of this?"

The air was thick with tension. Terra caught Anson looking at her though, even in a time like this! His soft brown eyes conveyed his apologizes.

Chills ran down her back as her eyes widened in fear. What was he sorry for now?

Her mind stretched out and recoiled, the number of Magitek Knights present was absolutely unbelievable! There were dozens, perhaps even numbering over a hundred soldiers capable of spell-casting. It must have represented a significant fraction of the Empire's magical capabilities, because Terra had never seen so many gathered in a single place before. She doubted there were more than a thousand ever created... and how many of those still lived, no one knew.

That so many were gathered together... Terra shuddered. They were all going to die. War was about to erupt and a destructive battle to be fought, the likes of which had not graced the world since the War of the Magi.

Anson Tilton's eyes were still locked on hers.

What are you doing Anson! She screamed back inaudibly.

Farin's hands hovered above his hilt. Danielle's spells began to take form. Terra held her breath as the power within rumbled to life. Peace, they would have peace!

Major-General Karen Alysworth lowered to one knee. Her sword was held out in offering.

"Hail Imperatrix," she declared.

Danielle's mouth dropped open.

First Citizen Anson Tilton knelt as well, his head bowed. "Hail Imperatrix," he proclaimed. "Thou Conquerest."

"No..." Danielle whispered.

Several thousand soldiers ready to slay each other looked at their leaders in shock. There was silence, real silence, in the war-zone that was the Empire.

And Major-General Farin Starson grinned as he lowered to his knees as well. "Hail, Danielle Imperatrix! Thou Conquerest!" his voice thundered as he laid down his sword before her.

It spread: as Danielle's staff followed their executive officer's actions, as Anson Tilton's circle of followers knelt and the Imperial Guard laid down their arms, as the Knights of Odin swore allegiance to a new commander, it spread at last like a wildfire; several thousand of the highest ranking men and women of the Imperial Army all of one mind at last.

"Hail Danielle Imperatrix!"

"Thou Conquerest!"

And finally, there was but one person still standing. A woman that had been seen by tens of thousands standing beside dead legends; by the honourable Leo Christophe, the pure-hearted Celes Chere, and the august Emperor Gestahl. A woman whose actions had widely been accepted as the reason for the temporary truce.

Terra Branford. The Sophis.

She saw Anson's eyes again. He had known. He knew that she represented the nobility, for so said the Duke of Mansfield, Earl of Castille. Anson had been one of the few that had been told.

Her eyes drifted over to Danielle Meras. Terra swallowed as she made her decision.

Wings were spread wide, white feathers exploding outwards as a collective gasp came from the thousands that were witness to the appearance of an angel. Purple hair fluttered against the wind and crimson eyes glowed brightly.

Her knees touched the snow.

"Hail Danielle Imperatrix, Lady and Empress regnant."

Visions of Peace will be continued in The Eighteenth Chapter - The Sleeping Giant

The Eighteenth Chapter - The Sleeping Giant

Cyan Garamonde opened his eyes.

Sunlight streamed through the canopy of the forest, sparkling in clear droplets still trickling off bright green leaves. The rain had stopped at last, leaving a clean scent and cool breeze. The steady sound of running water could be heard farther away; the stream nearby would be too fast-running to ford for a few days to come. The delightful smell of flower blossoms wafted beneath his nose. He sighed in contentment.

Spring.

He stood slowly, relaxed. The fields were muddy, but already the wild grasses had taken to the light of the sun. They curled towards the warmth, no longer burdened by snow that had buried them for the winter months. A faint memory floated to the surface, a vision of budding daffodils and bare-footed youths dashing along the damp ground. They danced through the meadows and he followed them into tasselled orchids filled with ripe fruits.

"Ha!"

Cyan left one daydream for another. His heavy winter boots dug deep into the muddy path, the last Knight of Doma attired in grimy pants and a dirty tunic. There were no children dancing through the gardens of his homeland, but one could not dote on the past forever. He smiled wistfully at the scene in front of him.

Relm's feet were spread for balance atop a precarious old tree trunk. The wooden column tipped from side to side like a child's see-saw as Relm moved to and fro. Her brow was coated with sweat, her shoulder-length blond hair drawn back into a ponytail that bounced up and down. She was dressed similarly, a comfortable loose-fitting combination that took advantage of the cool weather.

Her arms flexed, muscles flexing as her blade slashed falling leaves in half.

Cyan was silent, for Relm's back was turned and she had yet to notice him. He scrutinized her footwork, admiring her movements and noting the possible improvements. He wiped the smile off his face when she finally spun about.

"Uncle," Relm wiped the sweat off her brow and casually hopped off the fallen tree. "What did you think? Better?"

Of course she had noticed him, Cyan chided his own inattentiveness. "You would do better to continue your mediation, instead of dancing upon rotten wood," he answered her.

Relm frowned. She towelled off her face and tossed the rag over her shoulder. "I slept fine last night, even though the rain didn't stop. I don't need anymore rest," she retorted as she sheathed the sword. "Anyhow, I think it's time to play another game," she bubbled with excitement.

Cyan shook his head. "I asked you to mediate for an hour yet you practice your blade again. Chess is out of the question," he declared. He waited for the inevitable pouting to begin.

Instead, Relm sighed. "Fine," she growled. As she passed him, she handed back his sword with a reluctant, frustrated look.

Cyan watched her walk away, briefly wondering whether she had learned or was too impatient to even bother arguing with him. He sighed, knowing it was probably the latter. Perhaps he had been wrong. He always wondered whether he had made a mistake; she was a good student, quick to learn and always energetic. Yet she was ill-disciplined, despising authority and rife with snappy comebacks.

It was just the age, Cyan surmised. She would grow out of it. For now, he would have to accept her for who she was.

"Relm," Cyan stopped her in her tracks. She turned on her heel, simmering in anger but hiding it as best she could. "You're still putting too much weight on the right foot. Be weary of that mistake, for you continue to depend on your dominant side."

She frowned as she went over her motions mentally, and then nodded in agreement. "Of course," she sighed disappointingly. "Anything else?"

"You're doing well," Cyan answered. "There is only one oversight on your part that must be corrected."

Relm pressed her lips together as she tried to guess his meaning. "Am I still swinging too slowly? I just need more practice..."

"Prudence, dear one," Cyan sighed. "You must learn prudence."

She stuck out her tongue and slipped away.

Cyan growled under his breath and headed back to the cottage. The small, single-roomed dwelling had been expanded over the course of the winter. Cyan had worked hard to build a warm shelter for their faithful chocobo. He had expanded the fireplace. It had been immensely fortunate that most of the tools that had been left by the cabin's former owner had still been around when they returned.

The forests near the Tzen Mountains were peaceful. Cyan felt safe here, even if they had initially stumbled across the deserted dwelling through sheer luck and acted no better than the common bandit. He had thanked the former resident more than once for his foresight; dry firewood, healthy canned foods, everything necessary to survive the winter had been well prepared. What little had been missing, Cyan bought from the local villages such as Nestil.

The cabin was home now.

Cyan laid his weapon aside, in the corner beside a neglected longsword. He had bought it for Relm and though decent for an Imperial weapon, she still preferred his Doma-forged blade whenever they sparred. Though picky, at least she knew quality when she handled it.

He searched through his things, tossed rations and medicines into his pack, and then eyed the armor vest hanging off the wall. It was clean and well-maintained, but totally unnecessary throughout the winter. With a sigh, Cyan donned the leather and packed an extra change of clothes. He glanced around the cozy hut that had sheltered them, knowing that he had been beyond fortunate to discover such a dwelling, and then picked up his sword and scabbard. He replaced the weapon by his hip with habitual grace -- the familiar weight was a comfort -- while his eyes wandered across the messy piles upon the floor.

He hesitated at the sight of some dried, salted beef that had been carefully packed away and preserved. Cyan sighed deeply.

Outside, Relm was sitting cross-legged with her back to him. She was perched atop a rock, safely above the muddy ground. "News, uncle!" she declared as she turned around with a big smile. Then she saw that he was ready to travel, his pack already shouldered and hers in his hand. The self-assured cockiness vanished and she pouted. "You already knew!"

Cyan set her backpack against the cabin wall. "Nothing lasts forever," he answered vaguely. He wiped away moisture in his eyes.

Relm jumped off the rock. "If you already knew, why didn't you tell me? And why bother with my spells?"

"I have spent decades without magic, dear one," he straightened. "It would be folly for me to depend solely on your spells, but I would be equally foolish if I refused to acknowledge its benefits."

Relm pursed her lips together. "I bet you don't know what's coming though," she pointed out.

"A single man," Cyan answered.

"Wrong!" Relm declared with gusto.

"Upon two chocobos," Cyan finished with a raised eyebrow.

Relm grin faded away again. "Bah!" she grumbled.

Their cabin was quite far from the main trail, an old road wide-enough for chocobos that wound its way through the Tzen Mountains. The trail leading to their humble home had been hidden by the growing forest and neither Cyan nor Relm bothered cutting down the vegetation. It served to hide them from the outside world, which was important as neither especially cared for visitors. Their friends would find them regardless of the ruse.

"Who do you think it is?" Relm asked. "It could be Edgar or Gramps; it's been a couple months since they sailed away so that should be enough time for a coup, right?"

The sword by his side seemed heavier. "I can't imagine who else could have found us," he answered. At the same time, it didn't answer how Edgar could have tracked them down. Cyan knew it was best to assume that the visitor was unfriendly.

"Dear one, please see to the chocobo."

Relm gave him a dirty look. "I want to be here if it's dangerous. You'd need my help."

"Just ready our fine bird, we may need a quick escape," Cyan explained in a deeper voice. "The sooner you get that done, the sooner you can be back here."

As Relm hurried off, the Knight of Doma checked that his sword was clear in its scabbard. He had taken great pains to hide them away from the rest of the world, and he doubted their guest was either Edgar or Strago. Those two would have been smarter in their approach. No, this was undesirable and unexpected.

Cyan's plan had been to wait out the war and barter for passage back to the Northern Continent. He tried to keep up with the happenings of the Empire through Nestil, but then decided against it due to the fierce snow-squalls and his personal doubts. While Garrett would know how the Empire fared -- whether or not it was still embroiled in warfare or if its armies had collapsed and the iron fist broken -- it was unlikely that the Civil War would find any conclusion within the next few years.

Not even the blacksmith or the doctor knew that he was still in the Province of Tzen. He had kept a low profile all winter.

Cyan Garamonde stood in the middle of the trail leading to their cabin and heard the sound of footsteps. There was little point in stealth, the forest was not dense enough to offer a hiding spot and Cyan felt it unnecessary given the odds.

Leading two chocobos by rope, brown leather stalked around the bend in the trail.

"Paisy!"

Relm raised her arms in surprise, letting go of the reins to their chocobo. The bird was a patient, disciplined creature though. It stayed put as the little girl dashed through the muddy trail. She splashed through puddles and skidded to a stop in front of the boyish Imperial officer.

"Relm," Paisley raised his hand and touched his brow, a polite gesture that Cyan had never seen. The familiar Imperial Lieutenant laughed, returning the hug Relm that gave him.

"Paisley," Cyan began suspiciously. He noted that there were two mounts, yet only one rider. His instincts screamed danger.

"Sir Cyan," Paisley saluted after Relm let go of him. "It's good to see you well." He caught the questioning look on the Knight's face. "Ah, I'm the only one here. The second chocobo was for you, though I can see that you kept yours through the winter. That couldn't have been easy, there's not that much for the bird to eat in these forests when they're frozen over," Paisley gestured around them.

"'twas difficult yet manageable," Cyan answered. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Lieutenant?"

Paisley chuckled. "Straight to the point? I expected you to ask how I found you."

Relm pulled on the Imperial officer's pant leg. "Come on, we'll get you something to eat, you must be starving."

"Not at all, but thanks for the offer," Paisley answered. "It also looks like you're both ready to travel, so we best be on our way."

Cyan folded his arms. "What is the meaning of this, Paisley?" he asked again. "I am curious as to how the Empire found us, but I would prefer to know why you are here."

Paisley shrugged. "Just because I thought you would ask doesn't mean I have an answer," he said with a wink. "As for why I'm here? Well, it appears that I am uniquely qualified for the role of a messenger."

"That seems counter-intuitive for an officer of your ranking," Cyan remarked.

"Yes, well I am both unimportant enough to be lacking a command that desperately requires my day to day oversight, yet at the same time, important enough to not be slain by yourself, Sir Cyan."

Cyan grunted. "And your message?"

"You have been summoned to Tzen," Paisley pulled a leather-bound envelope from his pocket. "The official notice is here, but I do believe the terminology is that they request and require your presence at the capital."

"What does Danielle want with us?" Relm interjected.

Cyan nodded. "That is the question, isn't it? After all, I see no reason why we should respect an Imperial summon."

"True," Paisley agreed. "However, I should point out that it is Brigadier-General Terrance Cassidy who has summoned you-"

"Is Farin with him?" Relm interrupted.

Cyan growled. "Patience, dear one, let him finish."

Paisley saw the frown on Relm's face. "Unfortunately, General Starson is otherwise occupied and isn't even in the province at the moment," Paisley answered her question.

Relm nodded dejectedly. "Too bad," she mumbled.

Paisley shrugged. "As for General Cassidy, the details of this message were hidden from even myself," Paisley handed the envelope to Cyan. "I was ordered to bring a chocobo and escort both of you post-haste to the capital. I suggested coming alone, I figured it would be safer if I didn't show up with a squadron of soldiers."

"So you are unware of what Danielle's lackey desires?" Cyan asked with a leery glance at the boyish Lieutenant. "I see no reason to speak with a mere servant."

Paisley cleared his throat. "General Cassidy is fully independent and commands the armies that protect this province. He's more than a servant of the Empire; he's pretty much the Governor of Tzen now. The Empress already refers to him as such; he just hasn't taken the title officially."

"Empress?" Cyan whispered.

Paisley blinked blankly, confused by Cyan's expression. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. "Of course, you've been here all winter! I can't believe it, you must have heard the news at some point. How could you have remained totally isolated? There's no farming in the winter so you had to have visited to the villages for food... and then, I mean... news travels fast. How could you not have known? "

Shivers traveled down Cyan Garamonde's back. "Know what?" he demanded.

Paisley straightened. His voice took the authority of a herald, deep and booming. The pride in his voice was palpable.

"There is a new leader sitting upon the throne of Vector, Commander of the Armies and Fleets of the Empire. She is Lady and Imperiatrix, the Empress Danielle the First, of the House of Meras."

-=-

Edgar Roni Figaro ascended the damp wooden steps with grace. His cape fluttered behind him and he wore attire befitting of the formalities that were to come. Edgar had left his armor behind and instead the traditional colours of his House and Kingdom shone brightly under the warm, midday sun.

The gathered sailors and soldiers straightened in his presence.

Edgar clasped his hands behind his back and stood tall upon the quarterdeck beside the imposing blue-coat and gold-trim of the vessel's ranking naval officer. With a wide-brimmed hat, long hair pulled back and grim attitude, Sir Douglas Pellyn was confident in his fleet's ability to perform the task necessitated of it.

"Your eminence," Douglas started respectfully. "He is boarding as we speak."

Edgar took a deep breath. "Are you sure of his identity? I don't want another surprise."

He shifted his feet uncomfortably. "There is little to mistake, for your advisor confirmed it," Douglas answered.

Edgar glanced behind him. Beside the congregation of the battleship's lieutenants, Strago Magus winked knowingly. The lore-master was wearing a blue coat similar to the Admiral's, though it was without the gold trim or the crests of the naval officer's high station. His beard was freshly trimmed, his white hair shimmered, and the smile on his face was so wide it almost looked painful.

"Very well, who else is with him?" Edgar asked.

"There are few of any recognizable importance, likely sailors that are considered expendable. However, there is a child," Douglas answered.

High-pitched whistling welcomed the important guests. Edgar's attention was directed towards the man climbing onto the ship. He broke into a huge smile when he saw who it was.

"Sir Cyan Garamonde of the Kingdom of Doma," Douglas hollered from the raised quarterdeck. He gestured. "Welcome aboard the Allegiance, flagship of the Figarian Navy!"

Cyan looked around the battleship, surrounded by some three dozen friendly sailors with marines maintaining guard nearby. "'tis an honour," he replied gruffly. "To whom do I have the pleasure?"

"I am Admiral Douglas Pellyn," was the slightly embarrassed answer; Douglas cursed himself for forgetting his manners.

Beside the Commander of the Fleet, Edgar smiled. "Sir Cyan!" he called out formally.

Douglas raised an eyebrow and gestured beside him. "His eminence: the King of Figaro."

-=-

An Admiral's meeting room was a large, expansive place; even though it was aboard a warship in which comfort was no priority. However, it was where great strategies were planned and renowned Captains gathered, so aboard the flagship of the Figarian Navy, there was room for such excess. A finely lacquered table of golden wood -- likely a traditional colour and perhaps a symbol of sorts -- was surrounded by equally exquisite chairs. They were a glossy copper in shade and despite a salty sea breeze, the soft smell of hazelnut wafted about the room.

Typically used for matters of the gravest importance, the mood around the table was anything but. Four hardened, battle-scarred men had their concentrations focused upon a bubbling mass of energy bouncing up and down. Relm Arrowny was all smiles as she sat in a chair that was almost older than she was. She and her grandfather had exchanged heartfelt hugs on the quarterdeck already, but they had been hustled into the meeting room shortly thereafter.

"Well then, perhaps a meal could be prepared while we wait for our guests from the Borealis?" Douglas glanced over at the child in their presence. "My steward is one of the best in the fleet, an Admiral's privilege of course," he winked.

Relm chuckled. "I'm pretty hungry, they didn't offer us anything in Tzen. So rude..." she trailed off with a sly smile to calm Cyan's frown.

"Imperial hospitality does leave something to be desired," Edgar offered. It provoked a chorus of polite laughter, though it had not been intended as a joke. "Perhaps some biscuits to tide us over for now," he suggested.

"Too dry," Relm retorted almost immediately. She smiled shyly at the Admiral, seeming almost apologetic for refuting the King.

"Well perhaps a stew is in order, perhaps beef?" Douglas inquired. It was lavish, almost wasteful aboard a ship whose chances of re-supply were of a questionable nature. Cyan and Edgar exchanged a look; Strago's granddaughter certainly had an effect upon the unwary.

Relm nodded enthusiastically. "I haven't had any beef since fall!"

"Then so it is!" Douglas excused himself and stepped out the room.

"Relm..." both Cyan and Strago began at the same time. The two men looked at each other in surprise and then burst out in laughter.

"I see that living with Cyan for several months still hasn't taught you any discipline," Strago said after recovering. "Incorrigible child!"

Relm stuck out her tongue.

"It's good to see both of you safe," Edgar said as he stood from his seat. "Strago might be embarrassed to admit it, but he was worried sick the entire time."

Strago shot a friendly glare at Edgar. "Now let's not start outing each other's secrets, lest the Admiral discovers his King's inhibitions."

"Fair enough," Edgar replied as Cyan laughed. He stood over Relm and rustled her hair. "What is this, are you growing out your hair? I dare say you would look fantastic with golden locks halfway down your back."

Relm rolled away from Edgar in jest, slipping out of his grasp and dancing away despite the rocking of the Allegiance. She jumped onto the windowsill overlooking the Figarian Fleet and crossed her legs. "What did the grumpy old man just say about you?" she stuck out her tongue again.

Strago growled at his unruly granddaughter as Cyan suppressed his laughter. Edgar shook his head. "What a sharp tongue," he remarked as he eyed her. Edgar pressed his lips together and tried to eyeball her height. "How much have you grown? Sheesh, at this rate, you'll be taller than me in another year!"

Relm crossed her arms and pretended to be hurt. "An entire year?"

Cyan forced the grin off his face. "'tis good to see both of you well, and at the head of a fleet as promised," Cyan began. "Impressive to say the least, you should see how worried the Imperials are. It appears that you caught them off-guard, with the majority of their vessels massed elsewhere and otherwise engaged. You have weeks before they can muster up the force necessary to dislodge this fleet from the mouth of the Zarren."

"Well, we have excellent scouts," Edgar said with a knowing wink to Strago. "Though the Imperials aren't any worse off; they found both of you rather quickly," the King pointed out. "I only resorted to demanding your safe return when Garrett told me he had not seen either of you all winter. Did you decide to not hide in Nestil?"

"I decided against the village, for the Imperials knew of our previous presence there. We stayed in the same area though, I just felt no pressing need to alert the blacksmith," Cyan answered. "The less who knew of us, the better."

"Well that made it hard for us to find you," Edgar pointed out. "Had to make demands of the Imperials in Tzen, though they didn't seem to mind... then again, we were practicing their form of diplomacy."

"It seems that the Empire's intelligence gathering has not taken a turn for the worse," Strago mused. "Things seem well in hand for the Empire."

Cyan was silent on that note, as he mused on what General Terrance Cassidy had spoken of. He had met the Brigadier in Tzen shortly before boarding a quarter-boat that took them Edgar's fleet. The General had been vague on many things, cleverly side-stepping political issues, and this only worried the former Knight.

"Has there been any word from Sabin?" Cyan asked, concerned for the safety of his friend.

Edgar shook his head. "We didn't dare sail westward, not with an Imperial fleet massed in that direction. It was way too dangerous to risk."

"What of Garrett?"

"He's heard nothing," Edgar said. "I'm sure my brother is fine. He tends to come out of the craziest situations unscathed," he sank back into his chair, confident in his brother's resourcefulness.

Cyan nodded in understanding, but that knowledge didn't ease his worries. "How was your... excursion?" he asked in the awkward silence. Relm tore her eyes away from the endless expanse of the ocean, her interest piqued.

Edgar and Strago exchanged careful, measured looks with one another. Suppressed smiles were followed by the clearing of their throats.

"Well?" Cyan repeated himself.

Edgar's grin threatened to conquer more than half his face. "Well, it was a struggle," he began.

"A glorious struggle," Strago added with an equally mischievous smirk.

"And there were many hardships," Edgar continued.

"Terrible hardships!" Strago contained his chuckling.

Relm rolled her eyes. "What happened already?"

Edgar and Strago again exchanged a series of looks, communicating without speech. "Well, first there was the sea-battle," Edgar said.

"They came upon us without any warning! And we, surrounded by enemies, were forced to escape in the face of hundreds," Strago's eyes looked upwards and his fingers tapped the table, as if he was counting every cannon at that moment. "Nay! There thousands of guns firing every moment! Smoke and thunder all around us! It was the storm of battle, the chaos of war; a crusade of epic proportions!"

Cyan frowned, confused by their attitudes. "Doubtless that is some terrible fortune," he remarked. "Escape?" he echoed.

"And then there were the sharks," Edgar quickly pointed out without paying heed to Cyan's question. "Damned fast, those things."

"Barbaric creatures," Strago nodded.

"Later, there was the imprisonment."

"Terribly chafing, those chains. And the whips! Don't even get me started on those!"

"In addition to the army," Edgar's grin was still unfazed as Strago's face twisted in horror. "Oh, and that business with the aristocrats. You'd think years of noble upbringing would eradicate such coarse manners!"

Cyan crossed his arms. "Really..."

"Don't forget the monster hoard!" Strago wiped his brow of fake-sweat. "What trouble there! Horrifyingly dangerous!"

Edgar started laughing. "And then the look on Daggart's face!"

Strago's hand was against his heart. "I shall never sleep soundly at night again," he whispered in mock-terror.

"What a load of crock," Relm grumbled.

Cyan shook his head in frustration. "Honestly now, you two remind me of conniving-"

It was at that moment that the door to the cabin opened and in strode Douglas. The Admiral was accompanied by another Figarian. Edgar's naval officers struck a noble pose with their fine blue coats, golden trim and silver buttons accompanied by crisp triangular hats bearing the crest of their Kingdom. However, it was the two men behind the new arrival that caught Cyan's attention.

The Knight of Doma stood in their presence. "Banon! Arvis!" he exclaimed. "'tis an unexpected yet delightful pleasure, sirs!"

The two Returners returned the smile. "It's been a long while, Sir Cyan," Banon said as they shook hands. "I'm sorry for making you wait, the Imperials didn't tell us you were coming until after the fact. We set off from the Borealis as soon as we could."

"The Borealis?" Cyan echoed.

Douglas cleared his throat. "This fleet is a joint taskforce between Narshe and our Kingdom," he answered.

"Please, if you would all sit down," Edgar gestured at the seats from the head of the table. He readjusted his collar, his attitude serious and his posture formal. "And Admiral, if you could have someone escort Relm?"

Relm frowned. "I want to stay," she stood her ground.

Strago glowered at his granddaughter. "Listen to Edgar, Relm. This meeting doesn't concern you."

Cyan interrupted Relm before she retorted once more. "Dear one, please. Time is of the essence," he pointed out.

Relm glared at both Cyan and Strago. "Bah!" she grumbled as she stormed past the two marines Douglas had just brought in.

"Children," Strago growled under his breath. "Always a pain."

"Wouldn't know," Douglas replied as he took his seat. "Never had any of my own, too much trouble with one that wasn't even mine," he continued with a mischievous grin unbefitting a man of his station.

"Admiral, was that backtalk?" Edgar raised an eyebrow, trying to remain perfectly serious.

"Of course not, my King. You were a fine student as you grew up, taking to naval combat much like a cat to water."

There were more polite chuckles at Edgar's expense as everyone took their seats. Admiral Douglas Pellyn was not at the head of the table, for this was not a matter of the fleet in particular but rather a gathering of powerful men. Instead it was the King of Figaro, Edgar, who sat in the Admiral's chair. Flanking were the two officers of importance, Douglas and the un-introduced man. Those three represented all of Figaro.

Sir Cyan Garamonde, retainer to the King of Doma and perhaps the only surviving official of that broken Kingdom, seemed apprehensive. Once again, he was the principle repository of Imperial knowledge in a gathering of those in opposition. Beside him was Strago Magus, Advisor to the King of Figaro and representative of Thamasa. The descendants of the Mage Warriors had done little to affect politics since the War of the Magi, but it was nigh-time for such power to be put to proper use.

Banon, leader of the Returners and political scholar extraordinaire, sat beside the Figarian Admiral. His long grey hair, heavy beard and rather humble attire hid the fact that he was the principle instigator of many historic events. In addition, the rebel forces that had long opposed the Empire commanded an extensive web of spies. The quality of their information network was no surprise for within were hardened, experienced men like Locke Cole.

Last, but not least was Arvis. A stone-faced man with short brown hair, he had been Edgar's principle contact amongst the reclusive Northerners. Despite being a Returner though, his loyalty was to the city-state of Narshe. He had saved Terra from the slave-crown and the Narshe mobs, but only for the greater good of his homeland. At the moment, Arvis represented the Elder, too old and fragile to go on such a dangerous voyage. In addition to his increased authority, he had brought alongside the Figarians a sizable portion of the city-state's naval capability.

The council of six men looked at each other, faces growing grim as they turned their minds to the darkening future.

"There is much to talk about and little time," Edgar began. "I'll skip the ceremony, all of us here have worked together in the past and we should be comfortable with one another. Cyan, you have not yet met Rear-Admiral Raimondi here. He is a highly decorated naval officer who is second to only Sir Douglas." He waited until the two men had exchanged quiet greetings. "There is one pressing matter at the moment, and another of such importance that we cannot ignore it for long. Admiral Pellyn, if you would begin."

Douglas nodded, setting aside his hat and taking a deep breath. "As you all know, this taskforce represents a significant fraction of both Figaro's and Narshe's naval power. Our current position has blockaded the Zarren, a river that leads directly to the capital of Tzen. It is a waterway of such expanse that even our battleships could sail in unhindered."

"A daring display," Cyan interrupted. "I must inquire as to how this fleet has maintained her good fortune for so long. There is no evidence of general action and Lady Luck a whimsical creature."

The newly-arrived Figarian nodded in agreement. "An excellent question and I would take the opportunity to answer your concern. In addition to my duties as an Admiral, I am the principle coordinator of all naval engineering. For this mission, the King has assigned me command of the UCS and now there are several teams in charge of digesting the slew of reports. They work around the clock to give us an accurate picture of the Imperial coastline and the dispositions of their fleets."

"UCS?" Cyan echoed.

"Underwater Combatant Service, sir," Raimondi answered without missing a beat. "My men scout the waters and ensure that the Imperials are not planning anything sneaky, even if they claim otherwise. For now it appears the majority of their fleets have been split apart. They have found refuge outside Pendleton Sound and Lechmere's Bay. Though several ships of the line are docked within the shipyards of Ethelben and Tzen, they are too few to challenge our line of battle, even if they were to miraculously combine into a single force."

Cyan frowned. "Underwater?"

"Yes, boats that travel invisible to the eye underneath the surface of the ocean," Edgar quickly interjected. He held up a hand and cut off the elder Knight's immediate question. "It is true and quite possible without magical assistance, and it is not an abomination of machinery," he soothed over Cyan's worries. "Admiral, please continue."

"The situation is that our fleet requires constant re-supply. With freighters from both Narshe and Figaro working together to sail around the storms, we are quite comfortable; our blockade could hold indefinitely. However, this kind of warfare is dangerous; losing a single supply ship would not hand us defeat, but combined with protracted action and we may find ourselves unable to return home," Douglas continued. "The situation is strategically untenable."

"Edgar, has there been any update on the Imperial end?" Banon asked.

"The Imperials have extended an invitation to allow several ships to dock, as well as keep our men supplied without having the need to sail halfway around the globe," Edgar answered. "I have stonewalled them for quite sometime, demanding the safe return of Cyan, Relm, Terra and Locke before continuing negotiations."

"And where is the intrepid Esper?" Arvis spoke up. "While she was once of the Empire, I still fear for her safety."

Banon nodded. "And despite with Kefka's attack in Thamasa, the Espers are still the most important ace up our sleeve. We'll need their aid in the struggle to come."

"I would not put too much hope in such a course of action," Strago folded his arms and waited until all attention was on him. "The Statues raised the Floating Continent and with it, the Gate to the Esper World. I loathe admitting this, but with the collapse of the Floating Continent and the uncertainty of the Statues' formation, we may very well be on our own... perhaps forever."

Both Returners grew silent while the Figarian officers nodded blankly; they had been briefed on Esperkind, but neither truly grasped the ramifications of what Strago was implying.

"The destruction of the Floating Continent could have long-standing consequences," Cyan pointed out. "Strago, I fear I do not understand fully what you're suggesting. Are we cut off from magic?"

Strago shook his head. "I don't believe so. Magic still exists, and the laws of physics have yet to rebel so I believe that the formation of the Statues is stable... however, the chaos generated by the Floating Continent's destruction could plague the world until the end of time. Certainly the storms that criss-cross between these two continents show no signs of abating."

"The beams of light never reached Figaro," Edgar interjected. "Most of the destruction that we saw within the Empire never crossed the ocean. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise?"

"While that might be true," Douglas interjected, "every single man on watch reported the sunrise coming from the south. My fleet was near the mouth of the Lete River at the time, almost as far north as Narshe. That we could see it... thinking about that day still sends shivers down my spine."

"The King and I have spoken about this many times," Strago pointed out. "Our conclusion has not changed. There is no reason to believe that we are in danger from the Floating Continent. However, we must plan assuming that the Espers cannot assist us with the Empire," the lore-master concluded soundly.

Edgar sighed. "Then back to the Empire. The General that I have contacted -- Terrance Cassidy -- has left me the impression that Terra and Locke are ill-disposed. That they found you, Cyan, so quickly and yet cannot produce our two friends worries me greatly," Edgar explained. "I fear they're covering up our friends' deaths and that Tzen will be little more than a trap."

"Cyan, you've met this General, haven't you?" Banon asked. When the Knight of Doma nodded, the leader of the Returners continued. "The original plan was to demand our friends back, thus delaying any need for decisive action. We didn't know the character of these Imperials and had the upper-hand. Now that time is no longer on our side, what do you think of this Terrance Cassidy?"

"I met him shortly before arriving aboard the Allegiance. His command is currently based out of Tzen, though the city itself is less militarized and perhaps he was only there to ensure my cooperation," Cyan answered. "I trust you are well aware of the Empress?" the Knight of Doma asked in bitter tone.

Grim nods around the table.

"That would be the secondary matter, and of the gravest importance," Douglas finished.

"Empress Danielle," Edgar said plainly. "However, there is certainly no reason to believe that she has actually unified the Empire; all contact has been restricted to the regions we already knew were under her command. Cyan, you would know more about this, so I give the floor to you. What of Terrance Cassidy and the alleged Empress?"

"What sort of man is he? Trustworthy?" Arvis interjected. Certainly out of protocol, but everyone was willing to let it slide considering the gravity of the situation.

Cyan folded his arms and thought. "He was well-meaning, an educated man that has seen more battle than is healthy at such a young age. But he spoke with grace and seemed different from the Imperial Generals I have met in the past. His concerns were far-sighted, almost humanitarian in nature."

Edgar and Banon exchanged serious looks. Cyan was about to inquire about their curiosity of the General, but Douglas interrupted. "What of his fleet?"

"While his ships did not seem prepared for the offensive, the Imperials are inclined towards duplicity. That Danielle Meras has taken the throne of the Empire proves that, does it not, King Edgar?"

He referred to Edgar and Danielle's discussion many months ago. Strago and Cyan both glared at Edgar meaningfully and the King nodded... almost reluctantly.

"From what I was told of the Imperial Civil War," Douglas started. "The situation before the winter was a difficult deadlock. With multiple factions contesting control of Vector, it seemed like there was no solution on the horizon. Could this Empress business be a hoax?"

Cyan sighed. "My understanding is that Danielle's forces had breached the Gap of Reddenhurst in the deep of winter. I was there," he explained to wide-eyed stares. "Her forces numbered well over fifty-thousand even after battle with a vicious foe that had been heavily entrenched and evenly matched."

The Figarians seemed most shocked by this development. "Why is this so surprising?" Arvis asked.

"The Gap of Reddenhurst is the ideal defensive line," Douglas answered. "Historically, offensives across the Gap required ten-to-one odds."

"An even victory would certainly imply strategic brilliance and an unimaginable understanding of tactics," Raimondi continued. "Given the evidence and our assumption of the numerical parity between these Imperial factions, the odds of taking Vector seem in her favour."

"However," Cyan continued. "With all of the Imperial Core ablaze in warfare, I did not believe it was possible for the Civil War to end so quickly. Even the leaders I spoke with such as Farin Starson, they were under the impression that the war could last for years."

"War is unpredictable," Banon stated. "History is rife with examples of abrupt changes, like a flash flood that sweeps all aside and changes the course of civilization. Perhaps something similiar happened here, so the more pertinent question is whether you believe Danielle would be supported by the people of the Empire."

Cyan thought of Paisley. "The men that serve her are fanatically devoted," he answered. "I do not doubt they would hail her as an Empress."

Edgar slammed his fist on the table, cursing in a manner far beneath his station. He shot to his feet and spun away in frustration. The window of the cabin looked out to sea, where the concentration of Figarian battleships stretched all the way to the horizon. An uncountable number of white sails fluttered in the ocean breeze, lustrous under the spring sun.

"Thank you Cyan, your opinions match those which my sources have managed to gather," Banon said with a concerned sideways look at the King of Figaro. "However, the Empire is quite a bit weaker than the rosy picture they have painted for us."

"This is new to me," Douglas' eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why was this not brought up earlier? Any information would be highly beneficial for my staff; the more we know about the Empire and especially its weaknesses, the better our plans are to counter its advance."

"I had just received my dispatches no less than an hour ago. They are not as complete as I would like, due to a hasty compilation."

"So they are unreliable?" Raimondi asked.

"The opposite, actually. The reason why my sources are incomplete is simply due to a preponderance of reliable information. Sorting through it and finding relevant material is quite the task."

"Well then, do enlighten us," Douglas spread his arms. "We would all love to know about the Empire's weaknesses."

Banon nodded. "It appears that the Empire is still at war right now. The Civil War did not entirely end, or at least, was not wrapped up in a very satisfactory manner. Apparently an entire faction was made irrelevant and still exists, probably quite disgruntled and most certainly dangerous. They have fortified their positions and are holding the Empire at bay for the moment, though no action has been seen for quite a while."

"A possible ally?" Arvis asked.

"Not exactly. It appears that this faction claims loyalty to the Maverick," there were foul curses around the table at that name, "and to worsen their cause, they have executed crimes so heinous that I would not suggest associating ourselves with them. Their evil taint may rub off."

"What sort of crimes have they committed?" Strago asked.

"Their worst is the Rape of Vector, it appears," Banon answered to the astonishment of all. He shrugged. "I'm as surprised as you all are," he said with a shake of the head.

"Former Imperials sacking their own capital?" Douglas rubbed his temples in disbelief. "I find this impossibly hard to believe. Their army has always been disciplined, aside from one or two errant Generals," a look of apology was directed at Cyan.

"There are barbarians amongst them," Cyan interjected. "It only takes a single soul to spread such a disease."

That was a depressing thought.

"In addition to the simmering war with the subjugated remains of Maranda, there is some additional civil unrest in the east," Banon continued. "Not all is well with the Empire, even if it has reunited under a new leader."

"The military scenario does not seem so bleak, though both situations sound short-lived," Raimondi reasoned. "We have built up our navies because that is where the Empire is weak; her armies are simply too vast for us to stand against. These two brushfires do not have the benefit of an ocean between them and the mailed fist of the Empire. We cannot expect much from either; they may become irrelevant within the month."

"Agreed," Arvis folded his arms. "As far as Narshe is concerned, there are but two choices. Neutrality is impossible, we've seen the Empire's view of that notion." He referred to the Imperial attacks on Kohlingen and more recently, two military assaults on Narshe. "We fight, or we become friends with the Empire. That it has reunited under a common leadership might be in our favour, for otherwise we might have been dragged into the war with a disadvantaged faction."

"Friendship might not be an option," Douglas cleared his throat, reminding all that Figaro had been an ally with the Empire for a decade. "However," he began with apprehensive looks at his king. "Because of the rise of a militant tyrant in Vector, the possibility of protracted war might be equally inadvisable."

"Narshe and her peoples do not wish to enter a fight with the Empire," Arvis pointed out. "In the past, we were still reeling from the Empire's attacks. Now that blood-thirst is gone. While we have been certainly amicable towards combining our industrial might and vast natural resources with those of your Kingdom -- the free-trade agreement only benefits everyone and a closer alliance equally so -- there is simply no will to fight such a far away war!"

"Indeed, and even if the entire Northern Continent banded together, we are still decades from matching the Empire," Douglas added. "This should come as no surprise, but city-states such as Kohlingen, Zozo and even Jidoor are nigh-useless. The rich of Jidoor might even welcome the Empire, they've historically cared for little more than their own pockets. Zozo is nothing more than the abode of criminal scum -- the storms have allowed them to thrive -- and Kohlingen is distant and her industry laughable. Hell, most of their people are pathetic pacifists, certainly not the type of men we need."

"Their sciences are quite developed though," Raimondi was quick to point out. "I would not discount Kohlingen's benefit to our war effort, even if they are a loose confederation of pacifists. Their education system is well-developed, the bases we have in Northern Figaro were positioned for both secrecy and to benefit from the cultural exchange of ideas."

"I don't want to jump to conclusions," Douglas growled. "But as nothing more than an administrator for our Research and Development division, you should know that new weapons of war would take too long to develop. That Kohlingen has sciences doesn't change the fact that they can't contribute."

"I disagree," Raimondi gestured around them. "Major developments have been lost because of our lack of a close alliance with the academia of Kohlingen. Airship theory that should have become Figarian was bought and further developed by the Empire; to their great benefit."

"Technology is merely an enabler for men," Douglas glared at his fellow officer. "War is fought by men; won by men! It is through our blood, sweat and tears that victory is achieved. That is what we need, not fancy machines but more warriors, more sailors, more cavalry and many more battleships!"

"That this fleet is here is purely due to our research and the success of the UCS," Raimondi scoffed. "Had we have sailed to Ethelben as you initially suggested, we would have been caught between the hammer and the anvil, with a massive fleet in Pendleton Sound against our backs! Technology has turned the tide of war and will continue to do so, no matter what you and your simpleton soldiers think!"

"Gentlemen, please!" Banon interrupted. "It is clearly obvious to all assembled that the Empire is a war-machine unmatched. Now let us focus on the solution, rather than the problem."

"The Espers-" Arvis began.

"-are out of the question," Strago cut in with a frown.

"What about Thamasa? Would the Mage-Warriors be willing to lend their support in these dark times?" Banon asked.

Strago sighed and sank into his chair. "We are a small village, isolated from the world for so long that we have forgotten what it means to fight for freedom. When the Empire revealed its true nature, we were too afraid to raise our arms and fight back."

"Then you understand the risks now," Banon theorized.

Strago shook his head and frowned sadly. "I'm sorry, but our wounds have only deepened the hatred of fighting. My people would not be willing to help; we are too few and have lost too much."

"Cowardice," Douglas mumbled.

"Have a care, Admiral," Cyan interrupted diplomatically. His grim presence was a reminder of an even greater mistake that everyone in the room shared.

But Strago nodded anyway. "I will not defend my people. Fear is a tool in a tyrant's disposal that is deadlier than any blade, and we have surrendered thusly."

"We must make them understand our cause then," Banon pointed out. "We made the Espers understand our cause; we will reach out to your people similarly."

"No! They're too few in number to seriously make a difference and I would not spare a man to convince them otherwise," Raimondi answered. "Without industry worth mentioning and being nothing more than a gaggle of pacifist mages, Thamasa won't swing this war to our side. Maybe if we had a century, then we could incorporate your knowledge into our technology... but we cannot hope to match the Empire's magi-technology at the moment."

Silence, for it was a wholly depressing meeting that had gone nowhere but only highlighted their weaknesses. They said nothing and brooded.

Edgar finally turned around.

"We're sailing into Tzen. I will speak with General Cassidy personally," Edgar's voice was calm and soft, but it cut through everyone with grave authority. "All of you have made it rather clear that if we pursue a course of hostility, we will likely lose. Even if I were willing to concede to worldwide warfare -- to force many of my people to die in a fight far from their homeland -- I will not allow us to follow a course of action leading to certain defeat."

"My meeting with Danielle had been to ensure a treaty between her faction and our Kingdom. That her faction might control all of the Empire is only beneficial for all of us," Edgar continued. "We have no choice but to follow through on that course of action. As for the fleet, it will serve as an escort, staying within range to cover an expendable sloop. I will not endanger anymore people than is absolutely necessary."

Everyone turned to Edgar in surprise. "My King, that's beyond ludicrous," Douglas began. "We have Tzen under our guns, it is fully within our power to demand General Cassidy's presence aboard the Allegiance!"

"I would rather-"

"My King," Raimondi interrupted. "With all due respect, if your sloop is lost, this fleet would retaliate against the city regardless of your wishes. It wouldn't be our decision at that point."

The ranking Admiral nodded. "I can't even guarantee we would keep to military targets. Most of the commanders, while loyal, did admire Daggart's speeches. They remember South Figaro and dammit sire, it still hurts to this day! If you fall, the consequences would be much worse than if we lost a battleship or two escaping with your eminence."

"It would be akin to antagonizing a sleeping boar," Raimondi continued. The two Figarian officers were of like mind on this topic. "There's no telling what would happen once blinded by rage. It could easily ignite the war you fear."

"They are correct, Edgar," Banon pointed out. "You are indispensable and this fleet serves to protect you, not the other way around."

"You people are absolutely-"

"Edgar," Cyan interrupted steely. "This is not a matter to be discussed. If you are speaking with the General Cassidy, you will have an escort worthy of your station. That is the only option." All knew that in this regard, the word of a former retainer to the King of Doma was undebatable. Edgar relented hesitantly.

"There is still a slight problem here," Strago pointed out.

Edgar sat down, depressed and apprehensive of the future. "I know, Strago. That we didn't pick up survivors certainly doesn't help the situation. It won't look good at all."

"Those orders came from Daggart personally and again, I'd be hard-pressed to find any in the fleet that would have honestly cared to save the Imperials, even if it is against the code of a sailor," Douglas defended his men's actions. "Their assault on South Figaro was reprehensible!"

"I know Admiral, and I don't blame the navy. However, it might be the breaking point for the Imperials," Edgar answered. "There is no easy way to excuse what we've done."

"Of what event do you refer to?" Cyan interrupted.

The five men turned their attention to the Knight of Doma. None seemed willing to voice the matter, for it seemed like saying it would only worsen the situation.

But as always, it was Edgar that had to shoulder the difficult burdens. "Cyan, the Imperial fleet that sailed with us -- including Danielle's personal bodyguard and her trusted Admiral -- never survived the journey. We were waylaid by a Figarian line of battle and reports stated that every vessel was destroyed; even if they surrendered."

"But how did you two...?" Cyan's speech failed him, so aghast at the sheer ruthlessness of their actions. It had been merciless.

"It was my doing," Strago was blunt, and little details were offered.

"Surely there were survivors," Cyan spluttered. "Not everyone could have..."

Edgar shook his head. "Those that were captured were publicly hung. The rest, including all hands aboard the Admiral's battleship, were claimed by the deep blue sea. Not a single Imperial survived."

-=-

General Cassidy was quite young for his office. It was this inexperience that Edgar hoped to exploit, for the Brigadier was quite trusting. He had agreed to meeting aboard a small frigate of the Figarian fleet, sailed within range of the many guns gathered within the waters of the Zarren.

"Your Majesty," Terrance bowed slightly, a gloved fist against his heart. "I am Brigadier-General Terrance Cassidy, Commander of the Third Army of Her Imperial Majesty's Armed Forces."

Edgar straightened slightly, a frown on his face. There was something odd about the posture, so familiar...

"King Edgar?" Terrance asked, confused. "Is something amiss?"

Edgar smiled as he noted the gesture. "Nothing, General, and welcome aboard this ship," he said as he remembered his manners. "I was merely remarking on your acquaintance with Figarian traditions," he remarked. "Please, the Captain's Mess has been prepared."

Two Figarian Marines led the way as the General, bereft of an honour guard of his own accord, followed two perfect steps behind the King.

"I take great pride in civility," Terrance answered Edgar's question as they strolled through the vessel. "In uncertain times such as these, it is all that separates man from beast."

Edgar smiled and slipped through the opened doors to a deserted room, slightly smaller than the one aboard the Allegiance that he had spent long hours within. "A noble thought, from a noble man," Edgar slurred the last two words meaningfully as he gestured to the seat facing the head of the table.

The General looked only briefly surprised and quickly recomposed himself. "I apologize. I did not think it was meaningful. I meant no offence; it just seemed silly to lather oneself with pointless praise that only Peers would care for."

Only after Edgar sat down did Terrance follow. The two men watched each other from across a table perhaps two sword-lengths apart, though neither was armed. "May I inquire to your lineage?" Edgar asked.

Terrance nodded. "Of course; I am Terrance, son of George of the House of Cassidy. In recent times, I have become the Marquis of Driscoll and its subsidiary peerages, including the Earldom from which my House was named."

Edgar burst out laughing.

"Excuse me?" Terrance was rather concerned.

Edgar shook his head. "Banon was right," he muttered under his breath before regaining control of himself. "I'm sorry for my breach in protocol, but we are closer friends than you might imagine Terrance, if you don't mind the presumption."

"No, certainly not King Edgar. But I must apologize, I'm not sure I follow your meaning."

"Just Edgar is fine," he quickly extended the same courtesy. "As for what caused my poor manners, your father was Lord George Cassidy, a man whom I was briefly familiar with."

Terrance smiled knowingly. "Ah, yes. My father was once given the privilege of being the Ambassador to your Kingdom."

"That is what I'm referring to, and I suppose he's the one that taught you some of the more esoteric Figarian traditions. He was always interested in the archaic."

Terrance chucked wistfully. "Yes, my father was always one to delve into ancient customs. I take it that such deportment is now out of style?"

"Overly formal, but never without style," Edgar grinned. "How fares the Lord Cassidy?"

Terrance wet his lips. "I'm afraid to disclose that my father fell recently, during the turmoil after the Long Night. The proscriptions claimed his life, though such matters should be discussed another time."

Edgar nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss, Terrance. He was one of the best Ambassadors, with a genuine interest in maintaining common friendship between our two peoples."

"And I am no less interested," Terrance took Edgar's bait and quickly addressed the matters at hand. "I have been empowered by Her Most Imperial Majesty to begin the formation of a treaty discussed between your persons many months ago."

Edgar sighed with relief. "That would be a pleasure, though I am surprised that the Empress is not here to conduct such business herself."

"She sends her gravest apologizes, but there are... matters in the southeast that has taken her away from Vector. Certainly the details will be discussed in person, when she returns to the Imperial Core. Until then, there are various matters that must be discussed, including a somewhat-" Terrance paused as he searched for the right word, "-bold positioning of your fleet."

Edgar laughed. "Terrance, please, we're both learned men and such sophistry is unnecessary. I'm sure it's nigh-hostile in your view as a General of the Imperial Armed Forces. I apologize for our presumptuous manoeuvres, but it was necessary. Last I knew of the Empire, Civil War had all but engulfed the entire continent. I did not know if Tzen was friend or foe."

"I do not fault your escort," Terrance answered. "Your ships are impressive; certainly capable had your fears proven true and Tzen fallen to the barbarian. Equally understandable is your concern for your fellow friends, figures of importance such as the esteemed Sir Cyan Garamonde."

"I still would like to know where Terra and Locke are," Edgar pointed out quickly. "Your response was that they were ill-disposed, and yet you found Cyan quickly enough."

"They are quite busy in Vector, but I guarantee you of their safety. You will see for yourself once you reach the Imperial Core; I have no doubt that they would desire to meet once you arrive in Mansfield."

"Excuse me?"

"I did not intend to presume, but surely we are of like mind. Such historic matters could not be concluded aboard a humble warship. Mansfield is a city of dignity, and is incidentally convenient for the Empress on her return from the city of Vickers."

Edgar sighed; pompous, yet progressive. It was an interesting mix for a nobleman.

"My forces here will extend every courtesy to your fleet. We do not have the berthing for so many ships of the line, but we will supply and allow a number of your vessels access to dry-dock. There is peace in the Empire now; your men will be free to wander this fair city in safety. The Empress has deemed us friends, and I am quite happy to oblige. What remains is merely formality."

"The Empress Danielle is far too kind," Edgar said wearily.

"Her foresight is divinely," Terrance agreed with reverence. "There is another matter of which I must inquire though."

Here it comes, Edgar thought.

"Of the fleet that sailed with you, and the Diodorus and the Tiernay, I note that they are not within your fleet."

Edgar swallowed. There was no point in hiding it any longer. "I'm afraid that in the process of ferrying my person across the ocean, they were lost in battle with all hands. I survived solely by the grace of the gods. I am terribly sorry."

Terrance's chest heaved. "I see," was his answer.

"Figaro would welcome the Empire to inquire more deeply. However, I think it would be best for such dark matters to be removed for another time," Edgar continued.

Terrance nodded slowly. "Yes. I should think that the Empress would be quite interested in that tale."

-=-

Cyan Garamonde stepped out of the house, deep in thought. He quickly thanked Lowell, the librarian that had been their principle contact in Tzen, and pulled tight his blue cape over a gleaming set of plate armor. Cyan had been concerned for the old man's safety, fearful that the Empire would strike back at those who had harboured Returners.

It seemed at least that in this, Danielle had kept her word.

As Cyan made his way through the recently industrialized capital of Tzen, he couldn't help but worry about the future. The fact was that the Empress had stabilized the fall of the Empire and began reconstruction of all that had been lost. Whether the Empire rose or fell was no concern to him, but it was difficult for him to imagine a benign ruler upon the throne of Vector.

What if the Empire struck back against the world?

The Knight of Doma made his way back to the docks, intent on meeting Strago and Relm. The pair had decided to spend some quality family time together and Cyan was happy for them. It brought a smile to his face when the rest of the world was in such turmoil.

Lowell had kept up with Imperial politics in the recent months, invigorated by their visit. The old librarian had actually expected Cyan to return earlier and had plenty to say. Cyan had no doubt that much of what he had learned, Edgar would have discovered upon his second meeting with Terrance Cassidy. In fact, Cyan glanced at a clock tower, it was nigh-time that those two men would wrap up their discussion.

Their first meeting had gone as well as could be expected, given the apprehensiveness of both sides. The Imperials were well within their rights to be weary of the visitors from the Northern Continent, with such naval power mere minutes outside of the capital of Tzen and bringing news that the Imperials who had risked their lives to escort Edgar overseas had made the greatest of all sacrifices.

Thus, it was rather surprising that the Imperials still wished for Edgar to travel to the Imperial Core in order to officially sign a peace treaty. Edgar had submitted reluctantly and already, a suitable guard was being gathered from the fleet's marines. They were going not Vector, but Mansfield. It was strange and the excuses somewhat debatable, but then Cyan had discovered Danielle's motive for being so far to the southeast of the Empire.

She was personally crushing the insurgency.

Lowell had called it the Triskele Rebellion. The librarian had overheard news of the matter after speaking with ancient associates within the aristocracy. It appeared that an influential group of Knights, supported by the locals, had declared the Empress to be a pretender to the throne. They had rebelled and started a quarrel in the far reaches of the Empire.

The Empress was still a soldier and had gone with an army to oversee the campaign. Cyan could see the benefit there, for certainly a ruler that was quite comfortable with its commanders in the military was desirable. That she was returning and wished to save time by going to Mansfield instead of Vector seemed plausible.

Still.

"Strago!" Cyan exclaimed as they crossed paths just near the docks. Though dressed in Figarian blue, his frizzled white hair and a long beard were unchanged. He was still the same eccentric lore-master that Cyan had met in the chaos of Thamasa.

"Cyan," Strago wiped his brow. He seemed tired. "How is Lowell?"

"Contented," Cyan answered. "There is still some vigour in him."

"Of course! Don't you ever think poorly of us old men, there is always some fight left in us!" Strago said, though his blatant exhaustion was a contradiction of his speech.

"Relm is quite the nuisance, is she not?" Cyan noted kindly, but failed to stop his lip from twisting upwards.

Strago shook his head. "She was always a handful, but I don't know what you fed her over the winter. She's got twice the energy and thrice the intelligence. I'm having trouble keeping up with her, much less reining her in." He glared when Cyan laughed understandingly. "And I've already been through this," Strago moaned. "I swear experience means nothing here; doesn't help that the girl is magically gifted."

Cyan couldn't stop grinning.

"Wipe that smile off your face," Strago growled. His tone grew serious. "Relm told me what happened over the winter. Now I'm beyond thankful for what you did for her, but I can't say I'm pleased with your intentions in the past few months."

Cyan followed Strago as they continued back towards the pier. "You disagree?"

"Disagree? Dammit Cyan, she's ten!"

"Eleven," Cyan corrected.

"Only by your customs, and what does it matter her exact age? You're teaching a child the arts of war! How could you?"

Cyan paused in the middle of the street, forcing the crowd behind to avoid his large stature. He folded his arms and waited for Strago to make his way back through the stream of people.

"You would leave her defenceless? At the mercy of the enemy?" Cyan asked. His voice dripped with disapproval.

"Her magic-"

"-was not up to the task," Cyan interrupted. "Nor is she much younger than those I have trained before, and so far she has excelled beyond all expectations."

"That's not the point, Cyan!" Strago growled. "She's an artist, not a swordswoman. Instead of a blade, it should be a brush. But no! Gone are the paints and her canvas, instead she exercises and spars daily; you know that's not right. No child should have to learn to kill!"

"You have taught her equally deadly spells," Cyan pointed out to Strago's chagrin. "This is no different. One cannot be blind to what this world has become, nor will ignorance of the truth protect Relm from the darkness around us."

Strago's face twisted as conflicting emotions played havoc with the old man. At last, he sighed. "I wish you told me first," he grumbled in defeat. "She's such a headache now."

Cyan laughed again as the two men picked up their pace. "So where is the little devil?" he asked.

It was instinctive, happening so quickly that Cyan would later lie awake wondering how he knew. His foot slid aside as something wavered through the air he was just occupying, and then he quickly turned around and grabbed her by the hair.

"What a burden!" he exclaimed in jest, holding a fistful of blond hair.

Relm stuck out her tongue and twisted aside. "I almost caught you off-guard," she exclaimed proudly. "You were just lucky I moved too quickly that time!"

"What did I say about patience?" Cyan shook his head. "Such audacity," he said as he waggled a finger.

Relm made her cutest, most innocent face. "What some call insolence, others call confidence," she repeated.

"And where did you hear that?" Cyan mocked.

Relm grinned. "Look behind you."

Paisley straightened, clearing his throat. Cyan looked the Imperial Officer up and down, noting the assortment of medals and rank bars, as well as a freshly cleaned dress uniform. "Well, yet another chance meeting," he remarked.

"We met the man over a cup of tea," Strago glared at Cyan out of the corner of his eye. "A rather expensive tea -- I might add -- because Relm refused to have anything else but some specific leaf from the Northern Continent. Apparently, anything else was too bitter. And she refused to add milk and sugar, saying it was without grace."

Cyan shrugged. "I do not enjoy the taste of herbal remedies," he answered with some disdain.

"Of course," Strago replied, not entirely convinced of his granddaughter's idol. "Anyhow, I suppose you are ready, Captain?"

"Captain?" Cyan echoed.

Paisley smiled but kept his attention on Strago. "It would be more proper to ask if you are finished with your conversation," he pointed out.

Strago scowled. "Youth," he grumbled.

Paisley bowed his head respectfully towards Cyan. "My men are prepared, Sir Cyan. We merely await the arrival of the important guests."

-=-

"That's quite an escort," Strago remarked in awe. They had not gone far, for they were still within sight of the walls of the city. Newly risen watchtowers, in addition to half-built barracks were extending the limits of Tzen. The Imperials had begun expanding the capital as soon as winter ended, sheltering the once-temporary housing behind Imperial might.

Strago stared at the innermost collection of mounted soldiers and chocobo-pulled carriages, in addition to the many carts that would carry suitable supplies for the journey. They were gathered near two large boulders, half-cut and looking like they would form the foundation of an impressive arch.

As for the rest of the escort, Cyan had seen greater numbers before, but still... both Figarian and Imperial soldiers had formed proud, disciplined ranks. There were at least two-hundred Figarians alone, Cyan quickly counted, and at least twice that number donning the brown leather of the Empire. This was not going to be a mounted escort then, but Cyan had already expected that from the number of carriages.

"Sir Cyan, I will be the liaison for the duration of the trip. I have been instructed to ensure your comfort and to extend every courtesy to King Edgar and all your peoples. You are highly-valued guests of the Empire," Paisley declared royally.

"And pray tell, were you instructed of that speech as well?" Cyan asked.

"Yeah," Paisley rolled his eyes. "The General grilled me on it, as if it means anything."

"Well, congratulations are still in order on your promotion, Captain Paisley," Cyan commended. He smiled at the familiar, unbecoming boyish face and short-brown hair. "It appears you have been given a position of importance now. There is no one else in the Imperial Army I would rather trust to escort us to Mansfield."

Paisley smiled. "Thank you sir. That means more than you could imagine, coming from you."

The two men turned to the commotion caused by the arrival of Edgar. Flanked by a combination of Figarian and Imperial guards, the King of Figaro was accompanied by Banon and Arvis, as well as General Cassidy.

"I will speak with the Duke," Terrance was saying to Edgar as the two men strolled side-by-side, like equals. "He would be honoured by your presence, and I think you would enjoy his company quite a bit."

"Of course! Depending on how long we wait in Mansfield, I do not see a reason to refuse a man whose table you have lauded such praise," Edgar replied.

"His palate is excellent, and his chefs the best in all of the Empire. You will not be disappointed," Terrance stopped in front of Strago. "Lore-master Strago, Sir Cyan," he held out his hand and they shook in greeting. "I trust that the escort is up to your standards?"

Cyan nodded. "They are excellent, General."

"Very well, since you already know Captain Paisley here, I must take this opportunity to retire. I have reports to write -- a long stack that I detest -- before my commander returns from the Wilds. Captain, I leave our esteemed guests in your charge."

"Yes sir!" Paisley saluted crisply.

The General left, accompanied by his personal escorts, without exchanging the typical mantra of the Empire. It would not be fitting, given the presence of so many non-Imperials. Cyan noted this as Terrance walked away.

"Well then, I have some matters to take care of before we can leave. Once you have boarded the carriages, please notify the drivers and they'll get a hold of me. Until then, ah... your Kingship... Sir Cyan, I take your leave," Paisley scurried away quickly, clearly embarrassed by a lack of proper deportment.

They waited until he and the rest of the Imperials were out of earshot.

"Into the den of lions, surrounded by twice our number and engulfed by thousands more," Arvis mumbled.

Edgar sighed. "Yes, well we must see this through. There are no other options, and everything has been going our way so far." He turned to one of the Figarian officers. "Major, if you would see Relm back to the Allegiance."

"As you command, my King."

Relm frowned. "Wait, what?" She tore her arm away from the Figarian soldier and snapped a vicious glare at the warrior. "I'm coming with you!"

Edgar glanced at Strago and Cyan and then groaned at their response. "I'm not getting involved in this one," he said with his hands raised.

Banon and Arvis had, in their infinite wisdom, already slipped away.

"Gramps, Uncle!" Relm's hands were bunched into fists. "You're not leaving me behind!"

"Relm, be reasonable," Strago started. "This is not going to a fun trip, it's dangerous and I'll not have you in further trouble. Admiral Pellyn has already said he'd be quite willing to let you stay aboard the Allegiance, where it's safe."

"I don't want to stay on the Allegiance!" Relm cried out. "Cyan!"

"Dear one, this is not something to be debated," Cyan growled as authoritatively as he could. It was a grim, deadly tone that had struck fear in squires -- timid commoner and haughty noble alike -- for decades.

Unfortunately, it was a voice Relm had long since grown used to.

"I don't want to go! I don't want to be sent away. I'm not a burden, I can help!"

"It's too dangerous," Strago growled. "Please, just do as we say. The Admiral said you could have that beef stew everyday if you want."

"You're not buying me off with beef stew, old man!" Relm growled.

"Relm! Have some respect for your grandfather," Cyan snapped. "It is unsafe for you to journey with us, and that is that."

"But I can fight, I can defend myself," Relm answered back.

"Not in this," Cyan continued.

"Then you wasted my time all winter!" Relm retaliated.

"Relm!" Strago rubbed his temples in frustration. "Don't use that tone, Cyan is only thinking of your safety."

"Oh? And I suppose leaving me alone for days at a time was also for my safety?"

"What?" Strago asked, confused.

Relm folded her arms and gestured at Cyan with her eyes. "During the winter, he left me alone in the cottage for days while he rode off deep into the mountains on his chocobo," she stated indignantly.

"Cyan?" Strago looked at the Knight of Doma, who cleared his throat guiltily. "Is this true?"

"It was safer than taking her along, with the possibility of avalanches," Cyan answered.

"But still, such reckless irresponsibility! I trusted you to watch over her, and instead I find out that you are foolish enough to leave a girl barely two-digits in age alone for weeks at a time? For what, some sort of pride-ridden joyride in the-"

"Strago, to fall for such a transparent ploy..." Cyan snapped. He waited until the grandfather had his wits back before directing his attention back to Relm. "I'm disappointed in you, Relm. But that is a discussion for another time. Presently, you shall accompany the Major back to the Allegiance."

Relm turned to Strago, who was just as resolute. She even begged Edgar, but the King of Figaro maintained his distance from this argument and pretended to be deaf and mute.

"Go," Strago gestured at the Figarian Major.

Relm's eyes were focused on the muddy ground as she shuffled away, defeated. With her shoulders slouched and head down, the feeling of dejection was not entirely isolated to just the recipient. Three soldiers escorted her away, normally twice her height but towering evermore over the miserable little girl.

"That was bitter," Edgar muttered as he turned back around. He shook his head. Despite all his experience with the greedy nobility, hostile foreigners and innocent plebes, he had been powerless to calm that storm.

The two men nodded in solemn agreement. "She'll hate me for this," Strago remarked. "I'll never make it up to her."

Out of the corner of his eye, the King watched Cyan take deep, laboured breaths. "I don't suppose it ever gets easier," Edgar remarked.

Wrinkles deepened visibly, prominent on Strago despite his thick white beard. He was slouched, a heavy-heart that would not absolve him of guilty feelings no matter how soundly he had acted.

"Never. Nothing is ever easy."

-=-

Banon and Arvis were conversing with one another when Edgar, Cyan and Strago finally arrived. The two men had made themselves comfortable in a fine carriage, capable of seating four on top of plush, almost-velvety sheepskin.

"I trust that all affairs are in order at last?" Banon asked.

Edgar gestured. "We'll be as protected as possible, given the circumstances. The Imperials are going to lead the way and also act as a vanguard."

"They're going to quite a bit more trouble than Gestahl did," Arvis remarked. "I wonder what this means. Perhaps they're being truthful for once, or perhaps they're just that much more desperate."

"Whatever the case, we have no choice but to see this through to the end," Banon noted. "I have already sent word to those I trust in Mansfield, so that we'll have an outside source of information aside from what the Empress chooses to present us."

Edgar began to step into the carriage when he noted their numbers. "I'll ride with my ranking officer; ease his worries a little," he excused himself with a thin smile. "My men are justifiably scared. They'll appreciate it if their King rode beside them."

"Thank you for the gesture, Edgar, but I desire solace," Cyan pointed at the carriage. "Please, there is still much for you to discuss, and I am but a prideful warrior."

Before Edgar could say anything, the Knight of Doma strode away.

Strago watched Cyan walk away, silent.

Edgar put a hand on the old lore-master's shoulder. "Perhaps an apology is in order," he remarked. "You did speak without knowing all the details."

"Perhaps," Strago mumbled.

Edgar took his hand away, frowning at how obstinate Strago was. "Maybe later at camp, when we've all had time to relax."

"Speaking of camp," Banon started. "Are things in place with yourself and the Admiral?" Banon could easily guess what had happened between Relm and the two elder men. He had deftly changed the topic.

Edgar nodded. "Regular reports between our party and the Allegiance are expected. They'll be sent daily, written in a key that myself and the Admiral have already agreed upon," he took a seat within the carriage. "If any are missing, well... Douglas is quite prudent. He'll make sure the fleet is safe and word sent back to our homes."

"If Mansfield turns out to be a trap, then hopefully they'll have sufficient warning. Perhaps they can bloody the Empire into submission," Banon remarked. "But as for us, I fear even with all these troops, we might be lost."

Edgar put on his best, fake smile. "Cold feet?"

"I have lived a long, fulfilling life," Banon answered. "My legacy, the Returners, will persevere without me."

Arvis shook his head. "You two are so depressing to listen to. Remember, we have taken greater risks in the past."

Edgar chuckled. "Indeed, and don't doubt the abilities of our resolute friend here," Edgar patted Strago on the back. "He's got plenty of tricks in store, and I can think of one that would be more than helpful," there was a sparkle in the King's eye as he thought of Tzen.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Banon sighed.

"Well, perhaps I should tell you some good news?" Edgar asked. "General Cassidy has contacted the Duke of Mansfield. We'll be expected at his table the first night in his city. Apparently he has the best cooks in the Empire."

"I see that you and General Cassidy have hit it off quite well," Banon noted.

"You could say that. He's been quite forthcoming, much like his father."

"The Earl of Cassidy," Banon mulled over his memories of the former Ambassador. "I only met him briefly, though in retrospect he probably knew of my involvement with the Returners then. Still, he was a fine man, truly interested in maintaining friendship between the two continents. The Empire has been lessened by his untimely demise."

Edgar snorted. "Well, let's hope his replacements are no different."

"I shall pray every night for such a miracle."

Visions of Peace will be continued in The Nineteenth Chapter - To Provoke a Colossus

The Nineteenth Chapter - To Provoke a Colossus

"And if you would follow me down Imperial Way, the view is quite phenomenal," she was saying as she rounded the corner. "The rebuilt bridge overlooks the industrial district and also winds back towards the Palace. It's quite popular, even with uphill climb. You're lucky, today it's been cleared of everyone other than selected troops and personnel."

Despite the season, the ground was free of dirt and mud. The road was paved over with a layer of smooth, black rock that had been melted flat; it resisted the rain far better than mere cobblestone.

The two were strolling along a deserted Imperial Way as it rose higher and higher. As the pair ascended, they could glance past the guardrails and see the tips of newly constructed buildings. Those that were finished were a sight to behold, many stories tall with polished marble forming intertwined arches. They had been built in homage to Albrook but redesigned for rapid construction.

The bridge they were approaching was wrought of great steel beams that formed triangular trusses, strung with steel wire and painted a brilliant Imperial Red. Standing guard at both ends were four soldiers wearing ceremonial uniforms. The men straightened and saluted the esteemed guests as they crossed.

"On the northern side," she gestured with a gloved hand, "you'll notice that while empty, the fields are clear of rubble. The Imperial Forum, the Imperial Senate -- where the House of Lords gathered -- and the Magitek Labs used to be there," she pointed out meaningfully.

A frown. "They'll rebuild it, won't they?"

"Actually no, though I wouldn't take that as a sign that Magitek is being given up on. The factory itself was moved somewhere secret while the scientists were divided between there and the Palace."

"It was in a strange place; the middle of a city so crowded that anyone dedicated enough could sneak in."

She suppressed a scoff. "Well the official reason is for an Imperial Garden. The Empress has given approval to fill that space with the most exotic trees and flowers, something for the public to enjoy as well as maintaining the balance."

He pulled his cloak closer, the white-washed cloth was much too thick for the warm temperatures of spring, but it was chilly on the bridge. A northerly gust howled as the pair turned their attention in the opposite direction.

"There are quite a few parks. Vector doesn't look anything like I remember," he remarked. Hundreds of tall buildings had sprung from what was once rubble, and dozens more were in the process of construction. Their metallic, skeletal frames stretched high into the sky where equally tall cranes were lifting massive steel beams to complete the superstructure.

The Imperial Capital was not just recovering, but bettering itself. It was a hurricane of activity, hundreds of thousands of citizens rebuilding the pride of civilization. Thousands more arrived each day, storming the city in search of jobs and business opportunity. Vector welcomed them with open arms and continued to provide the very finest for its growing population.

"Balance is the buzzword," she answered. "With a chance to start anew, everything was pre-planned to avoid mistakes of the past. Those committees alone wasted weeks," she continued with a roll of the eyes.

He looked up into the clear sky. Only in the far distance -- towards Strachan -- did a small, fluffy white cloud blemish the sapphire expanse. "It's so clear," he remarked. "Did they scrap all the factories?"

"The opposite actually -- there are dozens more -- but recent advances in technology and experience gained from cleaning the hellrains have resulted in much cleaner output. Those that work in the factories have been quite pleased and the word has spread, thousands have arrived to look for jobs."

Near the center of the bridge and overlooking the huge urban sprawl that was Vector, his eyes judged the so-called changes to the Imperial Center. The over-concentration of factories and residences was gone and there was vibrant green to offset cold metal and dirty brick. It was still Vector no doubt -- the layout seemed to be the same -- but everything seemed... healthier.

The pair was quiet. No more questions remained and nothing was left to say about work, he had even discussed the weather. They could only stare at Vector for so long.

Someone had to take the first step.

"I'm-" his voice faltered and instead, he quickly cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes darted towards him. "About what?" she asked, as if she didn't know.

The guilt had been eating at him for months though. At first, there was always danger and so the opportunity never presented itself. Always the next day, but the days had become weeks and the weeks stretched out into months.

"The past."

"I've already forgiven and forgotten," she answered. But if that was the truth, he didn't know. "The past is just that, right?"

"Sometimes, the past is all that keeps you going," he whispered under his breath. She couldn't hear him of course, and instead he wondered again whether she really meant what she said. On the surface, it certainly looked that way.

After more awkward silence, he decided to leave it at that. "What you've done, what you've made Vector into... it's so different; so beautiful. I didn't think it was possible."

She smiled. "I'm glad you like it."

The pair continued off the bridge, ceremonial guard on the other side saluting them with the same vigour as the first. Imperial Way wound towards the walls of the Palace where flawless, unnatural dark stone towered protectively. The extraordinary material had a glossy sheen, reflecting warm sunlight back onto the road. Palace gardeners had taken advantage of this and planted flowers of all colours along the side of Imperial Way, their aromas mixing together into a delightful, sweet scent that lingered in the cool spring air.

They both took deeper breaths as they strolled beside the walls. He looked out of place, an experienced, militant warrior who contrasted with the peaceful paradise around them. She, however, was beauty personified. A pure white dress made of flowing silk, finely detailed embroidery and intricate lace lappets made for a dazzlingly display. Her train floated in the air behind her, wrought of silver and gold that sparkled in the sunlight. Her pale features were accentuated, long lustrous locks of silver hair fluttering unrestrained in the breeze.

The soldiers guarding the entrance to the Imperial Palace stood taller in their presence, the pair passing beneath an archway of majestic proportions and into the courtyards.

"Strange, I don't see the Imperial Guard," he noted. "Why aren't the black trims guarding the gates?"

She shrugged. "General Donner is still head of the armies that once comprised of the New Order's forces. The Empress was politically-wise; she avoided persecuting the First Citizen's inner circle and actually allowed them to retain their positions. I wouldn't worry too much about the Palace's defence, those here have always been here." Her arms were clasped behind her back, posture straight and proud. "After a while, you don't even notice the difference; Imperial Guardsmen or otherwise."

A mischievous, knowing smirk. "I understand quite well," he replied.

There they climbed hundreds of stairs in silence, for words would betray disbelief at how quickly the Palace had been rebuilt. Every bit as imposing as the walls themselves, metal and stone had been fused together into a domineering symbol. Gone was any hint that the Palace had been attacked. The dead had long since cleared, the rubble removed and Magitek Armor corpses replaced by the latest, most advanced symbols of Imperial Might. The flags of the Empire flapped in the wind, red and black threads bearing the Imperial Emblem.

The Empire was sending a message -- a warning -- to its enemies: its spirit was vigorous, its resolve steadfast, and its strength was undiminished.

Those that ignored it did so at their own peril.

-=-

"The Imperial Palace itself has been restored as much as possible. Many treasures -- irreplaceable works of art, culture, and various unique creations -- were destroyed in the fires though."

It was left unsaid that with such losses, civilization itself was diminished.

They stopped in an empty chamber of such gargantuan proportions that it could have housed a thousand people and still be considered empty. Metallic walkways that hung from the ceiling or protruded from the bare walls were all that decorated the room.

"As you can see, the Imperial Library was hit the hardest by the fires. Hundreds of years of history have been lost; books that dated back to the foundation of the Empire, the Dark Ages before that, and even some from the War of the Magi," she stopped in her tracks, her footsteps upon metal echoing in the great chamber. "We believe the barbarians took great pains to destroy this place, the desecrationhere was more thorough than anything other than the Magitek Labs."

He was silent, for the imagination could not envision the number of tomes that had been burnt to ash. The idea that so many generations of knowledge was gone forever without recourse; it was a humbling thought.

"Let's head this way; it's less depressing down the eastern wing."

The sound of children's laughter echoed along the corridors, their mischief and hearty spirit spreading good cheer to any who heard it.

Eyes wandered and noted the general quality of the hallway. Their boots made impressions in the soft, plush rugs that ran down the length of the hall. The walls seemed a brighter shade. The air was a little fresher. His attention to detail noted that even the lights were individually-painted, each a work of art in its own right.

"It seems deserted," he noted as he passed empty room after empty room, their doors open to all.

""This wing used to house the officers' quarters; Emperor Gestahl preferred his commanders close by. However, Empress Danielle, though she has not taken away such a privilege, regularly stays on the field with her troops. The commanders have followed suit, but to be perfectly honest, it's not as if many could take a vacation. Halstead, Tzen, Ethelben, Mansfield, Sellenger, Vickers... the army is spread thinly."

The children sounded closer.

They paused in front of two expansive rooms. "You're lucky, the Palace is closed today -- aside from the never-ending line of supplicants," she added under her breath. "Anyways, this wing is open to the public and is normally a crowded mess."

"All of it?"

"Up until these two rooms, which are the highlights of the tour." She gestured and he entered the first room. It was a luxurious suite, bare but clearly once filled with many awards and merits of a high ranking officer. Outlines of medals were burned into the walls, empty bookshelves carefully replaced in their original locations. A lonely wooden desk and plush chair sat in the first chamber and the connected room was no different. An empty closet, deserted bed, and a few trophies of battle were all that made up the bedroom.

It was bounds more interesting than emptiness, but even then there wasn't all that much to see. Now if the prize swords could have told their tales... His eyes wandered across the bare bedroom, halting at an out-of-place object sitting atop a bookshelf. The white, fluffy-stuffed moogle seemed to be staring at him in approval.

"Like the rest of the palace," she continued, "the barbarians stole all that interested them and burned the rest. But time wasn't on their side. They missed a lot, especially in this wing. A couple of her old books were found here, and one of the maids that personally cleaned this suite helped restore the room to its original arrangement."

"Her?" he echoed.

"This room belonged to Celes," she answered as if it was self-evident. "The one opposite was Leo's. By the Empress' decree, both are now enshrined and dedicated to their legends."

His eyes returned to the nigh-empty room; everything seemed cast in a different light.

"Leo's room is even less interesting, so let's continue down the wing," she said as she continued forth.

He left Celes' room slowly, casting one last look at the stuffed animal. Hurrying to catch up, he passed a gaggle of children playing in another large suite.

"Kefka's room," she answered the unspoken question with a raised eyebrow. "I believe it's the Empress' idea of poetic justice."

They shared a quiet chuckle as they continued, finally stopping in front of two, large wooden doors. The great archway could fit many a Magitek Armor within its domain.

"The Emperor's quarters are still cordoned off," she noted as she stared at the magically blockaded entrance. "No one has dared enter and the Empress has decreed that none shall try."

"Strange. Why?"

"Well, the Empress rarely remains in the Palace. As I said, she tends to stay with the army like the soldier-Emperor she is, and so it would be a waste of funds. Now the Throne Room was repaired, but that's because supplicants must be met in a place that's worthy. Her quarters on the other hand, aren't a priority until she deems it. We decided not to argue with the Empress on such minor matters."

"That sounds stupid, wouldn't the usual mass of advisors and nobles have to follow her around the Empire then? Ruling from the road seems like it'd be the waste of funds she fears."

"The Empress rarely intervenes on civilian matters, leaving administration largely in our hands. Her rule has been hands-off for the most part, she is a military General -- born and raised -- and fully understands her own limitations."

A shocked look. "Are you telling me that she gave up her power?"

"Not entirely. All things are still done in her name, but the only active role she plays is in the Armed Forces and we're all grateful for it. The military is quite unstable; grudges from the slaughter and bloodshed of the Civil War don't fade away because the Empress decrees it."

"Who runs the Empire in her name then? A council of sorts?"

"Anson Tilton is the undisputed leader in many respects; he is still the First Citizen," she answered. "While the Empress holds the reins to the Armed Forces, the First Citizen has singly kept the Empire from collapsing. The Civil War was akin to chopping off one's own legs; devastating every corner of the Empire."

A silent nod.

"Not a single family is without someone to bury," she continued darkly. "The First Citizen has done everything in his power to guide the transition from such a dark era. He is highly regarded by all, even his former enemies."

The pair continued through the palace, receiving salutes from every guard they passed until the Marble Square. It was the center of the Imperial Palace, not physically but rather where everyone congregated. The front doors and lobby could be seen if one's eyes were good enough, and both eastern and western wings met here, stairs leading up and down the long corridors bending out of sight.

During the course of reconstruction, the Imperial Palace had been looked upon with the most derision. Gone was any impression that the dark, metallic structure offered superior protection. No longer could one state that beauty had been traded for safety.

A great skylight had been carved into the roof, sunlight streaming down into the Marble Square. A dual-ringed fountain of majestic proportions sparkled under the sun and a rainbow of flowers ringed the edges. There were even three fully-grown oaks that stretched toward the ceiling. In the center was a great statue, a regal-looking man whose sword was raised above his head: one of the founding fathers of the Empire.

Plush red carpet led to the Throne Room, twin doors of imposing iron with the emblem of the Empire branded into the plating. They were gigantic, so heavy that four men were necessary to reveal the spacious chamber beyond. Here, even the walls were wrought with intricate patterns woven against each other, gold and red against dark metal. Spaced pillars around the periphery held up an arched roof from which banners hung in the sunlight.

The Throne was raised, twelve steps above and protected by guardrails. A single seat was set atop lush red carpet.

"I thought you said there were supplicants?" he asked. He looked around the empty Throne Room, eyes glassing over.

She frowned. "I expected Anson to be here with the usual crowd, but I guess with the closure of Imperial Way and the Palace, people decided not to come today."

He advanced toward the throne. His hands were up, palms outward. "The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. This feels oddly like the Emperor's residence."

"Yes, that would be one of the new defences," she motioned back towards the Marble Square. "Shall we have a look from the ramparts?"

"Sure. There's nothing here anyways."

They marched out of the palace and continued along the outside walkways until they found solitude. Staring off at the rebuilt city of Vector, he sighed wistfully. "Thank you for the tour, Terra. I can see that you've been incredibly busy in the last months."

Terra Branford smiled. "Anytime for a friend. I couldn't have some mere lackey show you around."

"The thought is appreciated."

Terra curtseyed. "Now let me take the chance to formally welcome you back to Vector, Colonel Ferdinand, and to thank you for your continuing service. The Plains of Callaghan are in good hands. Your ever-vigil watch has kept the barbarian silent."

Norris Ferdinand glanced away from the majestic, urban sprawl that was the Imperial Capital. He let loose a long sigh.

"Thank you, Sophis. I'm just glad to be back."

-=-

Anson shot to his feet the moment Terra entered. "How was it?" he asked from behind a desk of papers.

Terra stretched her arms, glad to be out of the dress and back into more humble clothes. "Well, I need to send a letter to Lindsay and thank her for her work. Uncomfortable though, these dresses, but they feel so majestic. They're perfect for these occassions."

Anson chuckled softly as Terra took a seat facing him. She picked up his cup of tea, long since forgotten. "Cold and stale," she remarked as she took a sip anyways.

"Actually, I was interested in our resolute Colonel. He hasn't been back to Vector for several months now, not since the deep of winter shortly after it was sacked. And I'll admit that we didn't exactly part on friendly terms. How is he?"

Terra smiled as she finished Anson's tea. "He was happy and that's all that really matters. You should've seen the look on his face when he saw what we've done with to Vector. Hundreds of thousands back in the city, many more moving here because of all the work, and the improvements in general. Clear skies, fresh air... I'm really fortunate that there was time to take him around personally."

"Yes. We have spent months without a day of rest and yet the moment he returns, you find several hours free. That was most fortunate," Anson agreed with a roll of the eyes. "Anyhow, the Colonel has never lived in Vector. Being in the Special Forces as long as he has, he probably knows more about the Northern Continent than his own capital. Still, little experience is needed to appreciate the scope of our latest reforms."

"He was definitely asking questions that I thought were common knowledge, I didn't realize that he was out and about so often though."

"The Colonel's service records would require a scholar to parse though, he's done so much and gone so far," Anson acknowledged. "He's a credit to the Empire, I've been pushing the House to reward him for all he's done. The nobles are pushing back, of course, but what else is new?"

"He still blames himself, I think," her lip twisted downward. "He was more lively before Fanshaw. After that, I always felt he was spiralling away. You know, he once shared with me that he thought the Sack of Vector could have been prevented had he betrayed Lilienthal and warned you."

"Me?" Anson sighed. "Wishful thinking, we wouldn't have listened to Colonel Ferdinand. Even if we did, by the time you reached Fanshaw, the Maverick's reinforcements had already swung around and engaged Vector. With both the besieging forces from the west and the fresh, victorious ones from the south, Caleigh would have collapsed before anyone could come to his succour."

Terra nodded sadly. "Norris probably knows that, but that doesn't make it any easier to swallow."

"The truth is just that. It's blind to one's emotions."

"I hope knowing what we've done here," Terra pointed out the window -- the wide, floor to ceiling glass panels overlooked the revitalized and bustling city -- and then tapped her finger on the many folders of the Empire's status. "I hope it makes his burden a bit easier."

Anson nodded. "On that topic, you should probably know that the magical growth spells you developed aren't working as well as we thought. I've assigned a team to look into it, but expect another week before they finish studying the problem and devise a synthetic solution."

"I suppose that means no fully-grown trees for a while?"

"Not unless you want to go out there, gather the few Magitek Knights enjoying their vacation away from the war, and grow those plants yourself."

There was a sparkle in Terra's eye.

Anson sighed. "Let us wait for a permanent, non-magical solution developed from yours, shall we?"

"Fine, Anson," Terra relented in a teasing tone. "Seriously though, it would really make people happy once those trees are back. Wild grass and flowers are nice, but so many have been complaining about the lack of shade. There's something that fills you with pride when standing beneath the majestic canopy of those towering redwoods."

"The world is not such a nice place that you can dedicate yourself to planting trees, Sophis," Anson mumbled. "There are things out there, monsters, barbarians, and dark shadows that still move against us."

"A little vision of beauty, and it'll spread throughout the world," Terra answered confidently. "We'll lead by example, making Vector the paradise of civilization."

"A beautiful world," Anson quoted her. "It is a lovely dream. I know you'll make it happen, no matter how improbable it seems," he said reverently.

"Only with your help. Without you, there wouldn't even be an Empire to start from. The downward spiral could never have been stopped, much less reversed without you and your scores of capable administrators."

Anson bowed his head. "We have done little more than hold together the alliance you created."

"You don't always have to be so humble, First Citizen. I recall some advice to take pride in one's work. Perhaps you should heed those words and not make light of your own position."

"Wise words, Sophis."

"They're yours," Terra mumbled as she picked up the closest folder in their pile of papers and briefly leafed through it. "So what are the supplicants wanting today?"

"Strangely enough, that never-ending fountain has dried up. I'm not really sure what to make of it."

"Maybe it's the new guards?" Terra leafed through the reports, bored as she breezed over economic analysis of the Imperial Provinces. The latest reform that Anson had passed was revitalizing the industry. The numbers merely reinforced what could be seen if one simply opened their blinds and looked outside.

"Excuse me?"

"When Norris and I entered the Palace, he noticed that the Imperial Guard wasn't in charge."

"Strange, I'll speak with General Donner tonight," Anson planned. "He's probably decided on some weird rotation and the new ones are scaring the citizens away. He was never very good politically; I worked with him and Caleigh long enough to know he's just a military man that only sees things as black or white."

"Just like our Empress?"

"Lady Terra," Anson growled.

Terra chuckled. "I'm just teasing. But you still know it's true, even if she is the Supreme Commander of all the Imperial Armed Forces."

"Well, even if her perspective is decades old, she'll eventually grow more sensible after spending months with my advisors. At least she's intelligent enough to delegate her authority as needed. I can't imagine any other Emperor allowing the existence of a First Citizen figurehead, much less allow me to keep the authority of the position. This current arrangement with Empress Danielle is impressively-"

"-Progressive?" a teasing smile was on Terra's face.

Anson snorted. "Despite the Empress' predisposition for older, more traditional methods."

"She promised she would pass a subset of the Equality Act," Terra pointed out. "Between that and the success of the army at keeping the people warm and fed throughout the winter season, not to mention the campaigns aimed at pacifying the monster hoards from the Floating Continent, in addition to your economic and social reforms, I think we're doing pretty well. It's difficult to believe you two were once enemies, considering the amount of power you two share."

"Don't believe for a moment that civilian authority means anything," Anson quickly corrected. "At the end of the day, control of the military leads to control of the government. She may dispose of my services at anytime."

"That would be an incredible blunder. The citizens adore you and without your support, the Empire will crumble from within. You should be confident that the Empress would never move against you, especially since you're still popular with the Core garrisons. "

Anson sighed. "You would never think that considering how often she and Donner agree on military matters. Even Caleigh would have balked at the recklessness of her policies. We have manpower shortages due to the release of veterans and conscripts who have finished serving their time, so the Imperial Army is spread thinly maintaining order and keeping the Maverick in check. Yet she begins a new crusade to wipe out monster-kind!"

"I believe it's an excellent idea," Terra gestured widely as she explained her reasoning. "Over the winter months, even citizens in the Imperial Core were harassed by monsters -- to say nothing of those in the outer provinces. In one stroke, she keeps the army from idling and commanders from rebellious thoughts while keeping the peace. It's ingenious."

"It's cavalier and ill-advised, even if she's raising new soldiers to replace those we've lost. Between the cost of settling veterans and training new divisions... I've been verbally sparring with the Duke of Mansfield for several weeks now, but even I'm beginning to agree with him. We need the Armed Forces to stop spending as if it were still the Civil War."

Terra shook her head. "Unbelievable; you and the Duke of Mansfield?"

Anson laughed. "I've never been unreasonable. It's the Duke's sense of morality that runs counter to mine. Now that he's seeing the light, of course we would agree."

"You're so modest, Anson," Terra answered playfully. "Will Lord Mansfield-" she avoided addressing the Duke by his first name in order to prevent starting any rumours, "-be coming to Vector?"

Anson paused, tapping his finger against his lip as he reflected on the past. "Actually, I believe that he was scheduled to arrive this week, but that trip was cancelled; some sort of business of grand importance has developed in his home city," Anson shrugged.

"He was coming here?"

"To discuss Donner's settlement policies, as well as the recent shuffling of military positions. I'm surprised that he called it off," Anson remarked. "Still, I don't blame him. Donner is not one to change his mind, even if he's splitting the army apart with his reorganization. Regardless of the Empress's success, the Triskele Rebellion won't be the last."

"General Alysworth is out there though, so the campaign won't last very long. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"That the city of Vickers rose against the Empress is already enough. Exercising General Alysworth, Lilienthal's former executive officer and someone the Knights of Odin highly respected, was a stroke of genius though. But that kind of gesture only suppresses the rebellion; it fails to address the underlying issues."

"They take offence at the Empress and call her a pretender. Those aren't exactly deep-seated sociological problems that will set the countryside aflame with outrage, Anson."

"It runs much deeper than that, but I'll explain it another time."

"As you wish," Terra's eyes roved over an opened envelope from the typically independent Brigadier Cassidy. "I see that there is some trouble up in Tzen," she concluded.

"It's a forewarning about shipping routes," Anson answered as he searched through the piles in the center of the table. "Cassidy has kept every bit of news close to his chest; he's personally dealing with the matter. It's likely just hot-air and if not, bad news spreads of its own accord." He grinned triumphantly as he pulled out an envelope bearing the Imperial Emblem. The thick, red wax had an elaborately wrought seal pressed into it; impossible to forge.

It was an official message sent from the Empress' aides, if not penned by Danielle herself.

"What is this about?" Terra asked as she took it and broke the seal.

Anson smiled. "I have an idea, but I'll let the Empress's words speak for me."

As Terra read the parchment, her face became paler and her eyes wider with every sentence. When she finally put the letter down, her fingers were shaking.

"Well then, Duchess, how does it feel to be a Peer of the Realm?"

Terra cleared her throat and waved at an aide for some tea. She sank back into her chair, dazed. "I don't believe it," she whispered. "This was your idea, wasn't it?" she asked suspiciously.

Anson shook his head. "Like I said, the Empress is getting quite good at the political game herself, though still a little too blunt. It is, of course, the logical thing to do."

"There's no logic in giving me Remiel's estate!"

Anson laughed. "Of course there is. The Governor's holdings were extensive and the Empress could not show favouritism to any noble house. At the same time, she couldn't simply take or dissolve the peerages and expect the nobles to back her on either course. There's been enough division between herself and what remains of the House of Lords."

"So she's making me Remiel's heir?" Terra groaned. "This is insanity."

"This is the political reality," Anson corrected. "With the dissolution of so many houses due to the Civil War, consolidations of peerages have left a bitter taste in the mouths of all involved; especially after the Driscoll catastrophe. She gained a powerful ally, but the cost..." Anson sighed. "Anyhow, this was probably one of the easiest things for Danielle to do. The Duke of Mansfield enthusiastically supported the measure and with him, most of the nobility."

"And House Sandford?"

"That is an interesting story. Karen Alysworth -- of all people -- noted that you knew the Baron Sandford; I suppose that's a piece of trivia she picked up from Colonel Ferdinand, because there are certainly no official records suggesting anything of the sort. Since those holdings were minimal and the Baron also lacking heirs, giving it to you seemed the easiest way to avoid further outrage amongst the nobles."

Terra moaned. "Ridiculous, I barely knew Marcus."

"And yet you're on a first-name basis with the Baron," Anson teased. "You don't really have to worry. The estates are being taken care of, I've already gone over the details and assigned an aide to the task. It's just paperwork."

Terra let Danielle's letter slip out of her fingers. "So what am I supposed to be now?" she asked, confused by the proper treatment of the matter.

"Technically, while it's possible to claim the Governance, that would be impolitic. Instead, your title would be the Duchess Lilienthal."

Terra felt a little bit nauseous. "I'd prefer to not be called that. It doesn't sound right."

"That's perfectly acceptable. The Baroness Sandford is also available, or any number of other smaller peerages that once belonged to the late Governor. However, few that you meet on a day to day basis will address you as anything aside from Lady Terra and of course, as Sophis and an Avatar of the Goddess, you are far above mere Peers."

The pair thanked their aide as he delivered their pot of tea. Terra poured herself a steaming cup and tasted it. With a frown, she willed it lukewarm and finished her drink.

"You also have another letter from General Starson, carried by bird from the Wilds. That would be the fourth this month, no? My, what a blossoming friendship," he said teasingly.

Terra growled as she poured herself more tea. "It's not like that. We've just never had the time to catch up on everything that's happened over the fall and winter. As well, he's a Major-General now, so he felt it proper to use his privileges and keep in touch with politics of the capital."

"Of course," Anson was clearly unconvinced.

Terra rolled her eyes. "I would do the same if we were separated, Anson. There's too much to learn; I can't waste a moment. Anyhow, unless there's something about being the Sophis that forbids friendship..."

"Actually, I think one of the books might even suggest it would be desirable if you found a close companion," Anson handed over Farin's letter. "Though I am in no position to tell you otherwise -- you certainly are adhering to my suggestion of following your instincts -- I would humbly suggest someone just a mite younger."

Terra swiped Farin's letter out of Anson's hand, glaring at his stately visage with scorn.

"There is one last matter though, before I leave for this meeting with General Donner," Anson's playful grin faded away.

Terra had already opened the letter from her friend. "What is that, Anson?" she asked, suppressing the desire to read and listen at the same time.

"He's back from Callaghan."

Terra's eyes widened and she felt a shiver travel down her back. "What?" she whispered.

"I have it on good authority that he accompanied Colonel Ferdinand back to Vector, probably as an escort."

"Why wouldn't he get in touch with me? Did something happen? Is he hurt?"

Anson shook his head. "Sorry, but nothing seems amiss."

Terra's chest heaved. "Locke..." she whispered.

"I can arrange something," Anson pointed out, concerned by her worry. "So long as they're in the Empire, they serve me."

"No, it's alright. As long as he's safe, then I'm satisfied," she lied.

Anson looked skeptical. "Well, I'll make sure the guards won't hinder him. I'm sure he has a reason and when he's ready, he'll come by."

Terra nodded. "I hope so," she whispered.

-=-

Locke Cole rolled out of bed. He hit the floor with a crash, moaned in pain, and then got to his feet. He stumbled around, dizzy and certainly nauseous, and managed to pull on a clean shirt.

"Thank the Empress that the Colonel paid for an inn, instead of putting us up at the garrison," Stefan Malsbury's voice was a throaty growl that was punctuated by moans. He was the only one sitting in a chair, though his naked upper body laid across the table in the center of their room.

Locke grunted in acknowledgment as he sat across from the young Imperial Guardsman. The kid's red hair was ruffled, still dirty from the night before. He was unshaven and eyes bloodshot.

"I mean, if we were in the garrison, the Lieutenant would kill us all if the Master Sergeant didn't get us first."

"I believe I am a Lieutenant," came a rasp from the third bed in the room.

Locke chuckled. "Are you going to get up, Sherwood?"

"It's your turn to talk to the Colonel," he growled. "Now shut up before I start pulling rank on you rambunctious peons." Sherwood rolled onto his stomach and pulled the woollen covers over his head.

"How eloquent for a drunk-"

The door opened suddenly, without a knock. The three recovering men barely bothered looking up. Even if it was the Colonel, it was too late to do anything about it. They would be punished and that was that.

"Still suffering from last night I see," Anthony strolled into the room with a pitcher of foul-smelling stuff. He set the white and yellow emulsion in front of Stefan and Locke, the vapours causing both to retch. "You fools do realize it's past noon, right?"

Stefan pitched over the side of the table and started vomiting.

"Right," Anthony pointed at the pitcher. "Start drinking, this will ease the effects of all that ale."

Locke stared at the white liquid, eyes narrowing on the strange floating bits. "I'm good, thanks," he decided as he straightened up.

"Your eyes say otherwise," Anthony poured a glass and set it in front of Locke. "As the only qualified medic in this group of fine gentlemen -- who so bravely went ale for ale with some of the basest, most offensive-smelling lowlifes in our great capital -- I'm ordering you morons each to drink at least a glass of my father's secret remedy."

Locke eyed the flakes floating in a sea of white swirls and shuddered.

-=-

"Where's Stefan?" Locke asked as he leaned against a brand new street-lamp. His stomach still burned from Anthony's horrid concoction, but at least he managed to keep lunch down.

Sherwood readjusted his leather armor. "He's gone back to the field, his squad's out there and the Colonel's notice was only for half the day. Oh, and Anthony's taken one for the team and he's going to meet the Colonel for us."

Locke nodded. "That was one crazy night," he said, making small talk as he eyed the rebuilt streets of Vector. "Now where to?"

Sherwood grunted. "We're going to the Imperial Palace, even if I have to drag you there myself."

Locke's eyes narrowed. He folded his arms. "I don't remember-"

"They're my orders, not the Colonel's. I have a good feeling why you managed to outdrink me, and it's not because of any of your taunts."

"But I am a bigger man, dear Sherwood," Locke sneered, trying to cover up his anxiety.

Sherwood remained silent as a pair of girls forced their way past, both seemingly in a hurry. The two teenagers were giggling. "The First Citizen and Lady Terra will both be in the Throne Room today! We have to go! They're never there together!" one mentioned.

Locke's heart sank at mention of her name.

"Were you there for the opening of Imperial Way last month? They looked so great together, so regal beside the Empress!"

The two girls disappeared into the crowd and Sherwood pulled Locke along.

"Listen, Sherwood," Locke started.

"You're going to talk to Terra, and you're going to remove whatever wedge that's come between the two of you," Sherwood growled.

"Dammit Sherwood, I don't need you interfering with my life," Locke pulled his arm away from his friend.

Sherwood kept walking through the crowd. "You think I got this rank for no reason? I'm not an idiot, Locke. I know when something's wrong and I think I've been silent long enough. As your friend, I'm going to make sure you get over this mess, because after so many months, I know you're not going to do it without someone forcing the issue. I swear you take the most runabout way in order to accomplish anything! Now stop complaining, you've already drank enough for courage."

Locke opened his mouth, but was speechless. He stewed angrily for a moment as he followed Sherwood. "Damn mannerless Imperials," he grumbled at last.

"Still brainless," Sherwood sneered back.

The two men made their way through Vector, getting lost twice thanks to the twisting roads, but got ever closer to the Imperial Palace. It was hard to truly get lost in the capital; the palace and its colossal black walls were visible from practically anywhere. Had it been overcast and a fog settling in, perhaps the landmark would have been obscured. But it was a sunny day and the skies were a deep shade of blue.

At last they stopped in front of the gates. The grand archway stretched so high that it strained the neck to follow the walls upward.

"That's strange," Sherwood remarked.

"The gates are down," Locke looked around. Guards were on the other side of the gate, solid beams of iron between them and the rest of Vector. Locke waved at one of the soldiers, but they ignored him.

"I thought the Palace was open to the public," Sherwood mumbled.

Locke folded his arms. "Those girls passing by us seemed to imply they thought so as well. I don't see anyone lined up though."

Sherwood shook his head. "The gates are never down, even if the palace is closed. Supplicants always arrive to see the Empress. It's always been that way. It's not like they're lacking the manpower to patrol corridors that would actually be off-limits."

Locke frowned. "Do you think something's wrong?"

"I can't imagine it," Sherwood reasoned. "It's the Imperial Palace. There's a battalion on standby at all times and in addition to that, we've got the Home Division guarding Vector itself. And it's not like the army is sitting idly on its hands. We're still completely mobilized. Nothing gets through."

Locke still couldn't shake the weird feeling. "What if we're dealing with the Guild? They've been quiet for months now."

"That's because we've killed everyone that could possibly function as an infiltration team," Sherwood shook his head. "The Maverick's taken such horrendous casualties outside of his conventional forces, I can't imagine what he could try to accomplish."

"I can," Locke answered grimly.

"Still, there's no evidence that anything is wrong," Sherwood pointed out.

"That's never stopped us before," they shared a chuckle between close comrades. Locke shook his arms from side to side. "Let's go."

"Go? Go where?"

-=-

Terra was leaving the throne room, still astonished by the sheer lack of supplicants, and stewed over Farin's latest letter. He had succeeded of course; Farin's ability to lead was never in doubt. His latest mission was a simplistic, self-imposed exercise in patience; rebuilding those forward bases in the Wilds had been nothing more than a long and arduous task. But that was over and Farin was finally returning home to Tzen.

No, the problems he was having were of a moral contention and Terra wondered what advice she should give. Certainly he had a point; integrity was important and he had to adhere to his moral code. However, considering his rank it was disturbing at how easily he lost perspective.

"Ah!" Terra exclaimed. She waved at Anson and Pierce -- the long-haired Magitek Knight that was both a Loyalist and one of her staunchest bodyguards -- and quickly climbed down the short steps of the Marble Square.

"Lady Terra!" Anson's head was bowed ever so slightly. He grimaced as sunlight caught him in the eye and found solace beneath one of the great oaks. The other three bodyguards -- two Imperial Guardsmen and one in plain leather armor -- made themselves inconspicuous. "I was just looking for you. There's been a bit of a break in our research; I bring great news from the labs."

"What is it, Anson?" Terra asked. "Or more importantly, on what topic? Your people are working on so many things that I can't keep up. Even the summaries are too technical for me, though I guess I could just read them with a dictionary."

Anson opened a folder. "The head researcher has announced he has successfully duplicated the side-effects of those Floating Continent beams. The material coming out of that controlled environment, the black glass, is of incredible resiliency. We think that with a couple more generations of refinement, one could line it about a chamber and increase the heat contained-"

Terra frowned. "This doesn't sound all that interesting," she interrupted. "Or important for that matter."

"I'm sorry, it's just that this kind of breakthrough rarely happens," Anson excused himself. "I'm still a scientist, even if politics have distanced me from my calling. Such an advance in materials science will bring forth all sorts of improvements to existing machines, like higher-efficiency engines, and allows for the containment of vast amounts of energy gathered during-"

"That's fantastic," Terra interrupted. She pointed back at the throne room. "On another matter, did you speak with General Donner? There have been no supplicants today."

Anson's brow furrowed. "I did; yesterday. He said he didn't know anything about a new troop rotation but would address the problem soon. He thinks it's just some aide overstepping his bounds, but if it's important we could meet within the hour."

Terra nodded. "That would be best; I think we should both have a long chat with General Donner."

As she turned aside though, she felt something else. It was a subconscious vibe, an instinct that inundated her soul with trouble. Without reason, she held out her hands and let the power flow. Ripples of energy pulsed around her hands -- to what effect, even she was unsure -- and the air seemed to waver back and forth as she allowed the spell to gather form.

"Sophis?" Anson asked.

Pierce's sword was already out though, concern for the Sophis' mood being addressed immediately. The three guards with them also drew their weapons, polearms and blades readied.

"Brace yourself," Terra whispered.

A shockwave exploded forth, almost sending the magically-attuned Loyalists and their guards to the ground. But they remained standing and watched as the rippling air blasted down all the corridors of the palace. The oaks bellowed back and the many rows of flowers exploded in a shower of pedals.

Barely ten strides away, five men appeared out of thin air and were sent flying into the walls.

"Intruders!" Anson screamed. A fireball appeared in his hand as Pierce charged forth, muscles bulging as he swung. A trail of black-smoke followed the blade's path, white-hot flames swirling about the deadly weapon.

Terra growled as the feelings of trouble did not subside. "Once again they stealth themselves. Sound, sight, and magic, they're just getting better and better!" she glared down the hall as Pierce and another soldier cut into the off-balance intruders.

Then she felt it.

"The Shroud!" Terra screamed as she spun around.

Of the three soldiers with them, one was halfway upon her. His dagger dug into her shoulder, drawing a scream as Terra's spell vanished in the rush of pain.

The soldier sneered at her, but his eyes told another story that was filled with terror and sorrow. Terra's eyes watered as she glared back, not from pain but from rage.

He gasped, the life seeping from his eyes.

Terra's hands were warm. She looked down in confusion at her blood-soaked arm, her hand shaking as she twisted Farin's dagger with finality.

"Sophis!" Anson shouted. "Pierce, the alarm!"

Pierce cleaved the last man's head off, hungry crimson flames devouring what little flesh it could taste. The Magitek Knight shouted something back at Anson, but Terra was oblivious. Her hand was hurting and she glanced down to see white knuckles of a death grip around the bloody heirloom dagger. She slipped it back into the concealed sheath near her heart as her ears began to ring.

Terra stumbled to her knees. She covered her ears -- that damned noise! -- and wondered why the world seemed to be swimming. Gritting her teeth, she reached up and tore the knife from her shoulder.

Anson scrambled to her side, hands glowing with pulsating waves of azure haze. The warmth of his magic flooded her body as flesh began to mend.

"G-Guild," Terra managed to gasp. Her head was still spinning, but Anson's magic was clearing the cobwebs away. Yet something else was wrong. It was oddly difficult to breathe, and try as she might, her throat felt completely constricted.

A shrill, screeching horn began to blare. Pierce had finally raised the alarm.

"Sophis? What's wrong?" Anson asked.

Terra coughed, struggling to breathe. She opened her mouth with great effort, but barely managed a sound. Her other hand lifted the traitor's dagger.

"Hunter's Dreams," Anson whispered as he examined the thin layer of gauze. "Dammit!" he swore as he called to the Imperial Guardsmen with him. "I need a counter-agent, now!"

Terra blinked twice, focusing her inner strength as she willed herself back to her feet. The power within was stirring to life and she gave into it, providing the conduit it needed to manifest.

Nothing happened.

Terra tried to swear, but even that was impossible.

"Drink this," Anson handed her a small, glass bottle filled with a bluish liquid. "It's just a generic counter-poison so don't expect much, but it will keep the poison from affecting you any further until we get real medical attention. It's nothing to worry about, the traitor didn't have anything exotic and it can't possibly kill you."

Terra forced the foul liquid down her swollen throat. It went down slowly and she had to take small sips lest the liquid choke her.

Anson got to his feet as nearly three dozen additional guards arrived. There were well over a thousand soldiers within the confines of the Imperial Palace at all times, but at the moment, Terra found herself suspicious of many of the new faces. It seemed Anson was no different, he handpicked several soldiers -- all wearing the black trim of the Imperial Guard -- and they formed a barrier between her and everyone else.

"Pierce, we're getting out of the palace!" Anson growled.

The Magitek Knight led the way, his flaming-sword a beacon as dozens of soldiers fell into ranks behind the Magitek Knight. The sound of battle could be heard down the other wings of the palace, but they had been given very specific orders. They stormed as a phalanx through the wide corridors, collecting additional guards and encountering no resistance until...

The entrance to the Imperial Palace was wide-open.

A Magitek Armor toppled to the ground with a colossal tremor, the inside of the Aegis enclosure dripping with blood. Dozens of soldiers had been slaughtered, burnt to ash or blown off the high platform and down hundreds of steps. Several more Armors laid upon those marble stairs, their frames broken into several smoking pieces. Dozens of soldiers swarmed around the metallic hulks and advanced up the stairway.

Terra grabbed Anson by the back of his shirt, her face twisted with anger as she felt the maddening suffocation of the Shroud. He raised an arm and halted their forces.

Catherine -- her short blond-hair so unbecoming that one could mistake her for a man -- gripped her short sword with both hands. It glowed icy-blue as she slew two barbarians before being thrown backwards into the air. She landed in a heap in front of Pierce, the men of the Imperial Palace maintaining formation patiently.

Soldiers of the Empire did not give way. Especially not before the entrance of Imperial Palace, and certainly not when the First Citizen was amongst them!

To her credit, Catherine pulled herself up immediately. She wiped the blood off her mouth, dropping her cloak in the process. Her form-fitting dark-leather armor was bloody but the Magitek Knight seemed not to mind. Her off-hand reached not for the daggers or crossbow strapped to her back, but rather for her second short sword. As she drew the blade, it came alive with red-hot flames.

Terra's eyes narrowed as her mind pierced the gloom.

He wore the grey of the Guild, the first man reach the entrance of the Imperial Palace. Terra's stomach was a pit of fire, the heat rising from the depths of her soul when she saw his grey robes and white sash. He was in the center of that cancerous dark aura, the leader of this curse upon civilization.

The memory of Clarkson floated into her mind. Never again.

Terra pointed at him and willed his death.

"Seconds later and we would've been inside the palace," the Guild member scoffed arrogantly as he stood before the ranks of Imperial soldiers. He was oblivious of Terra's attempted and failed attack.

Behind him, dozens of the barbarian forces fell into ranks as four more grey-robed members of the Guild arrived at the front. "I have to hand it to you, that blasphemous false idol of yours is skilled with what few, pathetic abilities she has, Tilton."

The moustached man glared through the crowd of Palace guards and met the astonished face of the First Citizen.

"Jonathan," Anson whispered. "By the Goddess, what have you done?"

Terra turned to the First Citizen who had advanced a protective step in front of her. This could not have been a mere coincidence; Anson had never served in the army! He had befriended very few Magitek Knights before the Civil War.

"That would be Compatriot Caldwell to you, you insolent savage," their leader growled. "I have been blessed by the Patrician himself, given this Righteous and Holy Crusade to destroy your false prophet. You should be honoured that He would deem thee worthy of being cleansed by a Compatriot."

"You will not use that tone, you treacherous fool!" Anson pointed at Caldwell.

At first, it was imperceptible save to the finest Magitek Knights, but Terra not only sensed it, she recognized the deadly spell cast. She covered her eyes just before a flash of yellow light blinded everyone nearby.

Caldwell chuckled condescendingly as the light faded away. "That was the best you could do?" he sneered. "Perhaps even Enlightenment would be insufficient for you deluded fools!" His hands shot forth and he gritted his teeth... but nothing happened.

"You will find that your tricks of air do not work," Anson folded his arms. "If you think you can break the defenders of the Imperial Palace with your deceptions, you are truly insane."

The sneer vanished, though the scorn on Caldwell's face remained. "Arrogant to the end, Tilton," tendrils of electricity seemed to flow from his fingers, swirling around his body in concentric patterns. "Peers, fellow Enlightened, kill the savages."

The Guild Members were already in motion.

The clash of elements, fire, ice, air, water and lightning smashed into an equally powerful counter-wall, liquid magic splashing to the ground and exploding upon contact. Ripples of energy struck back and forth, breaking upon yellow auras and indiscriminately shearing flesh, bone, rock and steel. Twin beams of brilliant red light, blinding to the eye and nigh-inconceivable in heat, scorched through the line of soldiers and set them all aflame before a horrendous counter-blast of thunder tore flesh from bone.

As the Magitek Knights warred between each other, spells of brilliance and cascades of coloured lights concealing the deadly nature of that conflict, hundreds of traitors upon hundreds of steps charged into the storm of chaos. The stalwart, outnumbered soldiers of the Empire stood firm, rank upon rank, lowered their blades, and greeted their treacherous comrades the only way they knew how.

Terra felt someone pull her back through the collapsing ranks as she railed against the poison coursing through her veins. She screamed voicelessly in frustration as men died all about her, powerless to prevent the senseless slaughter, incapable of even protecting herself, much less exact vengeance for all that had fallen to these barbaric bastards! Blood splattered against the side of her face as one man's side burst apart, the burning fumes of her dying protectors entering her soul.

She couldn't see the bullrush of the Maverick's men, but she felt that accursed darkness. It was a scourge upon the world, a pestilence in the fabric of existence. The white sheen invaded the corners of her vision; seraphic powers swirled about her, but try as she might, they slipped from her grasp.

Damn the Guild!

The stairs began to collapse, the walls melted and the roof above them shattered from the force of magic. Soldiers stood their ground, filling the gaps as the friends before them exploded in a spray of blood, crushed by the falling structure, or pierced by plain old steel. Through all the screams of rage, pain, and death thundering upon the footsteps of the Imperial Palace, one cry pierced through the bloodbath.

"Glory to the Empire!" Anson Tilton, First Citizen, held aloft a double-bladed dagger dripping with gore. A ball of fire twice height rotated above him, crimson flames swirling with need.

With a thundering cry of battle, the defenders of the Imperial Palace charged forward, blades piercing and shields bashing against the wall of treacherous flesh, even as spells were exchanged that tore reality apart and threatened to destroy them all.

The battle had just begun.

-=-

Locke and Sherwood charged through an iron door that had been long forgotten, even in the recent days when so much of Vector had been closely examined, redesigned, and then rebuilt. What silence there had been in the deep places beneath the Imperial Palace had been broken by the screams of the dying.

Upon the catwalks that surrounded the center of the Empire, with the backdrop of a rebuilt, peaceful Vector that had no idea that its palace was under attack, the two men's footsteps were a steady rumble as they dashed around the periphery.

Locke stumbled.

Sherwood immediately dropped to a crouch, crossbows defending the two men as Locke pulled himself back up. "What happened?" he asked once he was sure they were not under attack.

Locke shook his head. "I'm not sure, I just feel... sluggish."

Sherwood eyed his partner. "If it's the alcohol-"

"No," Locke straightened. He stared suspiciously at his hand as he rotated his arm. His shoulder ached. "It's just a passing feeling," he lied. "I'm fine."

"Good, we can't afford-"

"Let's go already!" Locke interrupted. They couldn't afford to delay any longer!

The entrance to the Palace was rubble, platforms barely standing as the foundations had been blown apart and structural pillars were teetering from side to side. The gap between the catwalks and the entrance platform was easily two men across, and the fall was most definitely fatal. The majestic marble stairway had collapsed on itself, so hot that it had become red, angry molten lava. The huge multi-ton doors had been blown from their hinges and tossed aside like their smaller, wooden cousins.

The two archers drew their bows.

"We should relieve the gate," Sherwood remarked as they saw the eerily familiar scene. Hundreds of dead soldiers laid amongst the rubble, most bodies an unidentifiable mass of blackened flesh, and there were several Magitek Armors torn to pieces. The flags of the Imperial Emblem were burning still, thick knots of black smoke rising into the clear sky.

"There's no way to get down there and then get back up" Locke pointed out. He rolled his stiff shoulder. "Anyways, the burning flags should draw plenty of attention."

Sherwood nodded. He glanced around nervously. "A Guild attack for sure," he grumbled as he examined the bodies from afar. Fire, ice, the scorching marks that both knew belonged to lightning spells, and there were even corpses that had been torn apart, limbs flying everywhere with only a splatter of blood to mark the killing blow.

An arrow shot forth and split a soldier's skull in half. The surprised target collapsed in a growing pool of blood, dead beside one of the broken doors.

Locke shook his hands from side to side and then drew another arrow. "Questions later."

Sherwood was already jumping across the gap, taking advantage of Locke's cover. He rolled to his feet and returned the favour for his partner. Now they were before the entrance of the Imperial Palace, in terrible moods and grimly determined.

The two men charged inside, nocked bows sweeping side to side as each scanned for any sign of the enemy. The polished graphite of the lobby was slick with blood, bodies everywhere and spells from the magical warfare still alive; unnatural fires were actually devouring solid stone. The walls were rent apart, slashed by blades or blown to rubble. Several columns and many marble statues had been shattered. It seemed that a few soldiers had been thrown with such force that their crippled bodies actually broke through stone pillars.

They continued forward, wading around, over and through the sea of corpses without a glance downward. Judging by how the fallen were bunched up in waves, there wasn't much doubt that a fighting retreat had been underway.

A retreat into the palace; the invaders were winning.

Noting the number of holes in the walls, still molten pools of metal, shattered stone and outlines of men burnt into the floor, Locke knew that the Guild had gone all-out this time. His knuckles were white around his bow shaft as his boots sank into the blood-soaked carpets.

The pair approached the Marble Square where both men could see the vanguard left behind by the enemy: a single squadron of soldiers, several wounded and the others too fatigued to continue. It was a pitiful team that should have already been attrited. They leaned against the huge beheaded centerpiece or rested beneath the oaks; hiding from the light of the sun.

Locke and Sherwood rained arrows upon their enemy, striking four before the rest dived behind the desecrated statue. The two men proceeded forward and followed an unspoken plan. They took cover behind support pillars and advanced one at a time, the other maintaining guard. Six more barbarians were down before Locke and Sherwood exchanged a deadly look.

Twin crossbows revealed as sleeves were pulled back. The two men charged deep into their foes and into the sunlight, the tips of their arrows shining as bowstrings were drawn back. Two more fell and bolts maimed the rest. Both replaced their bows calmly even as the few soldiers remaining charged with pointed blades. Daggers flew forth and embedded into those still standing, and then Sherwood picked up an axe and hacked one that had managed to resist the poison of their crossbow bolts.

Reloads were made quickly, professionally. Never once was either man defenceless without the other's cover. They confirmed their kills and exchanged another look.

The Throne Room, of course.

-=-

Blood-soaked grey robes collapsed to the ground, his head on the other side of the room and his throat aflame. The cadaver hit the lush, crimson carpet and sprawled out. One arm had been frozen stiff, so brittle that it shattered upon hitting the soft, velvet embroidery of the Imperial Emblem. Blood poured out of the former-Magitek Knight's body and leaked all over the black symbol of the Empire.

Pierce's sword was all that was between him and an entire squad of barbarians.

Terra screamed voicelessly as Anson ducked beneath an errant arrow. The Starson dagger took yet another life and Terra stumbled over the corpse. An Imperial Guardsmen reached out and caught her. Her saviour's eyes went wide and blood bubbled out of his mouth.

Anson pulled her aside as he threw a ball of fire into their closest pursuer. He spun towards her, his eyes wide with panic. "The Throne, please!" he shouted breathlessly. His double-bladed dagger dripped with blood as he directed the two men around him -- his last personal escorts -- towards the throne. "You two, the stairs with your lives!"

Terra knew what Anson was going to do. He was going to have her hide behind the Throne, raised and secured from the rest of the room. There she would be safe, behind barriers of magic and secured behind the only remaining chokepoint, while Anson and his men fought a hopeless battle along the stairs.

And she could do nothing to help.

Gritting her teeth in rage, she reluctantly climbed the stairs as both Imperial Guardsmen took their places. There was a moment of resistance -- the air itself was thicker than normal -- and then she found herself before the Throne. Her eyes turned back towards the battle.

They had failed to stop the Guild at the entrance, and what few soldiers had reinforced their position at the Marble Square were insignificant compared to those that joined with the barbarians. From the eastern and western wings came over forty more to Compatriot Caldwell's aid, amongst them an additional four wearing grey robes.

The gates to the Throne Room had been breached by columns of fire, melting a hole through a foot of solid iron. Those loyal and still standing had done the best they could, totally outnumbered and outmatched. Soldiers were blasted through support beams, statues, and even walls.

There were few allies left. In the center, Catherine and two soldiers were surrounded by three grey robes and over a dozen barbarians. To the side, Pierce was alone against a squad of brown-leathers. He danced around the marble supports with his flaming longsword.

Pierce!

Terra tried to scream a warning at him, the long-haired Magitek Knight winded and no longer paying attention to his surroundings. He backed into a pillar, the surprise enough that his blade was knocked aside by a dangerous blow. The white-hot metal deeply embedded itself into more white marble, and then three leather-armored men of the Maverick's pounced on him.

No!

Anson charged from the stairs as Catherine's escort fell. She was surrounded now, with the leader -- Caldwell -- directing lightning bolts into her sickly shield. The carpeted floor burst aflame about her, the yellow hue barely resisting enough energy to keep her alive.

The First Citizen was only seconds from Catherine when he screamed in pain. He flew backwards against his will, but managed to land upright. His double-bladed dagger parried a blow to his spine, and then Anson slew one of the few grunts still standing.

Divide and conquer, Terra's eyes widened when she saw two of the three remaining Guild Members approach Anson.

They were all going to die.

The dozen that had killed Pierce charged up the stairs. Near the bottom, it was as wide as the room but as one climbed, the steps became narrower until there was barely enough space for three men to stand abreast. It was there that Terra's guards stood; two were all that remained to protect her and though they fought with passion, the result was already evident.

Yet with her own death moments away, Terra wanted nothing more than to dive into the thick of battle and tear the enemy apart with her own hands. She thought of nothing but killing the insolent Guild Members that dared strike at them -- the enemy she had ignored for the last three months!

Her hand shot out, her eyes rolling back into her skull as Terra tried again to cast. It was like drawing breath underwater! She collapsed to the ground, gasping from effort, and voicelessly screamed in frustration.

-=-

Anson knew the odds. He also knew that the Guild was fighting against the clock. They might have managed to sneak into the Palace with their tricks, but they were ultimately outnumbered and surprise long since worn off. His own protective cordon had been slaughtered to the last man but not without a fight! He might have been all that stood between two grey-robes and the Sophis, but Catherine still fought on and the enemy had dwindled to perhaps two-dozen.

"Anson," the Guild Member on his left spoke. "Step aside. We're not here for you, but for that false idol behind you."

Anson stood his ground, constantly surrounded by a yellow-hue for spells were still being exchanged; though none were visibly destructive. "Michael," he shook his head. "You were never a traitor."

"Peer Michael," the former-Magitek Knight corrected. "And you wouldn't understand, not until we show you! Not until you meet him! Please Anson, the offer's still on the table. No matter what Compatriot Caldwell says, the Patrician has always wanted you to join us!"

"Show me what?"

"The error of your ways," was the response. "You're protecting a beast that will destroy us all. She's no Avatar, but a crime against nature."

Anson scoffed. "You were never a believer; the only person you ever followed was Emperor Gestahl. You can't imagine why I follow the Sophis' lead."

"Oh, but we do know about your Sophis and even your secretive, tiny little sect of Loyalists," Michael folded his arms. "We know everything you know, and more! We have been visited, Anson! The Counsellor has returned to us and has shown us the future. She-" a misshapen finger pointed at the Sophis, "-will plunge the world into darkness, and so will this Empire! Only through Enlightenment will humanity be saved from another War of the Magi."

"The Counsellor?"

"The true Avatar; not this mixed-blood aberration," Michael grinned. "The Gods are returning! And we, the Enlightened, are destined to welcome them from their slumber! Join us, Anson!"

Anson quickly looked back. She had collapsed to her knees, the poison attacking her body from within. Yet still, she was watching them. Her eyes took in everything, committing all to memory and never forgetting those who sacrificed for her life. There was nothing there but the desire to help others.

She was his Purpose.

Anson's teeth ground against each other as he saw the squad that swarmed the stairs to the Throne. He had to take a chance.

The one on his right took an aggressive step forward. The Guild Member's hands were aflame, blue-white fire obscuring what flesh there was. His eyes were hooded, but there was no mistaking the stone-face beneath. "Enough talk," he said condescendingly. "This is your last chance, savage. You will join us, or-" the man stumbled forward, coughing.

"Corian?" Michael turned to his fellow Guild Member.

Anson slammed his dagger through Michael's temple. With a final word, he jumped back just as the wound began to glow.

Fire erupted around the bleeding flesh and seared the former-Magitek Knight's face. Michael toppled over at the same time as his stone-faced partner collapsed to the ground, red steam escaping Corian's mouth as his insides evaporated.

Anson muttered a prayer of thanks for their over-confidence as Catherine nearly backed into him. Her hands were out, shield visibly wavering as pulsating waves of electricity washed over her.

He saw the crossbow still strapped to her back, miraculously still in one piece. Without a second thought, he ripped it from her dark leather armor. "Catherine!" he shouted as he combined his power with hers.

The lightning bolts split apart as their united shield hardened against the onslaught. Tendrils of blinding light smashed into the walls and shorn them in half. The palace roof shook as many of its supports were shattered.

Catherine tore at her belt and tossed the bolts to him. He caught two, the rest rolling aside and bursting aflame the moment they left the protective aura of their spells.

"Anson you deluded fool! You can't save the bitch!" Caldwell screamed. The lightning stopped and the remaining dozen men charged.

Catherine met the closest with her dagger, both short swords long since lost in the chaotic retreat. Anson scrambled to load the crossbow, swearing as the mechanism seemed reluctant to pry apart like it always did. With a groan, he snapped the bolt into place and pointed at the mass of men.

The bolt slammed through the leather armor of a nameless, faceless man in the midst of the dozen. It flashed blood-red and then an explosion rocked the Throne Room. A fireball incinerated their enemies before they could scream, and a ring of expanding flame consumed the rest.

Caldwell charged forward through the flames, his cry of anger bringing a smile to Anson's face. Anson reloaded the crossbow as quick as he could. He heard Catherine cry out, but ignored it and instead turned to the Throne.

The men upon the steps were too widely spread apart to kill with one shot. They had cautiously advanced, killing one of two remaining Imperial Guardsmen without letting their emotions get the best of them.

And still the Sophis only watched him; her only concern was for his well-being.

No choice.

Anson's crossbow pointed directly at the Sophis.

She did not even blink.

A green wall shimmered, catching the bolt in the air just inches from the Sophis' face. And then the small, gliphed projectile exploded into flames, reflecting back down the stairs and consuming all in its path.

Anson spun back around.

Catherine groaned, pitching forward with her abdomen split open. She sprawled face-first upon the bloody Imperial Emblem centered in the Throne Room, clutching at her bleeding midsection.

Compatriot Caldwell, moustache singed but otherwise healthy, stood over her. His face was a mask of rage. "Just delaying the inevitable, Anson!" he shouted.

With a wave of the hand, a shockwave blasted towards the throne. The ripple in the air -- distorting the images behind -- melted the ceiling, floor, and walls as it slammed into twin green hues. The reflected magic tore into his rear, Anson groaning as the spell threatened to break him on two fronts. He focused on the image of his Sophis and with a moan, he dissipated the superheated volleys of air.

"Very well," Caldwell's lip twisted. "I will enjoy tearing you apart, and then killing the bitch with my own two hands."

Anson did not have to look back. He knew the Sophis still stood her ground, defenceless thanks to treachery but her spirit as strong as ever.

"You're a fool, Jonathan," Anson brought his double-bladed dagger out. A bead of sweat ran down his neck. "This Guild will fall; it's just a matter of time now."

Caldwell laughed. "The Gods are on our side, you ignorant savage."

Anson's blade pointed at the Guild Compatriot, the crimson sheen coalescing into drops of blood. "Of course, which is why you now face me, your equal in spells and a man whose martial skills defeated Hector Caleigh." He blinked away the sweat that had fallen into his eyes. "I hope getting a dozen of our brothers killed was worth it, Jonathan.

"A Holy Crusade is never without loss. This is but a test of our resolve, our belief in what is True and Just. My fellow Peers knew the risks," the air about Caldwell's hands seem to distort, a wickedly curved cutlass seeming to float in his hands. "It is unfortunate that you will not see how truly deluded you are, for when the Statues shatter and the Gods return, then you will know humility."

Twin spells collided, energy between them splitting upon defensive yellow hued-shields and shattering the metallic floor into thousands of pieces. Sparks flew and corpses caught aflame, and then the two Magitek Knights were upon each other, blade against blade, will against will.

Faith against faith.

-=-

Locke's dull-black dagger rammed into the heavy-set, walking armoury that had attempted to accost him. The soldier collapsed to the ground, his plate armor clattering as the corpse rolled aside.

These men were elite -- he flexed his back, still warm and probably charred from a blast of flame -- and incredibly dangerous! His arm shuddered as he pressed down on the trigger, a bolt embedded squarely between the eyes of the last Guild Member.

Their numbers were unbelievable. Locke never knew so many Magitek Knights existed, much less opposing the Empire and managing to sneak into the Imperial Palace!

"Sherwood!" he exclaimed.

The archer leaned against the wall, his arm a mass of blood. Leather armor had been torn to shreds, shoulder guard ripped aside and a lengthy cut travelling down his bicep.

Locke put his knives aside. "How did you get caught with your pants down?" he asked as he pulled out bandages from his pack.

"Damn grey-robed bastard had a dagger hidden, by magic I guess," Sherwood moaned as he slid down the wall. He could barely sit upright, cursing all the while as Locke tightened the bandages. "Forget me, I'll be fine."

"Shut up, a cut to the arm and you're falling all over yourself. You look like you're dying."

"I can't feel my legs," Sherwood muttered. He groaned again as pressure was applied to his wound. "Dammit Locke, forget it! Just get to the Throne Room. These bastards chased us down so desperately..."

Locke stood. "Fine," he said, knowing his partner was right. "You clean up that wound fast! I need you to watch my back." He waited for the nod and with one last look at his wounded friend, dashed down the hall.

He could hear the explosions coming from the Throne Room. The entire hallway was vibrating from magical combat. Locke's heart pumped as he reloaded his crossbows on the fly. His legs felt like they would give out, they were stiff and he didn't understand why. Sweat ran down his brow as he struggled to keep up his pace.

They were going after Terra again. Locke swore. In the Imperial Palace, of all places! Was there no place in the world where she would be safe? What did he have to do to ensure her security?

This had to be treachery. Someone on the inside had to have let the Maverick and his damned Guild in.

Locke knew he was panicking. His headlong rush was reckless but he couldn't seem to calm himself down. His legs felt like they would stop moving if he gave them the chance, so Locke simply ignored the burning sensation in all his muscles.

The iron doors of the Throne Room were no longer, melted into pools of metal that had already cooled down and hardened. His heart skipped a beat and the phantom wound upon his chest grew painful. Without any regard for his own safety, Locke drew his bow on the fly and jumped through the rubble.

Across the sea of corpses, Terra was by the throne on her knees. His heart jumped, seeing her again for the first time in months. She was mostly unharmed; her tunic was torn near the shoulder, she was covered with blood that could not be hers, yet she still an angelic presence. The anguish on her face made him ache.

Locke felt the pressure lift from his shoulders when his eyes noted the haze of energy protecting her. Bless the designers of the Throne Room! His attention turned to the center of the chamber.

Anson Tilton and some moustached Guild Member tore each other apart, the very ground beneath them breaking apart as they battled. Already the metallic plating had been shorn aside, their footing careless upon steel beams that had once supported the floor. Chaos was their duel; ripples of heat, shockwaves of air, prismatic blasts of light scattering with deadly consequences. Their spells did battle independently as their blades were a blur; the very atmosphere liquefying around them.

"You can't win this, Anson!"

Locke raised his bow. His eyes locked on the Guild Member; waiting, tracking, learning-

"The Gods are with me!"

-predicting.

Anson was losing. Of the two Magitek Knights, he was more injured, more exerted, more desperate. His technique was awkward and he was being steadily overwhelmed by both steel and spell. It was clear that he was untrained with a blade and the only thing that actually kept him alive was his magic. Locke knew he had to get involved before Anson fell behind in the battle of spells.

But the two men were too close to each other for Locke to fire, and many obstacles were between him and the target anyhow. Locke remained patient as blow after blow sent Anson ever closer to the edge. Locke repositioned himself and waited for the perfect moment.

An errant blast of air shattered a stone pillar and with it, a section of the roof collapsed. Anson was caught between it and grey-robes. A chunk of stone slammed into his shoulder.

The Guild Member was already over-extended but thrust with his off-hand anyhow.

"Die," Locke whispered as he let go of the drawstring.

Against all odds, a single, fragile wooden arrow shot through the layers of magic and waves of energy. The Guild Member, though totally off-balance, still twisted aside at the last second, cutlass in one hand and dagger in the other. He teetered forward on one foot, his moustached face staring at Locke in disbelief and horror.

Anson's blade severed his head.

Before the corpse hit the steel girders, two poisoned crossbolts plunged into neck and chest. The dead Guild Member crumpled onto the metal supports and then toppled below.

Locke reloaded his crossbows as he strode across the narrow beams. The fall was not far, perhaps three stories, but still dangerous.

"First Citizen," Locke said, ignoring the numbing sensations throughout his body. His eyes, however, connected with Terra beside the throne.

Anson's chest heaved. He was covered with ash, sweat and blood. He slammed his dual-bladed polearm into the ground and carefully leaned on it, knuckles a ghostly white from the vicious death-grip. "Locke Cole?" he asked with a pained gasp.

With great effort, Locke tore his gaze from Terra. "Yes. Are you alright?" it was worrisome that the man would lean on a double-bladed weapon for support.

"I've been better," Anson groaned. He took a deep breath, arm clutching his chest. "I need you to leave the Throne Room, get to the Marble Square and establish a protective cordon from there."

Locke frowned. "I would think it best-"

"Where are the rest of your men?" Anson interrupted. He cursed when Locke shook his head. "The Sophis is poisoned! I need a medic now! I will not risk moving her across this broken floor."

Locke's legs threatened to give way. "Poison?"

"Hunter's Dreams, a mixture of scutellaria and some sort of antispasmodic; they'll know what it is. Just find me a medic!"

Locke found himself running from the Throne Room without any further questions. He charged towards the Marble Square, his heart beating twice as hard.

Poison?

Damn the Guild!

Never had the Imperial Palace seemed so big; its corridors were endlessly long. He dipped his head and charged mindlessly. Suddenly, his eyes snapped up. Two arrows almost hit him as he skidded to a halt. The red, blood-soaked carpet was deceptively slippery, but his dive to the ground saved him. He felt something solid but invisible pass by his head as he hit his knees. Locke brought his arm up, pulling back his sleeve to ensure a clear shot.

"Hold fire! That's one of mine!"

A sight for sore-eyes, Colonel Norris Ferdinand stormed down the corridor with dozens of Imperial Guardsmen behind. Never had the image of the old Magitek Knight brought such an unrestrained smile to Locke's face, but Norris was bottled rage.

"If you're one of the traitors as well, I swear I'll personally scatter your limbs to the ends of the world!" Norris growled as he advanced menacingly.

"Not a chance Colonel!" Locke stumbled to his feet. "We need a medic! Terra's poisoned!"

The Imperial Guardsmen had formed three rows behind the old Magitek Knight and further back, Locke could see them defending the Marble Square. There were several out of formation along the walls and Locke suddenly realized he had ran all the way back to Sherwood. His friend lay collapsed against one wall; someone was tending to his injury.

"Hostiles?" Norris snapped; his priorities straight.

"None remaining, the First Citizen dealt with the last of the Guild in the Throne Room."

"Anthony!" Norris called for a medic now. He pointed at one of the Imperial Guardsmen. "You five, to the Throne Room!" He looked back at Locke. "What manner of poison?"

"Anson said something about Hunter's and skulleria-"

"Scutellaria. That's not lethal," Norris sighed with relief. "Alright. Locke, take two squads down the eastern wing. I'll command from the Marble Square, but I need someone I can trust to take care of these errant Magitek Knights. I want you to eradicate anyone that even blinks at you the wrong way. I don't care who they claim they are!"

Locke glanced back towards the throne room. His heart ached.

"And find me General Donner!" Norris growled. "If he's not already dead, I swear I'll personally make him answer for every single man we've lost today! The Imperial Palace of all places, dammit all to hell!"

"Colonel!" a familiar voice shouted. Anthony broke through the wall of Imperial Guardsmen.

"Anthony, Terra's been poisoned by scutellaria or something similar -- the First Citizen has the details.Take care of it. We'll need her expertise immediately," Norris ordered.

"Sir," Anthony gestured backwards. "That's not lethal and there's something else."

Locke blinked. Shivers travelled down his spine as he suddenly made the connection. "Anthony, Sherwood-!" he began.

Anthony's eyes snapped towards Locke. "That's the problem."

"He's poisoned, isn't he?" Locke reasoned.

Anthony nodded. "It's a deadly one and he's not alone. There are a number of other cases; nothing as benign as scutellaria. I need to be back-"

"Then get back there!" Norris barked.

"Sir!" Anthony hurried back through the crowd, leaving the Imperial Guardsmen standing escort shifting their feet awkwardly.

Norris turned back to Locke, a dark look on his face. "Locke, get to the east wing now! And if you can, try to keep one of the Guild alive. I want to know what this poison is."

Locke nodded grimly. "He might be hurt though," he warned.

"Just make sure he can still talk."

-=-

Terra's chest heaved in surprise as Anson strolled up the stairs to the Imperial Throne.

Not only had Locke saved her, but Anson as well!

She blinked away tears, surprised at how quickly her heart was pounding. She wiped her eyes with a bloody glove, willing her body to obey her. Her legs were still numb and standing was beyond her power, but slowly the poison was retreating.

Damn the Guild! So many had paid for her mistaken priorities.

Moments after the poison had destroyed her ability to speak, she had learned to breathe slowly but forcefully. It was the only way to avoid choking herself; hardly any air could get into her lungs. Now she calmed herself again, pushing aside the gallant image of Locke charging through the doors of the Throne Room with his bow out, and waited as patiently as she could.

Anson stepped past the body of an Imperial Guardsman, the other had been burnt to ash but this one fell early and behind the shield. In one hand was his bloody double-bladed dagger, the other was across his chest. He was breathing heavily.

"They are all dead, Sophis," he gasped.

Terra felt shivers run down her back. Something was wrong.

Anson blinked away the sweat collecting above his eyes. "Your friend will be back with a medic. The poison is nothing to fear," he coughed. "The traitor probably managed to sneak it into the palace because it's so common."

There was a strange aura about him. Something was desperately wrong.

Anson stumbled forward, almost pitching into her. She could not move aside, but he caught his balance at the last moment. His dagger clattered to the ground.

Droplets of blood trickled onto it.

Anson!

With both hands stretched out for balance, Terra could clearly see the vicious tear in Anson's leather armor. Something had caught him across the chest and blood poured from the deep wound.

Anson quickly covered his chest again. He stumbled around her and with trembling knees, fell onto the Throne.

Terra's eyes were wild. Her feet moved forward, dragging across the floor as she willed herself to his side. She had to heal him. She had to stop the bleeding. She had to stop him from dying!

Anson rolled onto his back, slouched upon the plush Imperial Throne. He looked up at her, brown eyes staring into the depths of her soul. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "Sophis. I couldn't stop them... from hurting you."

Tears fell down her face as she reached the side of the throne. Her hand clasped his and despite sheer willpower, no magic came to her aid. Energy swirled about her almost teasingly, just outside of her grasp, but she was unable to command it.

She could not heal him.

"Listen closely," Anson whispered as blood began to run down the arm on his chest. "The Guild carried poisoned daggers, ones they wouldn't use in battle because they were specially spelled. I-" he coughed, "-was swiped by the last. You can feel it, can't you?"

Terra closed her eyes. No, she couldn't. She couldn't feel anything.

"Magic..." Anson gasped. His hand fell to the side of the throne.

Terra's eyes snapped open. No! Anson! Hold on! Locke was coming back, and with him, at least Norris. He could heal you. Just hang on!

He glanced back up and stared at her adoringly, reverent even in the end. "I believe in you," Anson's voice was no less than a whisper now. "You are the chosen, a messenger from the Gods. You will bring a peaceful world, free of all the ills..." His voice failed him.

Terra's hand gripped his even harder. Anson, stay with me!

"You will spread kindness, to save us all..."

I don't know what to do!

"-is just a stepping stone, a compromise. Danielle can't lead-" his head drooped to the side as he coughed up blood. "You will lead!" he commanded with redoubled strength.

I don't even know where to start! I've made so many mistakes even with your guidance, how can I do it alone?

"-never did I think I could lead a goddess down her path..." he chuckled at his own joke. His eyes lolled back, his head against the back of the Imperial Throne. Lifeblood ran down the ruling chair of the Empire. His chest heaved deeply; a strong, defiant breath.

"Follow your heart," Anson said. "You must lead us! Promise me that you will never give up for your vision of a beautiful world!" he gripped her hand now. "Please!"

But I can't do it without you!

Unnumbered tears ran down her face even as she nodded breathlessly. Somehow, she knew that Imperial Guardsmen had arrived. But it was far, far too late. She gazed into his adoring eyes.

I promise, Anson.

Hundreds of corpses laid around a ruined Imperial Throne Room, the palace itself wounded from the vicious attack. A drained, exhausted half-Esper gingerly clutched his hand. Tears flowed freely, falling to the ground and mixing with lifeblood.

With his broken body draped across the Imperial Throne, First Citizen Anson Tilton passed away.

Visions of Peace will be continued in The Twentieth Chapter - Outbreak

The Twentieth Chapter - Outbreak

Edgar frowned. "Excuse me?"

The old soldier prodded his hat ever so slightly upward, revealing a pair of strained eyes. "I'm afraid that I just received orders that no one -- not even Your Highness -- may leave the premises," he answered.

"This is outrageous!" Edgar gestured towards the tall, iron gates of the Mansfield residence. "I refuse to be treated like a prisoner and demand an explanation."

A half-hearted shrug was the only response Edgar received. Long since dulled to the resentment of pompous nobility, the guard turned back to his view of the city, relaxing against walls of solid stone and returning to his statue-like role.

Edgar stormed back to the Duke's estate. First the Empress had kept them waiting for days even after they arrived in Mansfield, then their meeting had been cancelled until further notice. Now, his access to the city was being revoked. It was infuriating! Their excuses were benign and while Banon had counselled against action -- it would make them seem rather petty -- Edgar swore there was some manner of maliciousness involved.

Well-maintained cobblestone led to a great mansion -- worthy of a family who had founded one of the core cities of the Empire -- but Edgar had seen better in his lifetime and was thoroughly unimpressed. He passed the courtyard and its vast gardens, waited for a servant to open a pair of finely carved wooden doors, and entered the Duke's house. He waved at Banon and Strago, the pair were busying themselves with the Duke's selection of fine books.

Led by the sound of victorious cries and desperate panting, Edgar waltzed into a large, open chamber whose periphery was decorated with the weapons of the ages. Many were historical artifacts, an extensive collection of blades, polearms, shields and bows; Edgar had been hard-pressed to find even a single weapon of war that the Mansfields had not owned.

Aside from the latest advancements from Narshe, of course.

In the centre of the room, Cyan was sparring with one of Charles Mansfield's guards. Edgar recognized the stout soldier as the Captain, but even the leader of Mansfield's personal escort was unable to land a blow on the Knight of Doma. The two men were fencing -- a gentleman's sport -- and while steel tips were a blur between them and their footwork almost a sprint, Edgar noted with a sly smile that Cyan was not even sweating.

The Duke of Mansfield hovered over the edge of his seat with a childlike glimmer in his eyes. He shot to his feet and applauded fiercely when Cyan scored the third and final point of the match.

"Lord Mansfield," Edgar said as he joined in the applause.

"King Edgar!" Charles had a lop-sided, goofy grin on his face. "Sir Cyan is an incredible swordsman! Not since the days of my youth have I been so thoroughly impressed by any warrior. He has defeated every single one of my guards, and I would like to think that I employ only the finest."

Edgar chuckled politely. "And the rapier is not even his preferred blade."

"The knowledge of which only stokes my hunger!" Charles declared. "But I take it you are not here to watch your comrade trounce my personal escort?"

"That is most perceptive of your Lordship," Edgar acknowledged. A stinging rebuke was on the tip of his tongue just as Cyan neared.

"Sir Cyan! That was wonderful," Charles commended. "I must ask: would you do my humble servants a favour and teach them why exactly they were so easily defeated? It would bolster my confidence in these guards; their competence is rather suspect at the moment."

Cyan laughed equally politely; he was no stranger to nobles and their ilk. "As a personal favour to your Lordship, I would be delighted to assist."

Charles shook Cyan's hand. "I shall speak with the Captain, please excuse this interruption," he quickly scurried off.

"Seems he likes you," Edgar remarked.

"If either of us were worthy of such a statement, surely it is not I," Cyan remarked in a low, almost-snidely tone.

Edgar snorted. "Someone has to do it, and he's an interesting man."

"Nobles are manipulative individuals, it is hereditary. But I suppose it is hardly necessary to remind thee of vigilance."

"But you just did," Edgar winked.

Charles returned at that point. "Please," he gestured to the Captain standing dejectedly off to the side.

"With pleasure," Cyan said. "Your Lordship, King Edgar," he excused himself and stalked towards his latest student.

"I apologize for the interruption; I couldn't let such an opportunity slide. Please, you were saying?"

"No harm was done," Edgar waved aside the insignificant slight. "I was intending to investigate the commotion in the town square when I was turned away by your guards at the gate. Most peculiar behaviour, I'd say."

Charles immediately lost his good cheer. "So it is that. I had hoped you were objecting to feasting on duck again."

Edgar patted his stomach. "Your chefs are quite skilled, but I would deem such a squabble unworthy of either of our attentions."

Charles nodded. He gestured to one of his aides. "Two glasses," he commanded before turning his attention to serious matters. "I'm afraid, King Edgar, that you are not the only person unable to leave my humble estate. I am also a prisoner in my own house."

That was an unexpected revelation. Edgar kept the surprise off his face, thanking Charles' servant for the glass of red wine instead. "I must admit that was not the answer I expected, much less desired," he said before taking a sip.

Charles swirled the wine in his goblet. "Please, let us breathe some fresher air."

The two noblemen strolled through the vast corridors of the Mansfield household, up several flights of stairs and at last to a balcony overlooking the expanse that was the city of Mansfield. The house was mostly bare and empty; a lasting reminder of the Civil War. Anson Tilton, the Emperor at that time, had taken a page out of the darkest annals of history by proscribing his political foes. That their fortunes were plundered and their estates ransacked had been the least of the nobility's worries. Charles was the last of his family now, the rest were missing at best.

Edgar could only imagine the political chaos within the Empire at the moment. A new soldier-Empress, a government that composed of many that had recently opposed her, nobles still reeling from innumerable personal losses, in addition to all the instability caused by civil war. It was amazing that the Empire had even managed to reunite.

No amount of military force, not even the Empire's vast armies, could keep the peace amongst so many people. That the current Triskele Rebellion was the first of its kind suggested that Danielle had done well reuniting not just the military, but the people as well. In a conversation between himself and the Duke of Mansfield, Edgar recalled that Danielle had been quite forgiving after her coronation; her greatest political enemy, Anson Tilton, had been allowed to keep all his authority!

Edgar could see the brilliance behind such action, but only as long as Anson was truly loyal. That was unlikely, and the King of Figaro planned to widen whatever rift was already between those two.

Charles took a deep breath of the fresh, spring breeze. The Mansfield house sat atop a hill, and they were at the tallest point of that building, so their view was nothing less than spectacular. Edgar's eyes narrowed when he saw the masses of people gathered around the town square. They seemed to form a carpet that spread throughout the city, hundreds of thousands in the streets upon their knees. They were chanting something that Edgar could not make out; instead it was constant low rumble.

"Even here, in the city that my forefathers built," Charles said grimly as he watched the scene.

Edgar frowned. "What's going on? Why are so many people gathered on the streets like this? Don't they work?"

"That they do," Charles agreed. "But today is special and while I disapprove, I find myself powerless to prevent it."

"What exactly is this? It can't be commonplace."

"Indeed," Charles gestured towards the centre of his city. "Do you see that: the white figure towering over the rest?"

Edgar narrowed his eyes. "A statue?"

"Yes, do you remember seeing it during the tour of my city?"

He swirled the wine in his goblet from side to side. At last, he remembered. "I do believe it was a bust of the First Citizen, Anson Tilton."

"Your memory is impeccable," Charles acknowledged. "This-" he made a wide sweeping gesture, "-is a vigil for him."

"Excuse me?"

"First Citizen Anson Tilton is dead," Charles stated blankly. "He was murdered in the recent, vicious attack on the Imperial Palace by the Maverick's barbarians."

Edgar's eyes went wide. "What?"

"Indeed," Charles shook his head. "They snuck into the palace past those defending the capital like the cowardly dogs they are."

"Barbarians," Edgar agreed, shaking away the irony.

"These are dark times. I admit that despite our past disagreements, I have grudgingly grown to respect the man over these last few months. Mister Tilton was an intelligent, skillful administrator of whom the Empire will sorely miss. Without him and his gaggle of scholars, I doubt that the Empire could have regained even a tenth of her glory after the Empress took the throne. His loss has diminished us all."

Edgar rubbed his eyes in frustration. When he had first heard that Danielle allowed Anson to serve as her head administrator and de-facto civilian leader, it had been a miracle. It would not have been difficult to play the two off each other, achieving a permanent split between the military and the civilian leadership and perhaps weaken the Empire so that it could never go on the offensive again.

That had been a fantasy, but some of it might have been achievable. Not anymore though.

"This is terrible," Edgar whispered honestly.

Charles agreed, but not for the same reason. "If only I had pushed the late-Governor to continue his campaign beyond Actarian Bay, perhaps the Maverick might have been killed before the winter solstice. Instead he has struck twice at the heart of the Empire, that treacherous bastard!"

"How many have been lost?" Edgar asked. Terra and Locke were in Vector, were they not? He remembered Terrance had told him so.

"No one knows. But while detailed reports are still in writing, I doubt anyone else of prominence was murdered. Bad news has a way of travelling on its own."

Edgar shook his head in grim understanding. He hoped that Terra and Locke were safe, but did not wish to play his hand yet. "I suppose the additional security at the gates is for our own safety?" he turned back to the original subject. "Riots must be a great fear."

"It is an unintended benefit... King Edgar, I will be frank with you. I feel we are kindred spirits and though we are separated by a generation, our hopes and dreams are the same. I have worked tirelessly to protect my homeland from enemies, both foreign and domestic. I know you share a similar passion."

"We have a responsibility, Lord Mansfield," Edgar answered. "Many of noble birth believe in entitlement, that their upbringing binds their subjects to serve their will. Though that is true, it is hardly the entire truth. It is we who serve the people; men of power protecting those who cannot protect themselves."

"Well said!" Charles agreed. "Despite the fact that our homelands are not the same, our common nature cannot be denied. For that reason, I do believe you deserve to be notified of the coming storm," Charles turned to meet Edgar's gaze, the two noblemen judging each other's honesty and trustworthiness.

"And what is that?" Edgar asked, watching the gathering of thousands out of the corner of his eye.

"There are rumours -- dangerous rumours -- that something horrible is happening in Vector," Charles' voice dropped to a whisper. "They say the barbarian did not attack for the First Citizen but for a darker reason. My friends tell me that this-" he stressed the last word, "-is the reason why the Empress cannot be found, why her escort has disappeared and none know her location. The Empress is no coward. Yet she is giving orders from behind a curtain of deception."

Edgar's lips mashed against each other. "What is this danger?"

Charles looked around as if he expected anyone would be listening to them. None were, of course. "A plague," his voice was barely a whisper now. "A magical plague."

Shivers travelled down Edgar's spine. "Impossible," he whispered.

"My men are already preparing for our departure. You will come with us," Charles said. He gulped down the remainder of his wine. "We leave tonight."

"Lord Mansfield, are you sure?"

"No," Charles shook his head. "But I will not take the risk; I have seen what an outbreak of deadly malaise can do to a city; nine out every ten dead, corpses rotting upon the streets while those living are choked by the decay of the departed. I remember before the trains -- before quick transportation became commonplace -- and how quickly disease could travel. Now, with the advent of technology..." Charles fell silent.

Edgar had also dealt with such disaster before. A memory of the past returned, of a town stricken by a rotting disease in the remotest region of his Kingdom. He recalled the stench of death, a scene that rivalled even those of war. It had taken years before a cure could be developed, and even then it only worked if the disease had been caught in its earliest of stages.

That a plague could be magical...

"One does not live as long as I have and ignore the advice of his friends," Charles said at last. "Though I do not have solid proof, what I do know is that an incurable poison was used by the barbarian, striking down many in Vector. Those who did not die quick were sapped of life slowly and painfully. Now, scant days later, many are growing sick from disease without rhyme or reason. Not just the commoner, but those in high places. It is clear to me that this poison is spreading like a disease."

Charles' gestured to the west. "Vector is already contaminated and I fear a plague carrier will come here as well."

"An incurable poison that spreads?" Edgar couldn't believe it. He had encountered many wasting diseases in his life, and none had been incurable. "Even if it's not just a coincidence, surely Imperial Magi-Technology-"

"Not even the First Citizen has found a cure," Charles said meaningfully. "I will not risk it! We will leave tonight for the safety of the highlands. Do not worry, I will ensure that the Empress can contact you when the time is right. I give you my word on that."

Edgar nodded. "Very well-" he blinked. "Wait, First Citizen?" he echoed. "Anson Tilton is dead."

Charles glared at Edgar as if the answer was obvious. "Of course Mister Tilton is dead. But the Empress created his post because she did not have the time to keep control of the fractured armies and still lead the common man. That has not changed, and the Empress has wisely selected another First Citizen."

There was a palpable, growing sound of pride in his voice that Edgar caught. "Should I already know him?" he asked.

"Her," Charles corrected. "She is known by many titles, but you would know her as Lady Terra Branford."

Edgar's wine glass shattered on the stone balcony.

-=-

It was another riot.

Locke Cole averted his eyes, drew his hood over his head, and turned at the nearest corner. His feet quickened their pace upon dark-stone roads; what trail he left behind was washed away by the pouring rain.

A trio of Imperial guards stormed past him, giving him wide-berth as he was dressed like a fellow soldier. Their quarterstaffs were out, ready to take control of yet another mindless crowd, but their faces told the real story. Their heads were bowed and their eyes lacked spirit. They were on a futile quest, the instigators would escape easily but even if they were caught, every prison was already overflowing with their kind.

Their words were too seductive, their ideas too well-grounded in reality. If this riot was smothered, another would flare up within the hour.

His arm ached as he threw a flimsy wooden door aside, the secretary inside protesting his rude intrusion. One look at his uniform would have sent the girl scurrying back into her ledgers, but that was unnecessary. Her face went white when she recognized who he was.

Locke paid her as little attention as he had the lawless crowd. Stairs groaned from his angry footsteps, his bruised ribs pulsed in pain, and he paused in front of a familiar door.

He took a deep breath.

Inside was what was considered luxury for an injured man. His own private room with a window to the outside world, a soft bed and flowers upon a nightstand. Unread books lay in a pile beside the colourful arrangement of lilies, roses, and several more varieties that Locke didn't recognize. A fresh scent lingered in the room, covering the lifeless smell of cleaning agents.

Two weeks.

Norris sat in an old wooden wicker chair. His beard needed a trim, bags were beneath the eyes. The old Colonel looked like the sleep-deprived officer he was. Locke could probably count the number of hours the Magitek Knight had slept. After all, he was the one that kept Norris up.

Locke signalled the old man. Once, twice, at last Norris replied with a shake of the head.

No? No?! Why?

Terra sat on a stool beside the bed, dressed modestly to avoid attracting attention. Her grey hair was drawn back into a ponytail, a clean white coat borrowed from the doctors draped over the shoulders. She looked even more exerted than Norris. Had one been far enough away to overlook the old Magitek Knight's wrinkles, Terra might have seemed the eldest.

Not that she looked the worst. Sherwood lay upon two pillows, back raised so that he could speak freely with his guests. His gaunt, wrinkled face turned to the newcomer.

Two weeks. Most had barely lasted one.

"Locke," Sherwood's voice was strong, even if the rest of him was not.

Locke forced a smile. "I found some for you," he said as he pulled out the flowers wrapped protectively underneath his cloak. "The florist guaranteed me they're from Tzen."

Sherwood smiled. "They smell right."

"Good!" Locke said with fake cheer. He slipped the star-shaped yellow flowers into the vase and tossed the rest aside.

Terra stood. Her deep blue eyes made contact with Locke.

Locke's smile quivered.

She shook her head slowly.

That was why Norris said no. Locke sighed, his strength ebbing away as he did so.

Norris stood as well. His smile seemed genuine. "Sherwood. I'm afraid I can't keep you company any longer. You know how it is, the Empress wants this, the Empress wants that. Report on this, research some of that. They never give us anytime to lie down and sleep."

Sherwood nodded. "Of course, Colonel. Thank you for coming."

Norris chuckled. "Let me know if you need anything else, alright?"

"Yes sir."

As the Magitek Knight strode out of the room, Terra glanced from Locke to Sherwood apprehensively. "I should go as well," she excused herself. "Knowing how things are these days, there's probably already a crisis that's already getting out of hand."

Sherwood smiled. "Thank you, First Citizen, for everything."

"For you, Sherwood, it'll always be Terra."

"Of course, Terra."

The two magic-users left the pair alone. Locke found himself staring out the window, at the rain that fell relentlessly upon the urban sprawl of Vector. The sound of droplets softly tapping against the glass was the only sound in the hospital room; the rioters and their cries for vengeance were thankfully unheard.

Locke's breathing was forcefully slow, taking in the sweet scent of Tzen-grown flowers.

It was a comfortable silence. The two men relaxed in each other's presence, truly safe-guarded from the rest of the dark world for the first time in years. Locke pulled Norris' wicker chair to Sherwood's bedside and sat down, inclined to bask in the tranquil environment.

Time passed until the rain lightened up.

"Sherwood," Locke began. His forced smile was long since gone.

The Imperial archer's eyes had been half-open. With a flicker, they became alert once more. "Yeah?"

Locke's finger idly scratched the side of his knee. "I-" he frowned. "I want to apologize."

"Locke-"

"No, hear me out," Locke's fingers dug into the fabric of his pants. "A lot has passed since Gwendolen Ford. You lost a good friend there who gave his life doing what I should have been doing. You never held that against me. Even afterwards, you still helped me out. You taught me the tricks of the trade and not once did I ever even thank you."

Sherwood stayed silent.

"I owe you so much," Locke mumbled. "You made it possible for a naive, immature child like me to keep a promise that he could never have kept alone."

"You're being too hard on yourself," Sherwood said with his eyes closed. "You never needed me."

Locke glanced up at his friend. "Maybe. But you did help me keep a promise." Silence again when Locke expected a response. He took a deep breath and continued.

"I want to tell you about someone who meant a great deal to me."

Sherwood's eyes opened. "Locke, you don't have to."

"I want to. I need to tell someone."

Sherwood snorted. "We've known each other for a while now, worked close enough that I swear we almost think the same. Do you really think I don't already know? I mean, be honest here. You already know what happened to me."

Locke nodded slowly. "You grew up in Tzen. I can guess."

"First my family. Then later, my sister."

Locke swallowed back the bile in his throat. "That was different. That wasn't your fault."

"And you? Don't delude yourself. You're not that important."

Locke blinked away the wetness in his eyes. "Perhaps."

"Most certainly."

"We were going to marry."

"At least you had that going for you."

Locke smiled briefly. The two men grew silent once again, the only sound in the room were their breaths. Light rain rapped against the windows. At last, he found the courage to say it out loud.

"Her name was Rachel."

It seemed to catch Sherwood by surprise and for a moment, the two men saw clear through the other. Their souls were laid bare, unguarded for the first time in years.

"Amy," he answered with a pained expression.

"She forgives you," Locke remarked. "Everyone can find forgiveness."

"I know," his pale lips replied, but the downtrodden expression remained.

Locke understood. Because even knowing that, it didn't make things any easier. He sighed. "When you see her, tell Rachel I'm sorry."

Sherwood grinned back. "She knows."

"Yeah, but it's just good manners," Locke answered with a cocky grin.

They shared a laugh, the strain of the moment passing by as both finally accepted what was going to happen. Outside, the sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the wet, sparkling metropolis of the Imperial Capital. Light flooded into their room and the arrangement of flowers seemed to grow taller, their colours more vibrant and their scent ever sweeter.

Locke patted his friend on the shoulder. A light, contented smile rested on his face.

"I won't let what we've done go to waste."

Sherwood closed his eyes one last time.

"That's good."

And the two men were silent from then on.

-=-

Terra was waiting for him outside, leaning against the wall sombrely. She snapped upright when Locke exited, closing the door with a quiet click. "I wasn't listening," she excused herself nervously. But that awkwardness faded away when she saw the smile on his face.

"It doesn't really matter," Locke answered. "I'm not embarrassed. Now where's the Colonel?"

"He went to get some water," Terra licked her dry lips. "I don't think he's slept at all in the last four days," she explained. "He's been under a lot of stress."

Terra looked him up and down, amazed that he was so composed. The words she had practiced seemed inadequate for such a moment. "Locke, I'm sorry about Sherwood," she stated blankly. She knew better than anyone that there was no hope.

Locke's hands gingerly rested on her shoulders. "I know you tried your best," he replied. "I'm really thankful you tried as hard as you did."

"I know you and him were good friends, and I wish-" Terra gasped as he drew her in, embracing her delicately.

"It's alright Terra, you did everything you could." His breath was warm and soft against her ear. Her back tingled, but she didn't break away. It was so comforting, she thought as she closed her eyes and relaxed.

"I'm sorry about Anson as well. I couldn't save him in time."

Terra blinked repeatedly, fighting away tears as that memory resurfaced. It had been barely two weeks since the Imperial Palace had been attacked, not nearly enough time for her to bury his memory and accept such a loss. She could still feel his warm blood on her hands, still seen the crimson stains upon her clothes.

Her chest heaved painfully and she laid her head against his warm shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Locke chided himself. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

Terra gritted her teeth and willed the tears away. She pulled back and shook her head. "No, it's alright," she said as she wiped her eyes. "It's been half a month, I should be over it."

Locke's silence bothered her and she glanced up to meet his deep, brown eyes.

"It wasn't your fault," he consoled.

Wasn't it?

"There were a lot of mistakes and plenty of blame to pass around. No single person can be held responsible for that disaster," Terra stated politically.

Locke eyed her suspiciously. It made her uncomfortable, for some reason it felt like he knew she was lying. "Anyhow," she quickly continued. "General Donner has already paid for his error in judgment, as did every single traitor and the barbarians themselves. The only thing I regret is that they died before they could be tried in the courts and executed in front cheering crowds."

Terra leaned against the white walls, turning her back to Locke for a moment and hoping that he wouldn't think anything of it. She quickly composed herself once more, taking deep breaths and calming herself down.

When she turned back, Locke had taken a seat beside the door. Only a few days ago, an armed guard had been standing before Sherwood's room at all times. Now it was hardly necessary. "What's it like in the Palace?" he asked.

Terra sighed. "Chaos. Everyone's in a state of shock," she shook her head dejectedly. "I should have known. Every time we met them, every indication that I ignored; they kept improving their magic, advancing their stealth spells continuously, refining their technique until I could barely keep up. Yet I still didn't realize it."

"It's not your fault," Locke said as he stood up. "You couldn't have possibly guessed that they would be able to attack the Imperial Palace!"

"No, I couldn't," Terra admitted. "That aide of Donner's who switched the Imperial Guardsmen was just the tip of things; with each passing day new facts shed light on the mystery surrounding the attack."

She glared at him.

"But I don't need to tell you that."

Locke swallowed visibly; he was never very good at lying to her face and they both knew it. But fortunately, he was saved by the arrival of Norris.

"I just doubled-checked with the men, it seems like they have no idea what the instruments are," Norris rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "Locke, we're going now."

"Going where?" Terra snapped. She had known Locke was up to something, but had no idea that Norris had been the mastermind. The Colonel had been the highest-ranking officer in Vector after the Guild's attack. Forced to take command, he was so busy keeping control of the garrison that she didn't think he had the time to scheme behind her back.

"Downtown," Norris began. Locke made gestures that he probably thought were secretive, but they were apparent to Terra and Norris ignored him anyways. "We have a lead on what Corian did during the day and considering this one is a witness, it's possible he's also affiliated with the Guild. We need to take proper precautions."

Terra narrowed her eyes. "Who's Corian? And are you telling me the Guild is still in Vector?"

Norris glanced over at Locke who cleared his throat awkwardly. "This is an ongoing investigation of one of the Guild Members that masterminded the entire plan. This one man links together many of the traitors your people have uncovered, including the guard who stabbed you. I believe it may lead to some new revelations about the Shroud."

The Shroud, Terra felt her blood boil as she thought of suffocating aura. She levelled a deadly glare at Locke. "Do you remember a girl by the name of Anna?"

Locke looked insulted by her insinuation. "Of course I would remember her!" he answered indignantly as he pulled back the sleeves of his cloak. "Her blood ran down these arms!"

"Well," Terra pulled her own sleeves back and revealed the carefully hidden bandages beneath. "We have something new in common. So don't ever leave me out again! I want to know the moment either of you find out anything."

"Of course, Sophis," Norris quickly answered for both of them. "Locke, I expect you within the hour. Hopefully this isn't another waste of time," he grumbled as he left.

Locke saluted while Terra glared on.

"I would have told you eventually," he grumbled. "I just didn't think you needed to know-"

"That you were chasing Magitek Knights on your own?"

"Not everyone in the Guild is a Magitek Knight, or a warrior for that matter," Locke mumbled. "I can handle it."

Terra sighed. "Just make sure to tell Norris everything, I trust his judgment more than I would trust my own. It was his instincts that led to these quarantine procedures."

"Yeah, like they really help. Not a single new case and riots everywhere. Great job there."

Terra turned around and where she expected malice, she saw only disappointment. "We... we can't be sure whether the toxin is infectious yet. Norris' experience with diseases like this tells him that it could be another whole week before symptoms show."

Locke sighed. "I know, I just... I thought if we could bring those doctors from outside Vector..."

"It's been eating at Norris as well," Terra explained to Locke's surprise. "He's a fighter, it's all he's ever known and it's all he can do. Experience from decades in the army led him to declare quarantine, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care. He's not a healer, but he tried to help Sherwood with every bit of energy left in that old body of his."

"I know," Locke answered. "Just like I know you feel responsible for the Guild's attack."

Terra opened her mouth, but no words came out. She shuddered as she thought of that day. At how they had invaded the center of the Empire. At how she had been powerless to stop them!

Locke gently touched her chin and she realized that she had been glaring at the floor with deadly intent. "I know you'll stop whatever the Guild has planned," he said. He gently rubbed the dark circles underneath her eyes. "I believe in you. I always have."

Terra smiled despite the severity of the situation.

"I said some terrible things that day in the middle of winter," Locke began.

"Funny," Terra guided his hand away from her cheek. "I don't remember any of it."

Locke's eyes were downcast. "I never meant to leave for so long. At first it was just a single day, but then they needed people at the base of the Dalziel Mountains, and then-"

Terra squeezed his hand. "It's alright Locke, I already know."

"You know?"

"Anthony's Pass? Oakham? Callaghan?"

Locke blinked in surprise. "How did you...?"

Terra peered at him playfully. "I'm Lady Terra, you silly fool."

They shared a private chuckle before Locke suddenly realized how they looked together. He pulled his hand back embarrassingly, clearing his throat and gesturing towards the stairs. "I should head out. Norris will need my help," was his excuse as he slipped past her.

Terra folded her arms. "You don't always have to run," she remarked to his retreating form.

"I'm not," he answered immediately. "But the world is too dangerous for me to idle; these last weeks made that evident. I made you a promise, Terra, and I intend on keeping it."

"There are always dangerous things out there. The world is a dark place."

"Yeah."

"The coming weeks are going to be a tough struggle, I could use a close friend," Terra continued softly. "There will be a big meeting soon, between the Empress and all the high-ranking personnel throughout the Empire. I'll be there, of course, and I'd like it if you were there by my side."

"Well," Locke turned around slowly. "Who am I to refuse the First Citizen of the Empire?"

Terra scowled. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," Locke squeezed her hand. A light smile graced his visage. "I'd be delighted to stay, just for you."

-=-

It was raining when Edgar stepped out of the carriage. Mud splattered against his cape as his boots sank into the soggy ground. He glanced up at the grey skies, frowning at the unending storm. The wind blew open his cape and the rains were relentless, so thick that waves visiblyrippled across the ground.

A soldier snapped to attention when the newcomers arrived, face in awe as rainwater ran down the sides of his brown helmet. Strago had just stepped out of the carriage but not a single droplet hit the lore-master, instead they bent away mid-fall.

Escorted by three of his own blue-coated guards, Edgar quickly made his way up the stairs to an old castle. They were in the highlands near Sellenger, the majestic backdrop of the Dalziel Mountains hidden behind sheets of rain. Built in days long forgotten, the castle foundations had eroded over time and its walls overlooked a sheer precipice that dropped straight down into the forests below.

Imperial soldiers, brown leather weathering the storm far better than Edgar's wools and silks, stood guard all about the courtyard. Edgar could tell that the castle had been abandoned until just recently, likely chosen when news of the plague was revealed to the Empress. He returned the friendly smiles and waited.

Cyan and Arvis both dashed out of the rain and under the shelter of the castle. Banon had declined the invitation; he had fallen ill recently and that had been a fierce scare. However, it had just been a cold from their journey. Lord Mansfield had also declined. It was a military matter, he said, and his confidence in the Empress' abilities were justifiably strong.

That he would have no effect on the outcome was a disregarded point.

An escort of a dozen men awaited them in the entranceway of the castle. "King Edgar, you are expected," the captain of the squad announced. The gruff, battle-scarred but clean-shaven warrior wore gleaming chainmail without a helmet. He was not wet though, so Edgar instantly knew that this was a man detached from Danielle's personal guard.

They followed the Imperial soldiers through dark, neglected stone hallways and up several flights of stairs. The sound of the storm grew louder as they climbed and the reason became clear once they reached the top. An open balcony stretched its way around the periphery, the rain kept out by a sloping roof supported by stone pillars. There was a room in the centre, circular as well and guarded heavily by Imperial Knights. It was the only name Edgar could attach to such warriors, wearing plate armor and bearing shields and pikes. These were men that belonged on chocobos.

"Your guards will have to wait outside," the Captain of the Imperial soldiers pointed out.

Edgar nodded. "That's understandable."

Within the warm room was yet another circular table -- Edgar could only wonder if the symbolism has been intentional -- that was lit by strange looking lamps. Bathed in a warm yellow light, a number of grim-faced Imperial officers were silenced by the arrival of esteemed guests. None were wearing armor, so that was a good sign to start. Of course, there was steel enough just outside the door.

Many men and women sat at the center table, but most were seated along the stone walls. Amongst that crowd -- aides and staff most likely -- was a boy who looked quite out of place, surrounded by empty seats. He had neither the look of a servant nor the aura of authority that suggested he was in charge of anything.

Turning his attention to those in charge, Edgar counted a half-dozen officers with stars on their chests and a few with four bars instead. All were cleanly-shaven and wore freshly-ironed uniforms; this was not a rag-tag collection of commanders. Yet he did not recognize a single officer. No one remained from Gestahl's court.

With three stars upon both shoulders, Edgar found it rather telling that a woman outranked every single other officer. And sitting beside the current three-star general was a former one, her dark dress uniform only a departure from the rest due to its colour. She still wore the medals and rank bars of her former position, except there was an additional star upon her wide shoulder guards. Her long red-hair had been pulled back and she was watching Edgar intently.

"King Edgar," the Empress Danielle gestured at a seat that had been oddly empty beside her.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Edgar put on a restrained smile. He took his seat next to the Empress, eyes noting that Terrance Cassidy and more importantly, Farin Starson, were both absent.

Interesting. Then this was unlikely to be all of the Empire's high-ranking personnel.

"Empress," Edgar turned to Danielle and nodded respectfully. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his friends settle along the outside, near the exit and facing the Empress. Arvis sat down hesitantly between Cyan and Strago.

"Thank you for coming to this Counsel, King Edgar," Danielle said. "I'm afraid that we're about to begin."

"Of course. That is understandable considering the severity of the situation."

Silence settled in, uncomfortable for Edgar though he certainly did not show it. His eyes drifted around the room as he judged the men of the Empire. All were battle-hardened with an aura of experience and authority, he had no doubt that the Civil War would have pruned away the undesirables. He compared it to Douglas' impressions of the Figarian Navy and frowned.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped to the centre of the table. For some reason, he felt something happening there. Yet he saw nothing on top of the bare, but finely lacquered, mahogany. Edgar's eyes drifted as he wondered why his attention had been drawn there.

Then a column of blue light erupted skyward. It shot all the way up to the ceiling, a pale azure glow that was just strong enough to be seen. The older, moustached man sitting across from Edgar looked distorted -- the light was subtly wavering.

Strago gasped.

Edgar's eyes grew wide as an image faded into existence, the figure of a woman that had been shrunk down. Despite the difference in size though, her eyes were somehow level with his as she stood upon the mahogany table with an inscrutable expression. She seemed to be made out of solid light, a spectrum of blue colours that resolved itself into one incredibly familiar face.

"Terra," Edgar muttered audibly.

Everyone's attention -- all save the Empress herself -- snapped to the King of Figaro, rebuking him for the breach in protocol. Terra's eyes flickered to him as well, clearly surprised by his presence before she composed herself again.

"Empress Danielle," she greeted respectfully.

"First Citizen Branford," Danielle's words were crisply spoken. "It appears the spell is successful. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Empress," Terra answered.

-=-

Norris and Locke exchanged brief looks as Terra stood between a trio of floating blue orbs. Sapphire shapes swirled over the surface of each sphere and released shimmering waves of energy, creating an illuminated plane of light at Terra's waist.

"I'm surprised it worked," Locke whispered. "That book looked like it was falling apart. Where did you find it again?"

Norris sighed. "The spell won't pick up our words unless we stand within the triangle created by those communication foci," he said loudly. "As for the book, I picked it out of the rubble back in winter. It was buried underneath a heap of ash in the library."

"So how do we-"

Norris closed his eyes and Locke's eyes began to drift. It felt like they were surrounded in a sea of haze.

"Cast it now," the old Magitek Knight commanded.

He must have been speaking to Terra, because Locke certainly did nothing. Yet the haze faded away and suddenly, they were surrounded military officers of all ages.

"Edgar!" Locke exclaimed in surprise. He spun around, picking out those that he recognized. Karen Alysworth was there as well, sitting next to Danielle. In the back, Locke noted that the boy from Anson's entourage was there, as were- "Arvis?" he echoed. That Cyan and Strago were with Edgar was not surprising, but his old friend from Narshe?

Norris raised an eyebrow. "My, what a collection of attitudes," he muttered. "For once I'm glad to be stuck in Vector."

"You know many of these officers?" Locke said, still wondering how it was that Arvis had made his way to the Imperial Counsel in Sellenger. Why were they there? And how? After all, they looked like invited guests.

"I do know them, yes," Norris strolled over to a particularly angry looking General sitting along the periphery. His hand swiped the image, passing through magic effortlessly. "Brigadier Falkland, 17th Division. Egotistical hardass," Norris growled. "He got a couple of the best ISF squads killed during the Doma War by sending them on hopeless rescue missions for downed pilots, apparently it never dawned on him that he might lose to the so-called uncivilized."

The Colonel pointed at another young man with a scar running across the top of his forehead. This one sat at the centre table. "Newly promoted-Brigadier Kinsley, 10th Division. Stubborn fool with little foresight, loyal enough to kill himself without question if so ordered."

Locke's eyes narrowed. He had known Norris long enough to tell that the Colonel was hiding something else. He might have sounded angry, but that was nothing more than a thin veil.

"Thank you, Empress," Terra raised her voice. She might have been ignoring them, but that didn't mean they weren't disturbing her.

"Believe me Locke," Norris said in a hushed tone. "You wouldn't want to even share a cup of tea with any of these officers." He took his seat, back facing the two men he just picked out.

"For someone who's been in the military as long as you have, I'd expect you to have some friends in high places," Locke noted.

"All the good people are dead," Norris whispered with haunted eyes. The wrinkles on his face were more pronounced than ever.

"What about Karen?"

Norris did not reply, instead concentrating on Terra's speech. A sigh left Locke's lips and with a lingering look of concern, he decided to let the matter drop. At least Terra was finally sharing the classified developments on the Plague.

"As everyone has feared," Terra began, "we have confirmed that this is indeed a Magical Plague. Anyone who still held out hoping that this was not the case should cast aside all doubts: the Maverick has unleashed a disease to threaten the entire world."

There was murmuring amongst the Imperials; they had all suspected, but confirmation that they were under attack by a magical disease was something wholly different.

"First Citizen," Danielle's voice silenced her subjects. "The recent sicknesses in Mansfield and Sellenger, can you confirm they are all of the same source?"

"We can," Terra answered. "The outbreak in Vector was not an isolated incident, though we have reason to believe that the source was the same in all cases. However, with the trains running again, transmission of the disease has spread at a rate that cannot be exaggerated enough. My scientists are still trying to sift through what information we have, but we cannot stop all the unwitting plague carriers until it's too late."

Swearing was accompanied by cries of horror, the Imperials were torn between anger and fear.

"Then the quarantine on Vector has failed," Danielle stated blankly.

"No," Terra refuted off-hand. There were some older generals who were surprised at such an answer, directly contradicting what the Empress said, and were aghast at the brazen attitude of the First Citizen.

"Please explain," Karen interjected on their behalf. "You must understand that the quarantine on Vector is a huge source of debate. We are actively turning away our own citizens, bringing arms to bear against those trying to leave. The riots are growing out of hand and Vector does not have the garrison to quell them. Home Division cannot be called upon as they remain plague-free, and thus we have been forced to deploy Armors. An incident is inevitable."

"I understand the concerns of the military but you must understand that while the people are afraid, we must continue to do our utmost to contain the infected areas," Terra answered. "We must assume the worst case as long as we don't fully understand the disease and in particular, its method of infection. It is whimsical in nature as all plagues are, but worsened evermore by the magic that created it. That the people-"

"You're saying this was created?" Danielle snapped angrily.

"That is the only conclusion we can draw," Terra responded. "The source has been confirmed to be a poisonous glaze, likely harmless unless it enters the bloodstream. The assault on the Imperial Palace was the main vector of infection in the Capital. We are certain that once in the blood, the disease manifests itself and begins to spread without fail."

"You are saying that the Maverick's attack on the Imperial Palace was done explicitly to poison our people, so that our efforts to save them will begin the spread of the plague?" Karen's mouth remained open in shock.

"Yes."

"Monstrous!"

The scream of one irate, infuriated warrior pierced through the air and through the communication spell. All eyes turned to the man shaking with rage, his eyes blazing with fire and his chair knocked down by an explosion of unrestrained fury.

"Cyan!" Arvis was pulling on the sleeve of the Doma Knight.

"Despicable savage beasts!" Cyan screamed again. He was wrath incarnate, directed at none and actually shared by many of the Imperial officers present. His outburst would not be the last.

"Sir Cyan is correct," one of the generals at the table pointed out. "He is only saying what we are all thinking."

"Holding back in hopes of reconciliation was doomed from the start," another eloquently said. "These men might have once hailed from Vector, but they are truly Domus Proditor and should be treated as such."

Nods around the room as Arvis did his best to calm the knight beside him. The murmur of agreement continued until another of the many unnamed generals spoke up. "Once in the blood, how does it spread?" he asked.

Terra's calm attitude faltered for a moment. "We don't know. It could be restricted to touch, but it is more than likely airborne."

Locke subconsciously pulled his hands close.

"However, either case can be prevented so long as quarantine remains. None from a city known to be plague-stricken should travel anywhere else. The army must enforce this!" Terra growled. "That Colonel Ferdinand had the foresight to deploy the Imperial Guard and Home Division in this manner might have already saved thousands. If he had not done such a thing immediately following the attack on the capital, it would be impossible to ever contain the outbreak. At least now, we have a chance."

"What of efforts to detect the plague, or to cure it?" Karen asked.

Terra visibly swallowed. "Until symptoms show, we cannot detect the Plague. As for cures... they have all failed without a solution in sight. Magic and science are equally powerless."

Karen closed her eyes and rubbed her temples in frustration. She swore under her breath.

"First Citizen," Danielle's expression was devoid of sympathy. "Hundreds are becoming symptomatic in Vector everyday and that number will reach thousands within another two weeks. Cases are showing up throughout the Core, and if this pattern continues, all of the Empire will be infected. I have had enough," her hand slammed against the table.

"I want answers!" the Empress screamed.

Terra straightened, unflustered by Danielle's outburst. "Fire eliminates the disease, we have confirmed this. In addition, we are certain that the plague has an incubation period anywhere between four to fourteen days; though it's quite possible it could be hidden even longer than that. After this, early signs of the plague will show: shortness of breath, drying skin, weakening of the body and spirit-"

Norris rested his forehead against his arm, shuddering as Terra continued listing the ailments. Locke had been with the Colonel to see many of the afflicted. There had been thousands whose every breath was one step closer to death; thousands whose hopes for a cure were an unachievable dream. This was the way the Maverick worked. This was what the Guild sought.

The agonizing deaths of millions.

"-lesions and then the draining of life-force," Terra finally took a breath. "Premature aging is the last stage before the body fails. The Plague has been fatal without exception."

Restrained silence.

"How long?" Karen whispered.

"After the initial signs... two weeks at most, but the average has been four days."

"By the Goddesses," Danielle whispered as horrified looks spread throughout her ranks.

Locke shot to his feet and turned to the window outside for fresh air. He stared at the grey skies over the urban sprawl of Vector, listening to the familiar chanting just beyond the walls of the Imperial Palace. He found himself unable to find fault with the rioters, their hatred for magic was understandable. They screamed for blood, cursed the soldiers and demanded to see their rulers.

His eyes drifted back to Terra. He knew how tired she really was, despite the confident, unflustered act. If the people knew how hard she was trying, how she strained the limits of her abilities with each passing day, perhaps they would understand that there were two sides to magic.

The Plague could infect them at anytime, Terra more so because she was researching it daily. She was risking her life trying to find a cure.

He had to protect her, Locke gritted his teeth. Even against the unseen enemy, he had to protect her.

-=-

Edgar was speechless. Now he understood why Danielle would have invited them to this meeting. She wanted them to know what was happening, and she wanted them to know first-hand so that they could not accuse her of deception.

His eyes flickered to the faint blue image of Terra standing behind the old man -- a Colonel Norris Ferdinand -- and he shook his head in awe. First Citizen of the Empire indeed, Edgar had no idea what Terra had gone through, but no longer did he doubt the Duke of Mansfield's words.

First Citizen Terra Branford was no figurehead.

Her attitude was commanding, her authority undisputed. The teenaged girl Edgar had met in Castle Figaro was long since gone, she seemed like someone else entirely.

What had happened?

And now the Empire, teetering on the edge of another Civil War according to the words of Charles Mansfield, stricken by a magical plague created as a weapon? A deadly blade that could not be stopped, killing indiscriminately without any cure.

Edgar didn't blame Cyan for his anger; his own hands were shaking in fear. What if plague carriers fled to the Northern Continent? Two weeks for incubation, another two before they died...

Douglas had to know, immediately.

"-infiltration throughout the ranks." Norris answered.

"That's unbelievable," the three-star female general named Karen Alysworth growled. Edgar thought well of the woman, she seemed quite capable and intelligent, even showing sympathy at times. A rarity in the Imperial Armed Forces and especially important since at the moment, she was second only to Danielle.

"Many of those men were loyal to Anson to a fault," Karen continued. There was were scowls and grimaces amongst the officers. Edgar hid his own feelings of glee at how little the General cared for politics. "That they would betray him and Vector itself is ridiculous. Frankly, I find all of your observations suspect at the moment, Colonel. Perhaps the stress of the situation is affecting your judgement."

"Your suspicions are understandable, General Alysworth," strangely enough, Norris seemed to be prepared for her agitated response and took it in stride. "However, the evidence is undeniable and all conclusions have been verified."

Edgar watched as Terra faded away; there must have been some sort of range for the communication spell.

"Verified?" Karen echoed. "By what means? Last I remember, magic cannot tell truth from lie."

Norris straightened visibly. "The details of our operations are classified. Suffice to say, we have undeniable facts, witnesses, and confessions from those involved."

"Classified?" Karen's frown twisted into a sneer. "From who?"

"That's enough, General Alysworth."

Edgar watched as Danielle attempted to take back control of the situation. Bickering within the military structure itself, he mentally scoffed at the notion. What an embarrassment.

"There must be some reason for these betrayals," a large, heavy-set Brigadier pointed out.

"Of course," Norris agreed. "The answer is a former Magitek Knight by the name of Corian."

"Corian? Who was he and how was his treachery hidden from us?"

"He was forgettable soldier before his betrayal. He was not particularly gifted upon the battlefield," Norris answered. "Records show that he was one of the many veterans to be retired after the winter and given a sizable plot of land just south of Ethelben."

"Are you telling us that he was not assigned to the Maverick?" Karen's voice was icy-cold.

"He had been a part of the 10th Division during the majority of the Civil War, stationed at Maley's Point."

Disgust, Edgar shared the feeling with the Imperials around him. This was a man whose country had given him all he wanted: provided for his future and rewarded him justly for his service. And in return...

"And what did he do?" Karen asked.

"He returned to Vector where he excelled in creating the necessary mental unbalances for the Shroud to take hold."

"The Shroud?" Karen echoed. The Colonel's punctuation was such that all gathered at the Imperial Counsel heard the titling of two simple words.

"It is a spell of sorts, an aura that has been encountered by my forces before," Norris answered the confused looks all around the table. His little figure turned around slowly, looking at each person in turn before returning his attention to Danielle. "The First Citizen and I have confirmed that the spell dominates one's mind."

"Mind control?" someone gasped in shock.

"Contemptible," Karen spat and she was not alone. The list of traitors that had allowed the enemy to enter the Imperial Palace and left it a death-trap had been extensive and shocking. But such surprise vanished in a flash as anger took its place. Clamour in the chamber rose and Edgar noticed that Danielle seemed unable to stop it.

Or unwilling?

"First a plague, now they're controlling our minds? Damn this accursed magic!" someone shouted over the noise.

"Death to these monsters! They're worse than the Espers!"

"Vector won't be safe as long as these traitors breathe!"

"The Maverick must be destroyed!"

Danielle's fist slammed onto the table. Once, twice, finally the crowd grew silent.

"Continue," she growled at Norris.

"As you wish, my Empress," the Colonel replied. "The Shroud generally cannot be detected, though the best of Magitek Knights can sense a lingering aura. However, when activated, even the weakest Knight can sense the void that exists. The Shroud dominates one's feelings and thoughts. We believe it intensifies the emotions that were prevalent when the spell was buried into the victim."

"Victim?" a bald-headed General echoed. "You mean traitor."

"No," Norris responded. "While the Shroud itself has a general effect on those near the aura -- weakening resolve and turning the mind in a more malleable mush -- those directly affected by it have typically been tortured into submission. We have overwhelming evidence that many of those responsible for our breaches in defence, including one of General Donner's top aides, were abducted and tormented into a shell of their former selves."

Stunned silence.

"A weaker mind is quickly broken, but even the strongest may not be able to resist the combination of the Shroud and whatever agony they're being put through. Fears and hatreds are amplified to the point that the mind is overwhelmed. This is the most direct effect. We are still trying to discover other consequences in addition to how the spell works. Suffice to say that this is not the easiest of tasks."

"What of this man, Corian?" Karen asked.

"He was killed in action during the raid for which he was responsible. There is no doubt that he was acting of his own accord."

"A single man," Karen whispered dreadfully. "Could he have been the only one capable of... mind control?"

Norris took a deep breath. "It is possible, but in my opinion, rather unlikely."

"What of the facts, Colonel?" Karen pressed the matter.

"We don't know."

"That is understandable, Colonel Ferdinand," Danielle interrupted. "Again I must thank you for your decisive judgement in Vector," she commended.

Edgar noted that the Colonel did not seem to take any pleasure in being personally congratulated by Danielle. Now that was interesting! His eyes flickered over to the red-haired Empress whose praise was of little significance to her subordinates.

"You are dismissed."

"Your Imperial Highness," Norris' head bowed respectfully.

Danielle was then impassive for a while. Edgar watched attentively as she tapped the table at a quicker and quicker pace. At last, she finished her mental deliberation and turned to one of the men in the periphery of the room. "Bring him in," she ordered.

A murmur that accompanied her words told Edgar that this was unexpected by those gathered, but Danielle had prepared this surprise far in advance. Baldric -- the sight of whom caused Edgar to feel slightly guilty -- stalked out of the room. He was gone for only a half-minute and when he returned, a plainly dressed man followed.

Two of the Generals shot to their feet, looks of utter hatred on their faces. Others were more shocked than angered. Edgar noticed that Norris, his little blue figure shimmering in the middle of the table, was shaking with rage.

"Enough," Danielle growled. She turned to the new arrival. The man was unshaven, perhaps a decade older than Edgar and a number of scars were all over his face. A patch of pale white skin could be seen running down the neck and likely continued along his chest; the parting gift of a fireball. Though his white tunic was certainly no uniform, Edgar could tell that this was a military man

"Citizen Kennard, you will tell everyone what you told me."

-=-

"Who is that?" Terra asked. She had been one of the few who had been prepared for the entirity of the Imperial Counsel. It had pained her to know such things, and even more to keep it secret. Yet it was preferable to being kept in the dark; beset by the horror of the unknown consuming everything dear.

But who was this Citizen Kennard?

Norris did not answer -- he was standing in the midst of the communication globes -- and Locke's brow was furrowed in confusion. "He looks familiar, I think I've seen a picture somewhere," he stood up and walked over to the image in question.

Terra watched as Locke mumbled to himself. She caught precious little, but she did hear something about 'the face of the enemy'. She frowned, wondering if she knew what the Maverick looked like. So long had she spent in Vector, guiding the Empire's restoration with Anson's help, that she had never taken time to learn about those who threatened them.

The dark shadows that still moved against the Empire.

But unlike her, Locke had been on the Western Front. Unlike her, he had worked alongside of Norris and faced hopeless odds almost daily. Unlike her, he had kept his focus on the barbarian.

Like Anson had told her to do a thousand times.

"Wade the Sha-!" Locke cleared his throat and cut himself off. "That is Colonel Wade Kennard," he turned back to Terra and saw the question on her face. "He was one of the commanders deployed to Maranda," Locke explained. "One of the Maverick's top men."

"We had him imprisoned all along?" Terra asked. She glared suspiciously at Danielle's likeness. "Impossible, I would have heard of him."

"Over two months ago, Norris told me that this... man was still at large and we were to keep an eye out for him," Locke explained. "He's one of the most ruthless-"

"Hush!" Norris stuck his head out for a moment and silenced the loquacious duo.

Wade weathered the threatening scowls of his former colleagues, clearly stripped of his rank but otherwise unharmed. He did not look like a prisoner, but he had been humbled. "I'm unsure of where to start, Empress," his voice was energetic and there was just the slightest hint of respect in his posture.

"The beginning would be best," Danielle's fingers tapped against the table. Though she was the least cross of the ranking Imperials, it was clear that animosity was not above her station. "Lead with the results of First Vector."

Wade cleared his throat. "The Siege of Vector was an unmitigated disaster for General Drummond's forces," he started.

Terra narrowed her eyes. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" Locke asked.

"-and after the alliance broke down, we found ourselves unable to adequately retreat. We had been over-extended and our logistical capabilities were strained even with Governor Ashford's full-."

"He still respects the Maverick," Terra whispered in a deadly voice.

"-ordered a full retreat. However, a thrust by Caleigh had crippled Drummond's regiment and most of high command. At that time, I was under orders to abandon any who could not keep the pace, and that's what I did. It wasn't until later that we discovered General Drummond had been left behind. But even then, Caleigh and much of the Home Guard were counterattacking without restraint. He bled our retreating forces around the clock; by the time we managed to rally and establish a defensive cordon, I found myself one of the only ranking officers still alive."

Restrained mumbling from the crowd and an especially confused look from Karen. Norris stepped away from the communication globes and shook his head, sad wrinkles creasing his cheeks.

"Norris..." Locke began reluctantly. Terra knew what was on everyone's minds. She summarized what she knew of the Empire's command hierarchy. Her math was right, but she didn't want to believe it either.

"That's a lot of corpses," Norris remarked in a monotone voice. There was just a hint of wetness beneath his eyes.

"General Drummond's return was nothing less than miraculous; Magitek Knights -- former ISF -- had saved his life from behind enemy lines and evaded Caleigh's pursuit. I never thought anything of it at the time -- I mean, those men were heroes! -- but everything changed that day."

"The empty ranks were filled soldiers without leadership qualities or experience for such positions. I watched impotently as Command was filled with those I did not respect. They dug into the Plains of Callaghan, building fortresses and sending regiments into the Core every so often. I was ordered away and tasked with the southern Strachan passes. I suspected then that something else was going on, that I was being sent into exile..."

Wade sighed. "You have to understand, I have friends back in Maranda. Governor Ashford was a good man, he administrated the area masterfully after we conquered that Kingdom. I mean, we had Marandan-born soldiers serving in Doma in just two years! Everyone who had served in the war had been offered swathes of land; then we rebuilt their cities, paved new roads, farmed new land and created industrial capacity to rival Albrook! The difference between us and Tzen..."

Wade trailed off awkwardly. That Danielle was a hero of the Tzen War had obviously just occurred to him.

"Continue," Danielle ordered. Her fingers impatiently tapped out each syllable.

Wade swallowed the lump in his throat. "Veterans were recalled to the front and conscription doubled. Rumours spread, first of strange events in Pierpoint, and then of horrific experiments. But I was always ordered to ignore them, guaranteed by Command that they were nothing more than rumours."

Terra noticed a glimmer of concern on Edgar's face. It was only there for a moment, but Terra had read him like a book.

"Then I visited Sutton," Wade shuddered. "I had a couple friends and former colleagues there, but they had changed. Their attitudes were different, their priorities warped. I didn't hear them talk about restoring the Empire, not like those of us still at the front. They were talking about how they would establish their own Kingdom. Bigots like Forsythe were agreeing with how General Drummond was supporting the Magitek Knights and their research!"

"That was the first time I heard of the Guild."

Terra's wrath simmered. Those deluded heretics, she cursed.

"I don't know when it started, but I guess those Magitek Knights banded together like brothers. All I remember was wanting to get the hell out of Sutton. It was giving me shivers the whole time. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe; it was like the entire world had gone mad."

Norris was at the edge of his seat.

"The Guild approached me. They called themselves Peers; wanted me to go to Maranda," Wade shook his head. "I refused and told them I was needed at the front. I had never feared for my life before -- death doesn't scare me -- but after seeing what I had seen," he took a deep breath, visibly shaken, and composed himself.

"I ordered my forces deep into the mountains. We dug into Strachan and I told General Drummond that we would go dark -- no communication, no reinforcements -- and that breaking the silence would inevitably lead to our deaths. I was never given the go-ahead on the plan and that was disturbing enough on its own, so I wrote to Governor Ashford; again nothing. Abandoned by command, I gave the order. We stole off with enough supplies to survive months of siege and hid in the mountains. Three months of deliberation later, I defected along with every man of my division."

The former Imperial made eye-contact with Empress.

"I will not be a pawn of the Guild."

The moment of silence that followed was non-existent. The Imperial Counsel erupted in an uproar to rival the riots in Vector.

"Three months," Locke repeated. He rubbed his eyes, tired, and decided to open a window. Fresh air streamed in, a cool breeze that flowed over the city of Vector. The city was awash with conflict, isolated riots for the most part but there was the sound of organized chanting coming from Gates of the Imperial Palace. The Imperial Guard would have their hands full again.

"It looks like the Empress has had this knowledge for a while," Norris remarked. "Though alone, it's an unbelievable tale. I can see why she hid this man for as long as she did. The world has gone mad."

"I still don't think I believe all of it," Locke remarked. His eyes flickered outside, obviously infuriated by the chanting. "And I'd like to think I've seen the worst of the Maverick."

"If only," Norris grumbled beneath his breath. He turned to his right. "Sophis?"

The First Citizen of the Empire blocked out the noise of her people, those that were calling out for the deaths of those responsible for the Plague, and for the total elimination of the Magitek Corps. "It sounds like we know what the Shroud can do if exposed to it continuously," Terra remarked darkly.

A sad nod. "The world has gone mad."

-=-

Edgar watched the rain fall down the side of the mountain, disappearing into a valley of mist far below. Water cascaded over the edge of the castle roof and fell in sheets just an armslength away.

"-and our capable forces have deftly handled the surge of monsters from the Floating Continent's rise. There are still some that could cause worry to even cities, but they are few and no sightings have been reported ever since the army slaughtered one of the large flyers near the end of winter."

Edgar forced a smile on his face. Karen was an interesting woman, but she was clearly on her guard in his presence. He had hoped that her blunt speech during the Counsel had been indicative of a lack of political aptitude, but instead discovered her grave distaste for the game.

"These monsters have not reserved themselves to solely the Empire, my own people have reported sightings of dragons the length of battleships. However, we haven't seen these ancient beasts since the winter began," he responded.

Karen nodded in understanding. "They are powerful and seem to be nigh-impervious to all known weapons. Our elemental cannons could blast through mountains in less time than it took to penetrate their skin! My sympathies for your soldiers, I can't imagine your response if one of those abominations attacked."

Edgar was about to respond when an aide arrived with news for the General. After exchanging departing pleasantries with Karen, Edgar retreated back to his friends. A frown returned to his face when he saw Cyan and Strago, they had certainly not resolved the argument almost three weeks past and it seemed as if it was tearing them apart.

Arvis looked uncomfortable between the two, nowhere near the peacemaker that Banon had been. Edgar sighed loudly. Rarely did anyone notice Banon's feather-light touch, but his absence was always noteworthy. Without him, feelings of resentment were never addressed, animosity was left to grow rather than weeded out early.

Edgar couldn't even understand what had come between the two men. It should have been minor; Strago had spoken hastily but Cyan should have understood a grandfather's protective nature. Why the two continued to be at odds over such a slight was inconceivable to him.

"What are we still doing here, Edgar?" Strago growled impatiently. "Despite your impressive seating arrangements, it's not like we're doing anything here." He gestured towards the group of Imperials entering the meeting hall again. "Only the Goddesses know what the end result of this Imperial Counsel will be, but frankly I rather not brave another half-day of awkwardness to find out."

"It does seem like we're being neglected," Arvis offered in an attempt to mimic Banon's rhetoric. "I can see Strago's point; though-"

"Terra is working for the Empire," Cyan interrupted. He glared condescendingly at Strago. "It is a noble cause, she is trying to prevent this toxin from destroying the world. We should trust in her judgement and support her, even if it is from afar."

"Lunacy!" Strago snapped. "You heard her say it herself, Vector is under quarantine! Even if she wanted to leave, she can't."

"Locke was by her side, I saw his image for a fleeting moment," Cyan argued. "He would ferry her to safety if that was truly the case. No, she is using her magic to save lives and that is a virtuous endeavour!"

"Enough, both of you!" Edgar stepped between the two men and sighed. "This is not the time for pointless bickering. It doesn't matter whether or not they made the right decision, we can't rescue Terra or Locke from Vector. This Plague threatens everyone, not just the Empire. Were we to go there ourselves, we'd risk becoming infected."

The two men grew silent, avoiding eye-contact with one another as Arvis shifted his feet uncomfortably.

"Let's keep our minds on what we're here to do. Perhaps we're playing into Danielle's plans, but right now, all I see is a leader who is pandering to her subordinates. Gesthal never gathered his underlings together like this, but she has to. It's a sign of weakness," Edgar watched the faces of his friends and frowned. "Has this not occurred to any of you?"

Strago cleared his throat. "You are closer to her than anyone else."

His frown deepened. "What I discovered before is still true today. Danielle seeks allies," Edgar announced in a lowered voice. "Today was the final piece of the puzzle. I finally have a foolproof plan to guarantee peace."

Arvis looked at Edgar as if he had grown wings. "And what is that? Nothing has changed."

"Terra has the right idea; I was afraid that she was being manipulated, but it's clear that Danielle actually relies on our favourite half-Esper. Now that's exactly what we need to do here."

Edgar gestured towards the many dignitaries and ranking officials of the Empire. "We're going offer our help in their time of need. We'll get our treaty, but we'll do more than just sign a piece of paper declaring peace between our peoples. Instead, we offer our services and make it so that they have to rely on us, depend on us, and become friends with us! You don't go to war against a friend."

"We... help the Empire?" Arvis echoed dumbfounded.

"We help ourselves. Even if we don't think about the long-term benefits of having friends like the Duke of Mansfield or one of those many Imperial generals, think about this epidemic. What if it crosses the ocean? From what Terra has already discovered, we know this toxin could reach our homes. Imagine what this magical disease could do to our people," Edgar clutched his stomach as a wave of nausea hit him.

Cyan nodded slowly. "This is the work of a devil. Poison is an enemy that cannot be fought and make no mistake, it kills worse than any blade and does so indiscriminately. Worse, it can be delivered by a single man. If the Empire's bane finds itself in our homelands, its wake shall rival that of total war."

"That's right," Edgar agreed. "And remember, this is a magical plague. The Empire, with its Magitek and advanced sciences, can't develop a cure. If the biggest, most resourceful and highly-advanced nation in the world can't fight the plague, what hope do we have?"

Strago folded his arms. "You are not alone, Edgar."

"Thamasa is so small that it can't even be expressed as a fraction of the Empire," Edgar waved aside the lore-master's comment. "We need the Empire, my friends. And now, when they need help, we will be there whole-heartedly. We will offer our hand in friendship and in doing so, find a permanent peace."

-=-

"-nor will I tolerate a warlord as a neighbour!"

Danielle was angry, that was to be expected. She was making a speech to draw the emotions of those gathered; also expected given the circumstances surrounding her position of authority. However, what Edgar did not understand was why she was outlining a course of action to those at the Imperial Counsel. Without even a meal to settle the stomach, the Empress had gone from listening to making policy. Considering the size of the group, any statements made would be set in stone lest she look weak and indecisive.

It was a manoeuvre that Edgar was unfamiliar with. Whether it was wisdom or madness, he was hesitant to judge.

"The Maverick has sent Ambassadors to convey his sympathies at the vicious attack we have suffered. He has denied knowledge of the attack, evaded responsibility and has even offered his assistance! The nerve of this barbarian, to play the game of politics while slaughtering our citizens by the thousands!"

"Since the dawn of the Empire, we have had but one policy to deal with those who dared threaten us. We have but one response for those who venture upon our soil and injure our citizens. It does not matter whether the threat is a nation, an army, or a single individual; nor will we allow our enemies to hide behind a facade of diplomacy. This Guild-" Danielle spat the words, "-is responsible for the Plague and they are commanded by one person."

Danielle turned to Karen Alysworth, the most powerful officer in the room, and her voice quickly took on a serious, composed tone.

"General Alysworth, I want your strategy to destroy the Maverick."

All eyes were directed on the elder woman. "Empress," Karen began respectfully. "As you are well aware, we have contingency plans for nearly every imaginable scenario. Unfortunately, only one is valid in this case."

Edgar could understand that. The Imperial military was fighting an enemy whose weapon could be transported by a single person and once used, was an unstoppable force.

Karen's aides began to pass folders throughout the room, the brevity of which emphasized how hastily Danielle's top generals had worked to prepare for this phase of the meeting.

"The strategy will be one of resource denial. By minimizing exposure, prioritizing long range engagement through the use of our superior artillery, we will deny the enemy their primary vector of infection."

"Two armies will venture beyond the Plains of Callaghan. An improvement over the strategy employed in Marandan War three years past, we shall take and establish permanent footholds in Oakham and Pierpoint. After our base of operations is secure, we strike Sutton and Maranda in tandem. Dividing their army and severing communication lines at Kinneil, we will starve them out of their fortifications. The Navy will provide the necessary support from Breckenridge Sound, as well as shelling the enemy throughout the duration of the war and ensuring that they are blockaded on all sides."

Edgar glanced down at the bulleted list and blanched. The Imperials did not even pretend to avoid collateral damage! The tactics they were employing would -- without a doubt -- kill ten innocents for every enemy combatant. They were absolutely without mercy!

"We will need to double the current Naval resources available to the Fourth Army, but they will deploy immediately. I ask for no less than half of the Magitek Armor Corps and once we have mustered our forces, we will begin the process of establishing ourselves. No less than four major engagements are anticipated before besieging Sutton; another before Maranda. Five months until Sutton is taken, Maranda in another two."

"Of all the contingency plans, this one marks the greatest departure from our traditional strategies. But based on the experiences of the last two seasons as well as the technical superiority of our forces, estimated losses are restricted to about two divisions. Even the Plague will only double that count at most, our procedures for dealing with epidemics have been without fail for two centuries."

There were uneasy murmurs around the room and judging by the surprised looks on many, Edgar guessed that he was not alone in his belief that Karen was too optimistic. Considering the Empire was planning on conquering a self-sufficient state comprised of their former comrades, expecting such a low number of casualties in addition to a timeline of less than a year was audacious.

"Maranda will fly the Imperial Flag before the Winter Solstice," Karen concluded.

Edgar shook his head as he read the figures before him again. This was madness.

"General Alysworth," Danielle's voice filled the silence that followed. "That is unacceptable."

The benefit of having a military mind as a head of state, Edgar waited for the inevitable splash of common sense.

"Ex-Excuse me?" Karen was clearly stunned. "What is unacceptable, your Imperial Highness?" she quickly added.

Danielle drew out the stunned silence to ensure that none would miss her words.

"Eight months is far too long. I will not tolerate the barbarian's presence for any longer than is absolutely necessary," Danielle growled. "The strategy is sound, but the timeline will be advanced."

What? Edgar's mouth hung open for a moment before he snapped his jaws shut. Advanced?!

"Empress, with all due respect, we cannot expedite a strategy that revolves around besieging cities!"

"Then our goals will have to change," Danielle snapped. "Your strategy calls for the establishment of forward bases, it is clear to me that the months necessary to accomplish this is due to a lack of manpower and the need to minimize enemy contacts. These manoeuvres are planned to net mobile units while allowing us room to concentrate our forces if the barbarian attacks in numbers."

"That is true, but-"

"Then you will have more than two armies, General. You will have four times that number! As of this moment, you are being given access to the entirety of the Imperial Armed Forces. I want no less than thirty divisions out there and these bases established within the first month!"

The low, restrained murmurs had become gasps of incredulity. Hushed whispers expressed how preposterous the Empress' strategy was.

Edgar was left aghast. He knew where Danielle was coming from. He was also aware of how ruthless Karen's strategy wasalready. That Danielle was demanding more... even considering how despicable the enemy was...

"Empress, with all due respect, even had we the infrastructure of mustering and coordinating such forces already in place -- even if our logistics could support more than a quarter-million foot soldiers alone! -- the amount of time necessary to organize everyone would delay us by weeks!"

"I expect you to attack immediately and accommodate troops as they arrive. Are you telling me that given the full resources of our Armed Forces, that you are incapable of even that, General Alysworth?"

The icy rebuke quieted the chamber, reminding many that though Danielle acted like mere a commanding general, she was still the Empress.

"No," Karen answered with reddened cheeks.

"Good," Danielle flipped through her notes without lingering on the issue. "These sieges upon Sutton and Maranda will be hastened by committing every available unit: Magitek Armor or conventional artillery. General Alysworth, I don't care if we raze the cities to the ground. I want the Maverick's head on a pike in front of my Palace within two months. Do you understand me?"

Karen swallowed. "As you command, my Empress."

With those words, Danielle's personal aides passed around yet another folder. Marked as Operation Inquisition, this one was just as short but Edgar's brief perusal led him to believe that they were printed up far ahead. He skimmed every page, but was lost in the detailed analysis of reorganization that seemed to be part of every paragraph. What was Danielle intending?

"As you are all no doubt aware, public opinion on magic could be summed up as restrained hostility," Danielle began. "The First Citizen can undoubtedly give us a more accurate update on the situation in Vector."

Terra's blue-hued visage was unreadable. "I can hear their chanting outside the Palace. They want every Magitek Knight, friend or foe, killed and their heads placed on pikes."

It was not what Danielle wanted to hear, but Terra did not seem willing to go into further detail. After an awkward silence, the Empress continued.

"The Plague is the snowflake that started the avalanche; ever since the Esper attack upon Vector and the Long Night, we have struggled to follow the path that the late-Emperor laid down for us. We shall follow his lead no longer."

She took a breath. "I dissolve the Imperial Magitek Knight Corps. As of this moment, the Magitek Knight is extinct."

Edgar raised an eyebrow. What was Danielle intending?

"However, it is undeniable that the enemy has no qualms about using magic. I will not tolerate the existence of this Guild any longer than I wish the Maverick to remain breathing. The band of mages that are responsible for this... this Shroud, this Plague, I want them hunted down to the last man."

"I am creating a new body, independent of the Armed Forces and accountable only to myself. They will find and hunt these Guild Members using any means necessary. They will have absolute authority over the search and assassination of these fanatical mages. I want our enemies to be unable to relax without fearing reprisal, unable to sleep without fearing that it may become permanent."

"They venture within our borders freely for they are but individuals, concealing their true nature until the very last moment. They could be anywhere, acting as humble farmers or even respected veterans, all the while planning to infect entire cities with this demonic Plague. It is unacceptable! They believe they are above reprisal by hiding amongst us. I will not allow it! They will be ousted, hunted down, and slaughtered like the animals they are!"

"This is Operation Inquisition. We will find them wherever they are, be it within Vector or beyond the Plains of Callaghan. But let it be known that while these mages can run, but they cannot hide."

"Accountable to only your Imperial Highness," Karen paraphrased. "I would council against such a policy, as in the past the independence of such a body would only guarantee strife in the near future."

"Your objection is noted."

No one else spoke out though and Karen sighed in frustration. "Very well, who will command such a force? Who is in charge of destroying these fanatics?"

"Since the Inquisition will undoubtedly be exposed to the Plague, only soldiers already exposed will be considered. Of that group, there is but a single, distinguished senior mage."

Danielle turned to the blue-hued image in the centre of the table.

"Colonel Norris Ferdinand, you will establish and lead the Imperial Inquisition."

-=-

Terra's mouth dropped open.

"He didn't know," Locke breathed. Outside of the communication zone, he could safely state the obvious. "If he knew, he wouldn't-"

"I-I don't want the job," Norris stuttered. He looked through the field of magic, across half a continent, and into the eyes of the Empress. "I am honoured but I cannot accept it, your Imperial Highness."

"And that is why I am confident in selecting you," Danielle answered without a smile.

"Please, Empress, I-"

"General Alysworth will provide the resources necessary for you to get started, helping you find other mages who have already been exposed, as well as organizational and logistical difficulties you might face."

Norris glanced over at Karen, his face ghastly white.

Locke closed his eyes sympathetically. The responsibility of such a position... to find another Corian amongst the millions of Imperial Citizens and stop them from releasing more of the Plague, it was a horrific burden.

"You have done well so far, Colonel Ferdinand. By setting a quarantine before the disease was confirmed, you have isolated it and perhaps saved the Empire. Now you will take command of the Inquisition, your former friends and colleagues of the Magitek Knight Corps, and you will again save the Empire. You will do your duty and destroy the fanatics responsible for Fanshaw, and twice Vector."

Locke could hear Norris swallow, so parched was the elder man's throat.

"As you command, my Empress."

-=-

The Imperial Counsel was silent, still busy digesting all that the Empress had decreed. But she was not yet finished.

"Since the dawn of the Empire, we have faced many enemies and defeated them all. Our brave and courageous legions have kept monster and barbarian away from home, so that we may have peace and civilization. That the enemy has resorted to such treachery -- to release a Magical Plague in Vector -- is unforgivable!"

All about the round table, officers were nodding their heads in unison. Around the room, the crowd silently approved of all that Danielle said. Edgar could see the disgust on each of their faces as Danielle summarized the crimes that had been perpetrated against the Empire. Even Cyan had begun to nod along. Edgar didn't blame his friend for joining along. In fact, he might have been concerned if Cyan could not sympathize with the Imperials.

But what Danielle had proposed... Edgar understood. He knew what a hard decision it would be, to fight an enemy that used biological weapons. Still...

The Empress had risen now, her fiery hair and crimson face presiding over the Imperial Counsel like the vengeful spirit that bewitched them all. Her hands were clenched as she shook in anger.

"The warlord and his barbarians laugh at us! They seek to divide us, to sap our strength and weaken our spirit. They have used disease as their sword, delivered by a single, deceitful backstabbing traitor! We cannot co-exist with these treacherous mind-controlling fanatics!"

"It's the devil's magic!"

"There can be no peace!"

"We must utterly annihilate the cowards!"

With the crowd voicing their agreement, the Empress Danielle composed herself in the blink of an eye. The transition would have been jarring had the chamber been sombre, but instead it was awash with bloodthirst.

"In the face of this strategy, traditional measures cannot be judged as adequate. It is not sound military strategy to commit Imperial Forces into a disease-filled land; it is imperative that we adapt in order to assure our permanent security. Our defence is strong, but against the enemy we face, and the enemies that we will face, it is not enough."

"Even a single rogue agent could unleash another wasting plague. They could hide in the wilderness and strike at anytime. In order to combat such a despicable strategy, we need allies. Foreign nations desire such enemies even less than we and in this, we shall find common ground."

Edgar nodded. It was a good strategy. It was his.

"And so it is that we cannot allow any transgression to go unpunished. Be it the device of a single man, or the collective fanaticism of thousands, we will not balk when counter-attacking. We will find out what is dear to them and we will strike swiftly; aggressively and we will not accept surrender! Our legions will venture far and wide -- across the entire world -- to hunt down every rogue; his family, his friends, his city and his nation!"

"Our security shall be guaranteed by deterring any potential aggressor. We will respond with vigour. We will strike back with the full might of our armed forces; a policy of massive retaliation!"

Edgar's throat was suddenly dry.

"We are the Empire! We do not hold back! We will destroy our enemies without mercy!" Danielle spread her arms. "Glory to the Empire!"

And the chamber thundered in response:

"GLORY TO THE EMPIRE!"

Visions of Peace will be continued in The Twenty-First Chapter - Quarantine

This post has been edited by Elessar on 23rd April 2007 05:59

The Twenty-First Chapter - Quarantine

They held for a second, waves of energy washing over the pair of colossal doors. Swirls of scarlet and emerald light clashed in the center, gnawing upon the other and fusing into a sickly shade of yellow that slithered about in spirals. The door frame buckled, the walls shook and the very floor itself trembled.

Then the maelstrom subsided. Protective spells that had held up against innumerable Magitek Knights simply faded away without any ill effect.

A pair of leather-adorned guards exchanged concerned looks.

The doors imploded. A rising wall of thick smoke smashed into the onlookers. A second wall, sparser but deadlier, passed through the surprised crowd. Splinters imbedded themselves into a few unlucky souls, cutting clear through armor and into helpless flesh. They collapsed to the ground but were quickly pulled aside by their peers.

Screams of pain subsided along with the smoke and all that could be seen, framed in the doorway of the Emperor's residence, was the shape of feathered wings spread wide.

Terra Branford turned towards them, glowing red eyes cutting through the thin layer of settling dust.

"Come."

Her aides followed without hesitation, each pushing an empty cart. They stormed through the dusty chambers that had belonged to Gestahl, Terra in the lead.

The statues guarding each side of the main hall seemed to have warm, lingering auras, but there were no more protective barriers. Terra gestured before the personal library of the late Emperor.

"Go. Take everything."

Her aides divided the shelves up efficiently, quickly emptying the chamber of its many treasures. Terra felt more than a few of the tomes calling to her, several so strongly that she felt a physical pull.

"How did you know, my Sophis?"

Terra let out a deep breath, her skin returning to its normal colour as she felt herself diminish. "Locke told me," Terra answered as her head was cleared of all the cobwebs. Several of the tomes still pulled at her, but she resisted them with ease.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "All who serviced these chambers are dead, and others were never allowed beyond those doors. Respectfully, how did your friend know?"

Terra glanced at the living reminder of Anson. The Loyalist did not look like she had recently fought off death, but until just a few days ago, she had been hospitalized for grievous injuries. Catherine had fallen only due to the number of wounds overwhelming her, but amazingly, none had been fatal. Still, she had lost a lot of blood. That she had lived had been a miracle, the doctors said.

"For the same reason you survived the Guild," Terra avoided the question of her Magitek Knight -- mage, she mentally corrected -- bodyguard.

"Strength of faith? Then God is with him."

Terra glared at the normally quiet mage, but Catherine was inscrutable.

"By the whimsical nature that is war," Terra growled inaudibly.

-=-

Locke glanced around the Imperial Library. The huge chamber was mostly empty, but near the side, a number of tables had been moved in. Dozens of scholars -- bookworms really -- were scanning through piles of divided books. Most were making notes, others conversing with each other about proper translations or double meanings.

Neither soldier gave Locke any trouble as he passed by. Security in the palace had been doubled and the black-trimmed leather of the Imperial Guard was everywhere. Unlike the past -- when Gestahl was in charge -- these men were armed as if they were marching to war. Locke shook his head in amazement, wondering how they dealt with the weight of carrying so much. Even if they weren't moving often...

Terra glanced up as he approached. Her feet rested atop her personal table; everyone had given her wide berth and she had seized the opportunity to get comfortable.

"How is it?" she asked hopefully.

"Total lockdown; second-level quarantine procedures are finished and a further layer is being set into place. We're doing our best to make sure that the library and basement labs are carrier-free," Locke answered. He held up his hand, declining Terra's offer to sit down. "It's really bad out there, but at least none of the garrison have joined in the rioting yet. It's only a matter of time though."

Terra sighed. "And Home Division?"

"They've practically got Vector sieged, no one leaves without approval from the Empress or yourself. Unlike us, they're not undermanned. Chocobos, Armors, they've got it all. They've finished digging trenches and building battlements. I heard they're starting walls on the outside to prevent people from breaking in," he shook his head at the madness of it all. "Not sure why anyone would want to come here."

Terra nodded bleakly. "The Major of the Imperial Guard asked if we wanted another battalion. What do you think?"

"You'll need them," Locke expressed dreadfully. "Tell them to go around back, it's the shortest path to the palace and if they go at night, the riots should be at a lull."

Terra set aside the flimsy piece of paper she had been reading. Locke didn't mean to, but he read some of the writing nonetheless.

"Don't worry Locke, we're doing what we can to stop the Plague. I have practically all of Anson's general staff researching Gestahl's books. We should thank the dead Emperor, he had excellent taste and knew valuable tomes when he saw them."

"At least there's that," Locke answered, trying to keep quiet.

"I'm not going to allow all of Anson's work to go to waste. The Empire will not crumble, not on my watch! We need the security of their armies for peace, you and I both know this."

"Yeah," Locke's eyes flickered back to the letter against his will.

"If it wasn't for these stalwart soldiers, we wouldn't even be able to keep quarantine. The Plague would've spread far and wide, infecting and killing millions more. It's for the greater good that we have them keep the peace, even if they might catch it themselv-"

"Why are you reading a letter from Farin?" Locke interrupted, unable to keep quiet any longer. "I mean, at this time!"

Terra glared at him, then picked up the letter and flipped it over. "That wasn't very polite of you."

Locke ran a hand through his greasy hair in frustration. "Dammit Terra, you haven't been out there for days. You don't know what kind of hell it is! People are becoming symptomatic every hour now, and that means they're as good as dead! And it's not just the working men, women and children are coming down with it too!"

"I've told the people to stay at home as much as possible and avoid contact with others," Terra grumbled. "I knew this would happen."

"They're dying out there, Terra," Locke exasperated. "So why in the name of everything good are you reading crap from Farin about morale? Who cares about the Tzen armies? They're not infected!"

"Farin's a good man," Terra snapped.

"I'm not saying otherwise."

Terra waved Farin's letter at Locke. "He's had his hands full dealing with veterans, pardoning war criminals and settling them. Do you know how the Empire awards its retiring soldiers, Locke?"

"I honestly don't care," Locke answered.

"Right, because it's my problem, not yours," Terra put down the letter with care. "Despite being here, despite all that the Plague is doing, I am still First Citizen. There are many issues that require my attention and I won't let the Plague distract me from it. There's no point stopping one threat just to see this tenuous alliance dissolve and the Empire plunged into another Civil War."

"The greater good," Locke quoted.

Terra's eyes were downcast. "Yeah, the big picture."

"I don't know what came over me. I know you're working as hard as you can on a cure. Sorry."

"Don't be," Terra answered sympathetically. "You're right, I haven't been out there and if I tried, the Imperial Guard would probably try to restrain me by force. I guess I'm losing touch, locked away behind these walls. A cure is on my mind though, every waking moment that I can spare," she emphasized.

"I know you'll find it."

She sighed. "I wish I had as much faith as you do, but the fact is that most of my time is spent on politics."

Locke nodded. "I wonder how our friends are doing," he tried to stretch out the conversation.

"Until the labs get the prototype working, it's too much effort to maintain casual communication via magic," was Terra's excuse. "I'm sure they're doing fine and understand our situation. It's not as if we can go visit them; besides the work, there is the quarantine."

Locke nodded again. "Yeah. At first I was surprised they were helping the Empress, but it seems natural for Edgar to do something like that. He's not the type to pack his bags and run home to Figaro. As for Cyan, he's fought through much worse. At least we know they're alive, I mean, it's been so long and I wish we had the time to check up on them. But with the Civil War, and then your work with Anson and mine with Norris, there just wasn't anytime," he rambled.

"Alright," Terra narrowed her eyes. "What are you hiding now?"

"Hiding?" Locke put on the most innocent look he could.

"I'm not stupid," Terra growled. "What are you scheming?"

Locke sighed. She would find out eventually and then get angry again, so it was time to face her head-on. "I'm leaving Vector," he stated plainly.

Terra's mouth was open for a second, and then she shook her head and started giggling. "I think not," she declared after recovering.

"I don't see what's so funny," Locke mumbled beneath his breath.

"No one leaves Vector," Terra continued. "I don't care what you're trying to do, I won't risk it."

"I'm not a plague-carrier," Locke tapped at the phantom wound on his chest. "And don't ask me how I know, I just do."

"That's not why I'm worried," Terra snapped, seemingly annoyed. "I won't have you out there anymore than absolutely necessary. I understand that you want to work with the people, to understand their suffering and try to alleviate their pains. I respect that," she stressed, "and I'd do it myself if it was possible. But just like I can't devote all my attention to finding a cure, I won't stand aside idly while you put yourself in harm's way."

"I appreciate your concern," Locke started.

"Then you'll respect my decision," Terra interrupted. "I don't want to order the Guard to keep you here, but I will if I have to."

Locke straightened. "It's not your decision, it's mine. I told you: I made you a promise, and I'm going to keep it."

Terra folded her arms apprehensively. "What exactly did you do?" she realized there was more to this.

"I joined the Inquisition."

Terra was inscrutable.

"Norris spent most of his time getting together the people he feels are trustworthy, assigning them regions of the Empire to investigate. However, that's over and he's finally turned his attention towards the west."

Terra's scowl was gradually more and more pronounced.

Locke swallowed. "He's organizing strike teams to slip behind enemy lines and deal with the Guild before the rest of the army arrives. There are standing orders to destroy everything the Guild stands for: find their leadership, eliminate their body of members and most importantly, find the plague pits from which they developed this-"

"Dammit Locke!" Terra shot to her feet. "Do you want to die?"

Her outburst had attracted much attention, but a dark-leather wearing woman -- Locke was pretty sure he had met her before -- glared down most of the scholars. He turned back to Terra.

"Norris needs all the help he can get."

"Norris won't be risking infection during every waking moment!" Terra snapped.

"Actually, he will be," Locke defended, but Terra wasn't listening.

"You're barely capable of wielding magic," she continued in a rant. "Those are real mages; Magitek Knights trained for battle and you won't have me to fend them off! And then there's the plague, who knows what kind of diseased land is past Callaghan? I can't believe you'd be so reckless to run off and go get yourself killed. Why would you do something so stupid? You won't even get behind enemy lines; every scout has reported that all of Callaghan is a battleground in waiting!"

"We'll sneak around, probably arrive by sea."

"So the Strachan Mountains?"

"No," Locke snarled. "Never; we'll go around."

"And do you plan on going around mages capable of blasting you apart before you even see them?"

"I can handle a bunch of fanatics," Locke said confidently.

"And the Plague?" Terra snapped. "Even Sherwood couldn't handle that!"

Locke inhaled sharply. "Yeah," he grumbled. "Well, I guess I'll be reason enough for you to work harder on a cure."

Terra's arms fell to her sides. "You're serious about this," she reasoned with a more composed tone.

Locke nodded.

"Is it because of him?"

Locke gazed into Terra's eyes. He didn't know how to answer her question.

Terra sat back down. "Fine," she sighed reluctantly. "Since you've relegated yourself to this insane quest, I'll just have to sleep less... maybe once a week."

Locke felt a smile break loose. "Try once every two days, I guarantee it'll be better; less hallucinations," he winked.

Terra laughed, and it was a hearty sound that Locke committed to memory. "I'll look into that," she said as she waved at the dark-leather armored woman. "But until that comes to be, I'm going to need more help."

"Why's that?"

"Anson cobbled together a great team, but no one had a better mind to breach theory and application than he did. There's many here who are great with theory and they tell me I'm a bastion of intuition," she said with a roll of the eyes. "Which basically means I'm a worthless addition to their research team."

"So why don't you just tell one of your Magitek Knight bodyguards to deal with the applied theory?" Locke asked. He had finally remembered where he met the short-hair blond woman before. She seemed different this time; thinner than he remembered.

Terra lowered her voice. "Catherine is a warrior -- and I don't mean she's stupid -- but she has an even worse feeling for theory than I do. Most of the mages are the same way," she stressed the word mage, reminding Locke that the Magitek Knight had been abolished by the Empress.

"So what you need is a magical scholar."

"Engineer," Terra corrected as Catherine finally arrived. "Considering the Sack of Vector, as well as all the casualties from the Civil War, I wouldn't hold out much hope for that," she stood up and issued a quick set of orders to the deadly warrior.

Locke quickly decided that it was time to leave, while Terra was still in a relatively good mood. "Well, I'm off," he turned away on his heel.

"Locke."

He turned back without hesitation.

Terra wet her lips. She looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"You said you made me a promise," she began. Her fingers tapped against the table nervously. "Well, it's my turn: I promise you that everything you've done, everything you plan on doing... none of it will go to waste. I swear to you that I'll create something beautiful, a lasting peace throughout the entire world."

Locke smiled. "A beautiful world huh? That sounds great."

"Promise me you'll be careful," she grabbed his arm before he turned away again. "Don't take any unnecessary chances."

He glanced down and gently placed his free hand on top of hers.

"It's a deal."

-=-

He watched carefully as the liquid fell from the spout, glistening in the reflected sunlight with just a few tiny bubbles swirling about.

"I take it he's talking about serving justice again?"

Edgar rolled his eyes. He quickly sniffed the liquor in his glass and grinned. A perfect amber shade and so strong that smelling it gave him a kick. He took long sip and found solace in the sensation that travelled down his throat and warmed his belly.

"I suppose it's a prerequisite for bartenders to be telepathic?" the King of Figaro replied at last.

"Me? I'm no bartender, just a tavern owner down on his luck and forced to serve patrons himself."

Edgar raised an eyebrow. He glanced around the establishment and noted the fine and recently-bought furnishings. Though they were not up to his high standards, one could hardly fault the businessman for that. After all, they were in the middle of a desert, far away from the trappings of civilization. Yet ale and liquor were available from all regions of the Empire, the food was delicious and the waitress was a delight to rest one's eyes upon.

"I think you're being a bit too modest; you've been moving up in the world. Why, I can tell that no more than half a year ago, you probably would've hustled out your current clientele in fear that a fight would erupt and your reputation ruined."

The tavern owner chuckled. "I see you are quite used to drinking the Empire's finest."

"And you equally experienced with keeping the peace."

A broad smile appeared on the aging owner's face. "On the house," he declared as he poured more of the amber liquor into Edgar's glass. "It's been a while since I've had such a perceptive patron."

Edgar leaned across the bar. "I take it that the Empire has been cycling its soldiers through here?"

"I don't worry about law and order anymore, if you get my meaning."

Edgar had thought as much. "Well I'm not of the Empire."

"That's no surprise. You might not have the thick accent that your friends have, but that doesn't mean you don't have one."

"I have an accent?" Edgar was surprised. When he was younger, he had worked hard to remove the nuances of his speech. It helped set people at ease.

"A slight one, I wouldn't have caught it but a long time ago, I had a guest who spoke the same way you did. Now that I think about it, he kind of looked like you."

"Really," Edgar raised his glass. "Then to coincidences, Bill."

Bill poured himself a drink; just enough to be polite. "To the security of the Empire, keeping us alive so we can drink in peace."

Edgar downed the rest of his glass. The tavern owner was a good man, he decided, and a natural diplomat. It was obvious Bill was unused to so many Imperials. Considering Halstead's location, far away from the Core and without a port, that wasn't much of a surprise. The King decided that this was a good opportunity to find out more about Danielle's recent actions.

"I guess you're glad that the new Empress is here, right? Law and order-"

"-and a stream of excellent men such as yourself, Mister Edgar," Bill was still unaware of Edgar's stature, having only been told to house important guests of the Empire. "I can't complain, business is good and the town is flourishing."

"You don't have to be so diplomatic around me," Edgar leaned closer. "So many soldiers must really throw a wrench into your other affairs."

Bill looked shocked. "I don't know what rumours you've heard, but my establishment has always been clean of such scum. Dust or women, pleasure is not my business."

"I didn't mean to suggest otherwise," Edgar quickly said. "I just meant dealing with soldiers all the time, it must be very taxing. Not much time to relax after-hours," he recovered smoothly.

"You don't know the half of it! You and your friends aren't demanding, but I've dealt with men from all corners of the Empire. Every single soldier has his own favourite drink and they get pretty angry if I don't have it. Finding the right folks to keep me in business, now that was a real struggle. You don't know how hard it is to find people trustworthy and dependable."

Edgar scoffed at the irony.

"Took me a couple months, but the winter was key. A bunch of folks that weren't with the army came to my door because it's always nice and dry here. That's when I found him: a chocobo driver who pulled me through the hard times. His name's Mark and I owe him big."

"Sounds like smooth-running now."

"There are a few bumps here and there, but nothing compared to the storm after the Long Night. I'd tell you a couple of the stories from back then, but I'm sworn to secrecy!"

"I'm sure you could pass them down as legends," Edgar lied. He hopped off his barstool and dropped a few coins on the counter. He had heard enough from a man on the fringes of the Empire.

"Please, Mister Edgar, the Empress is covering your stay," Bill palmed the coins and held them out to Edgar.

"A tip then, for the enjoyable break."

-=-

Cyan was riled up. He had been in a fiery mood ever since the Imperial Counsel and even Edgar felt his patience beginning to wane. The King of Figaro had hoped Cyan had calmed down while he had been out to town, but it looked like the Knight of Doma had drawn on an infinite font of outrage.

"Did you know that Leo Christophe once apologized to my person?" Cyan was saying again. "There was an honourable man; he felt guilt over an atrocity regardless of the circumstances. It is the same in this case."

Arvis sipped at his cup of tea -- Bill had only one kind of leaf on hand -- and glanced up with hope as Edgar walked in. "Any news?"

Edgar shook his head before sitting down. They were gathered above Bill's tavern, a common-area for guests but at the moment, they were the only patrons in the entire building. Danielle had known that the establishment was below Edgar's standards and tried to make up for it by ensuring their total privacy.

He would have preferred to stay on the battlefield like Danielle, but that was not an option. Despite her grand speech and so-called policy of dealing with other nations, she wasn't all too keen upon his presence. Edgar knew there were many possible reasons for that. Her position was akin to a balancing act: she needed the assistance of Figaro and the northern nations, yet she could not give any impression of weakness.

There were more than a few officers in her command both bloodthirsty and desiring advancement.

"The Empress Danielle shall parley with us tomorrow. As for Banon, it should be another day before he is back with the fleet," Edgar answered Arvis' question. He wiped his brow and was amazed at the wetness -- strange, he hadn't thought it was hot enough to cause him to sweat. "I wouldn't worry," Edgar mumbled as he wiped his hands. "The men with him are reliable and Tzen is still safe from the Plague."

"And it shall remain that way," Cyan said. "I heard from many that the Empress has tasked Farin Starson with keeping Tzen free of the vile Plague. I need not remind you of his past deeds; he is amongst the few I would judge to have a strong moral compass and the integrity to follow it."

Edgar nodded. "I heard the same, though mostlygathered from hearsay because I don't have a legion of Imperial soldiers fawning over me," he said jokingly.

"Perhaps you should go back to the house of Lord Mansfield, you and he shared quite the connection."

"I stillthink he'd fawn over you," Edgar laughed. "I just can't compete with the great Cyan Garamonde."

Arvis and Cyan both broke into laughter, but the Knight of Doma's head was bowed and his laughter sounded forced.

"I shouldn't talk about the Duke like this," Edgar relented. "If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't be sitting here."

Cyan glanced out the window. The roads leading to Halstead were full of Imperial convoys carrying supplies to the front. A large force was camped out here as well, for the desert town was the keystone of the Imperial supply train. "I am truly grateful for his assistance, but I wish we were closer to the front," he mused as he watched Imperial soldiers build fortifications at the edge of town.

"Is that really safe?" Arvis pointed out. "The enemy commands the Plague, as crazy as that sounds. One swipe of a blade and the infection would spread throughout the army. Everyone might catch it all at once and like a wildfire, it would destroy us before any response is organized."

"All the more reason to be at the front, to look these devils in the eye and show them the meaning of justice."

"I'm more concerned that the Maverick might start infecting his own people and send them into battle," Edgar sighed. He had written detailed instructions to Douglas and hoped Banon would deliver them soon. The last thing his people needed while recovering from the coup was an epidemic of a magical nature. "There's been no word from Terra; nothing more has been discovered about the Plague. How it infects people is still nothing more than a guess."

"I am sure that she is doing her best," Cyan tore his eyes away from the Imperial convoys upon the road. "Terra understands what a vile and despicable beast the Maverick and his fanatics are. They are evil, and though she is young and inexperienced, she is doing what is proper. I wish everyone was as principled and selfless."

Edgar's eyes flickered to Strago, who had been silent all day. The old lore-master was seated on the other side of the room, staring out the window without a sound.

"We do what we can," Edgar wanted to change the topic quickly. "I'm just glad that Danielle is so forgiving. She never struck me as the type to simply drop matters, but I guess that's changed now that she's the Empress."

"We're lucky she hasn't pressed the matter of her ships," Arvis agreed, happy to help Edgar steer the conversation away from a topic they had touched too often in recent times. "I suppose it's only a matter of time though."

"I intend on offering a division," Edgar explained. "It won't make up for what she's lost, but by lending a portion of our fleet to her in good faith, I think it'll be a gesture she won't refuse. Considering the pace of this war, I'm sure she could use additional seafaring vessels in the push westwards..." the King's voice faltered with that last word.

"Sabin will take care of himself," Cyan was full of confidence. "He always has."

"Yeah..." Edgar tried to compose himself, as he could do nothing for his brother regardless. He wiped at his brow again. "I just hope the Imperial Armies don't charge too recklessly towards Pierpoint. The timeline that the Empress has set is barely feasible. It's just not possible to coordinate armies of such size."

"Well I'm impressed with her decision," Arvis leaned back into his chair. "I think it's good that she's going after the Maverick with such vigour. It puts her people at risk, but sends a clear message. This warlord attacked her capital without provocation, even though the Empire was waiting for a peaceful solution with their former colleagues. Such an act is reprehensible and should be punished!"

"It reminds me of Kefka," Cyan snarled that cursed name. "The more we learn of the Maverick, the more I am certain that his kind must be brought to justice."

"Agreed," Arvis closed his eyes in recollection. "We can't allow another madman wielding magic to threaten us, not after we've worked so hard."

"Such a shame we have no allies who could counter such magic."

"Cyan!" Edgar snapped. "That was crass of you."

But Strago continued to stare lifelessly out the window despite the insult. His silence infuriated Cyan.

"I play not politics nor will I dance around the truth. The cowardice of his people-"

"Cyan!" Edgar was on his feet in a heartbeat and his hands came down upon the table between them. "Enough already!"

The Knight of Doma folded his arms, silenced but unapologetic. Edgar could not believe how long the two men had feuded over a minor slight; he didn't even remember the original circumstances! But this would continue no longer. "I've had enough of the daily bickering, it's driving us all up the walls. I don't know what's come between you two, but these snide comments will stop."

"Please Edgar, it's quite alright. You don't have to defend me," Strago said at last. "Cyan is quite right, my people are cowards and I have no defence for them."

"Strago..."

"It's fine, Arvis. Like Cyan says, this is not the time to dance around the truth," the lore-master sighed. "His only guilt lies in his tactlessness and I doubt old men such as we shall ever change."

Edgar stepped over to Strago and put a hand on his shoulder. "We don't care if Thamasa doesn't willingly join this war, it doesn't matter to us," he said in a comforting tone. "If we force your people to help, to make them go against their will, then we would be just as immoral as our enemies."

Strago's smile was thin and devoid of joy. The old man stood up and brushed Edgar's hand off his blue coat. "What's immoral is to idle while a magical plague kills thousands of innocents. Haven't you seen the reports? Dozens dying with every day that passes! Hundreds more becoming symptomatic and that's just in Vector. The same is happening throughout the Empire and we all know that anyone who shows the slightest sign of the Plague is as good as dead. Cyan's right, we have to do something."

"The Empire is-"

"Failing to find a cure," Strago interrupted Edgar. "Terra oversees that project," his smile, as fake as it was, faded away. "A girl scarcely beyond her teenage years with barely any academic training is in charge of finding a cure, of performing a miracle. If that's not desperation, then I fear to discover what is."

"We can't do anything about it," Edgar pointed out.

"No, you can't do anything about."

With those words, Edgar experienced a sinking feeling to rival his concern for Sabin's well-being. "Strago..."

"Yes Edgar, I have already done something stupid. It's the right thing to do; the moral choice. Without the Empire and her Magitek Knights, her scores of scholars and vast continental resources, the Plague might be forever unstoppable." Strago shook his head. "The greatest atrocities since the War of the Magi have not been man-made, but the results of an epidemics similar to this. I cannot, in good conscience, hide behind the Empire's screen of soldiers while children die of wasting disease."

"Strago-"

"I have already spoken to the Empress. I leave for Vector tonight."

Arvis shot to his feet. "Strago, that's a little hasty!"

"No! This should have been done the very moment I heard of the Plague, but I was afraid," Strago frown twisted into a scowl. "No more! I am no coward. I will do what's right."

"There has to be another way," Edgar mumbled in shock. "Books elsewhere that you can delve into."

"We could convince Terra to move her research somewhere safer. It would be best for everyone involved to stay far away from Vector," Arvis added.

"Yes, move to Tzen where ships from my fleet could ferry the Figarian Libraries to you. The knowledge of my ancestors would be at your fingertips, Strago."

"Those are unacceptable solutions. There is a reason why Terra stays in Vector," the lore-master explained with a sigh, "and that is because research can only go so far. Experimentation is necessary and for that, we must be at the source."

"You'll purposely bring yourself in contact with the Plague," Arvis deduced dumbfoundedly.

"You're not young anymore Strago, the adventures of your past are nothing compared to this," Edgar exasperated. "If you go to Vector, your chances are terrible."

"I know and I'm sorry, my friends, but this old man has made his choice."

Edgar turned to Cyan for further assistance, but the stubborn Knight could not even bare to look at them. Edgar spun back around, growing ever more desperate. "What about Relm?" Edgar demanded as he wiped his brow again. He had to convince Strago out of this mad plan! "What do you want me to tell her when you come down with the Plague?"

Strago glanced down at his feet. He closed his eyes and bunched together his fists.

Evidently, Edgar hit a nerve. This was his chance. "What am I supposed to say when the Plague takes you from us?" he pressed forcefully. "What do you want me to tell her when this mad plan of yours takes the only family she has left!?"

"Tell her..."

"Tell her what, Strago? What do I tell your grieving granddaughter?"

"Tell her that her grandfather always did what was right."

A tear fell onto the floor.

"Strago!" Edgar shouted as his friend fled their room. He ran into the hallway, but Strago had already charged down the flight of stairs. He gave pursuit, but as he threw open the door and the heat of the desert hit him squarely, he knew it was far too late. "Dammit!" Edgar swore, slamming the door in frustration. He stormed back.

Arvis held his head in his hands while Cyan stared blankly at the wet spot upon the carpet. They were all stunned silent.

Vector would soon be the city of walking dead. It was a disaster that was waiting for the right moment and now Strago was going there willingly.

"Dammit," Edgar whispered as he collapsed into his seat.

-=-

It was bound to happen.

The sun was setting, its rays of light blindingly brilliant in the eyes of those who tried to look west. Though alone, that should not have been an issue, this was the proverbial snowflake that started the avalanche.

He was an older Sergeant nearing the end of his service. What youthful ideals that came with joining the army -- duty and honour from serving the Empire, the glory of battle and of course, the spoils of war -- had long since disappeared. The Civil War had sapped the strength of many soldiers, especially those who had sought peaceful tours by garrisoning within the Imperial Core.

All he wanted to do was leave the service. A few more months and that would become reality. He had survived the Esper attack, the Long Night, and fought in numerous battles over the course of the Civil War. He had donned the emblem of the New Order, but only because of the beliefs of those he served. He was a decorated, loyal soldier that had found himself in the Imperial Guard, so the last thing he had ever expected was this:

The Plague.

He had friends in Vector. A lot of friends. Family too, many had moved back from the northern settlements at his behest. Vector's recovery had been full of possibilities. Anyone could become rich if they just had the will!

And now they were likely dead.

They had a good commander, an officer who was willing to bond with the men. The Lieutenant had explained to them what they were bottling up Vector; explained to them why they had to keep their own people from leaving Imperial Center. Perhaps their commander had left some details unspoken, but this Sergeant had already heard enough.

He had invited his family to die.

Yet still, for the sake of the rest of the Empire, he did his duty. For the millions more that were not infected, and in the forlorn hope that his family might still survive, he manned one of the easternmost blockades.

It had been weeks since the initial quarantine, weeks since the unforgivable attack on the Palace, weeks of turning away the people he had taken an oath to serve and protect. They could not get close to the infected and thus arrows were always levelled at innocents. Fences, barricades and strong walls were erected between them and the victims.

Words were rarely enough. Even the threat of arrows failed twice, but one thing had always worked.

The trembling earth as Magitek Armors took position.

Imperial Guardsmen were typically proud of their standing, of working closely with the wizards of their army: the Magitek Armor Corps. The courageous pilots that commanded the symbols of Imperial Might weren't the egotistical brats that the Sergeant had heard many stories of. They were brothers-in-arms, patiently awaiting discharge while serving in a place that should have been peaceful. None desired the glory of victory nor the guaranteed profit that would accompany those marching beyond Callaghan. They cared not for the Maverick, let others deal with that villain! They had served long enough.

This was the easternmost blockade, upon a road that was known as the Principate. Level-headed men, veterans of many wars, with none of the youthful recklessness that might have marred the professional nature of the Imperial Army.

So what happened?

The sun was in their eyes as it sank behind Vector and the Dalziel Mountains. The noise beyond the barricades had risen only slightly, so no one, not even the attentive Sergeant noticed something very odd.

That the people gathered on the Principate had become organized.

Minutes passed and the people's complaints had risen a distinguishable level. Their shouts were ever louder and it was always the same: they weren't infected, let them leave, they didn't want to die. After weeks of ignoring their pleas, it was easy for the men barricading Principate Road to disregard the crowd's increasing frustration, anger, and desperation.

And then the ranking officer -- our veteran Sergeant -- was alerted by one of the men in his command.

With a hand shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun, he saw that the people had begun to climb over fences. Others were gathered, carrying something between them... something that was silver.

A steel beam.

Yet in the split-second between that and alerting his squad, he saw her.

His daughter.

Or... he thought he saw her. He shook his head in amazement, surprised at how easily he had been caught off-guard. But the few seconds it took for him to recover was all that was necessary for the first layer of barricades to come down.

The rioting crowd charged towards them. Spurred onwards by their success, they were too enraged to be dissuaded by words, too numerous to be stopped by arrows. They had whatever weapons they could scrounge up, knives, swords, some even had bow and arrows. Yet the vast majority carried tools from work, planks from half-completed buildings, rocks they had picked up from the ground, and a team of eight construction workers had decided to use a steel beam as a battering ram.

The situation had gotten very bad, very fast.

There were two more barricades, the last of which was sturdier than mere sandbags and chain-link fences, but that would not be enough. Those positioned at the blockade were too few to deal with a riot of this magnitude. Quick and decisive action was needed! The Sergeant spun about-

"I'm sorry sir."

He was one of the new arrivals to the growing Imperial Guard: tall and muscular, blond hair and somehow, a face clear of scars. He was a handsome man -- probably broke many hearts during his campaigns -- with a glorious future but at the moment, there was a hard look in the Private's eyes. It was at this critical juncture that for the first time, the Sergeant forgot a subordinate's name.

"What are you doing, soldier?" he demanded as he faced the tip of a bloody sword.

"I have family out there," the Private was perhaps half a decade younger than he. "I won't let them die."

There was no fear in the man's voice, despite knowing there was only one fate for those that dared point a blade at their superiors. But they were far past insubordination; the man was a traitor that had killed at least two of the men in his squad.

They glared at each other. Neither was willing to say anything, for both achieved their goals in the terse silence. The Sergeant awaited reinforcements; the Private wanted a hostage for bargaining, as well as waste what precious time remained before it was too late. The tension was interrupted by the sounds of those desperately trying to break through the second set of barricades: some screamed in pain as they were cut by barbed wire, others grunted as they threw their bodies into the chain-links.

"If any of them are carriers, you'll have signed the death warrants for thousands more," the Sergeant declared suddenly.

A condescending sneer. "That's the price I'm willing to pa-"

An arrow embedded into the side of his skull; there was so much force that it almost lifted the body off its feet.

"Sergeant Erik!"

It was the Lieutenant and trailing him, two squadrons. The Sergeant saluted the archer who had saved his life -- the very same spotter who alerted him to the rioters -- and wiped the fresh blood off his face. The black-trim of the Imperial Guard filed up shaky wooden stairs and onto the battlements, bows and arrows being drawn as they got into position. Behind them, two Magitek Armors shook the ground as they advanced.

Both ranking men had climbed to higher ground and saw the extent of the riot. Rocks and arrows flew towards them, none with any accuracy or strength, but the pace of the charging crowd might have put some barbarian tribes to shame. The rioters had actually made it past the second barricade and were charging towards the last.

"Warn them," the Lieutenant decided with a frown.

The Sergeant gestured at the two pilots. "A line in the sand!"

Elemental cannons spewed brilliant crimson beams that detonated just shy of the third set of barricades; a combination of trenches filled with deadly spikes as well as stout chain fences. Dirt erupted into the air -- the force of which knocked the nearest rioters to their feet -- and the two Armors powered down.

"Anyone past that line dies!" the Sergeant shouted.

Not a single person slowed down.

Over two dozen archers positioned at the roadblock had readied arrows. They had been given very explicit orders and did not even pause to think of the moral dilemma.

Arrows first took down five, then ten, and then two-dozen civilians; cold precision shots fired into the chests of the rioters. But they did nothing to stem the tide, for hundreds finally reached the deadly trench. Many tried to jump across and fell to their deaths, but most gathered around the single passage that the Imperial Guard had left. There, Principate Road ended before a wall as tall as an Armor and just as thick, but not even brick and mortar could last long against such a frenzied horde.

The team of eight wielding the battering ram had also crossed the distance, arrowheads with broken shafts sticking out of several. Cracks began to show in the last wall and if that fell, freedom was no less than a dash across ten seconds of open ground. Knowing this, they worked even more vigourously. Not a single man flinched when two were pierced by eagle-eyed archers of the Imperial Guard, instead nearby rioters took the places of the fallen without hesitation.

Twin towers flanked the wall and from that high vantage point, a barrage of arrows rained down upon the swarm. Archers fired relentlessly until slowly, more and more discovered their quivers were empty. They had spares, yes, but with unerring accuracy against an enemy that was basically unarmed, they had used up all their arrows at hand.

Soldiers of the Empire exchanged appalled looks. These were the people of Vector, not some barbarian horde or foreign invasion, but rather their own people. They had quarantined their own people with a beast so monstrous it drove them to hopelessness and suicide!

"Stop them!" the Lieutenant barked, ducking underneath a rock thrown past. His order snapped some sense back into the men, so shocked they were by the sheer desperation of their fellow citizens. Efforts were redoubled for their lives were on the line too.

Great cracks in the brick could be seen on their side now, and a small hole was getting ever wider. Several rioters had managed to scale the wall, but archers nailed them before they made it over.

Given the situation, the Sergeant knew exactly what was next. Cold sweat ran down his back. "Halt or you'll be slaughtered!" he hollered. It was a futile effort, made to delay the inevitable, but to his great surprise he got his response.

"We'll be dead if we stay!"

"I'm not infected! Help me!"

"The children! Please save the children at least!"

"I don't want to die!"

The last was the voice of a young girl, swept away by the crowd before the Sergeant could locate her.

"Erik, we need this situation under control," the Lieutenant growled. "Do it."

The Sergeant swallowed down the bile in his throat. To serve and protect indeed.

"Pilots! Fire at will."

And the whine of elemental cannonade was all they heard.

-=-

Edgar paused upon one of the streets of the Imperial Camp. He turned around and glared at Cyan.

"The last time we spoke with Danielle, you nearly ended up getting us killed," Edgar said. "We forgave you and then we supported you. We're friends, and that's what friends do."

He waited until the rumble of Magitek Armors passed.

"But this time, I want you to promise me no surprises; let me handle the conversation," Edgar demanded.

Cyan nodded. "As you wish."

Edgar sighed. Again with the attitude. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me what's going on between you two?" While Arvis wasn't with them, it was rather clear that Edgar was not referring to their friend from Narshe.

"There is nothing, Edgar."

"I wish," Edgar mumbled. "Considering how Strago left overnight, without another word to any of us, I find that rather hard to believe. His selflessness could be his undoing, and I hate to think that we had any part in forcing his hand."

"We cannot escape our responsibilities," Cyan stated solemnly.

Edgar's frown twisted. "Stop being so cryptic," he growled beneath his breath.

The two men continued down the streets that had been formed by many orderly rows of tents. The Imperial Camp was heavily guarded, but the usual storm of activity had ceased for the moment. Karen Alysworth had just departed. The Imperial armies were finally entering the Plains of Callaghan to destroy their enemies.

Danielle had remained behind, but Edgar knew her schedule was liable to change and no doubt she craved the battle ahead. Their pace picked up and soon, they stood before a ring of dangerous-looking guards. Baldric was amongst these elite men and he led them into the Empress' quarters.

She was surrounded by paperwork and reading from a half-opened brown folder. A look of disgust was on her face.

"Empress," Baldric's voice was deeper than one expected, even from a man as tall and broad as he.

Danielle glanced up. "Ah? Yes, thank you Baldric," she waved at the seats before her desk. "Please have a seat, both of you."

Edgar watched as Danielle's attention returned to her folder, eyes flickering back and forth as she read. He wondered if she was slighting them on purpose. The woman was crafty and intelligent, and he knew her to be quite ruthless when necessary.

She was the leader of the Empire; the conqueror of Tzen. A hero of two wars now, with growing experience in the political arena. If her mannerisms had been laden with double-meaning before, now that she was Empress, there was no doubt she would be on top of her game. He could not underestimate her.

A single misstep could be lethal.

Still, it was hard not to be peeved at their treatment. Edgar kept his tongue still until she finished, slamming the closed folder aside in contempt.

"I'm sorry, King Edgar," that inflection again, "news from Vector is never good but I have to be aware of it. Knowing what is happening to the capital, to the citizens of the Empire," she shook a clenched fist. "Knowing what they've forced our soldiers to do to the people we swore to defend, it keeps my focus on the enemy and their evil deeds."

Cyan nodded in agreement, but Edgar ignored him. "The Maverick's deeds have been unforgivable, no doubt." His eyes flickered to the folder, a single piece of paper had slid out halfway. He could only read one word.

Loyalists.

Danielle chuckled. "Did you see the fences facing west?"

Edgar shook his head, hiding his own disappointment at failing to gleam anything useful from whatever disgusted Danielle. "We came directly from Halstead," he answered.

"That's a shame. There's quite an assortment of heads out there."

Edgar narrowed his eyes. What was she getting at?

"You see, Governor Ashford -- or whatever he chooses to call himself now -- has been constantly sending ambassadors. They come bearing a white flag and so far, without symptoms of the Plague. Under this facade, they plead ignorance to what the Guild has done. They're offering their apologies!" she laughed.

Edgar laughed along, but he had not known this.

"It's incredible really, they've gone so far as to offer assistance in our persecution of the Guild. They come bearing documents signed by the Governor and the Maverick, treaties that they wish us to be a part of. They've been appealing to our common background, hoping that a 'peaceful arrangement could be instituted'." Danielle raised an eyebrow, "their words, not mine."

"Of course."

"Do you know what a treaty is, King Edgar?" For whatever reason, there was no inflection this time. "A treaty-" Danielle answered own her rhetorical question, "-is a piece of paper. To the aggressor, it is nothing more than a scrap that you would use to feed the winter hearth. Do you understand now why we've done this?"

"This?" Edgar shrugged. "I'm not sure what you're referring to."

"The heads, King Edgar," there was still no inflection. Instead, she seemed slightly surprised that he hadn't caught on. "They're his ambassadors."

"You've been killing ambassadors," Edgar echoed monotonously.

"Yes, and you see why, right?"

It took all of Edgar's experience in politics to keep any emotion from showing on his face. He had known that Danielle held little respect for the unspoken rules of diplomacy, but they were there for a reason. To kill ambassadors, especially men who had been pleading for peace...

"They offer no proof of allegiance, nor of their innocence," Cyan answered for Edgar, concerned by his long silence. "Like the treachery they used to set the Plague loose in Vector, they wish for you to ignore them so they may strike again under the cover of peace. They're despicable cowards."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with you wholeheartedly, Sir Cyan."

Edgar's own words came back to haunt him. He said he wanted to help the Empire, but that had been before. He had been surer then, confident in Danielle's cause. But unlike Cyan, surprise had worn off and his emotions remained in check. He did not forget the past warnings from Marcus, Garrett and Lowell. Nor could he bury his own impressions of the career soldier.

Could he, in good conscience, help a warmonger? What if she was wrong? What if he was helping the enemy? Edgar bit his lip, he needed time to think.

But he could not look weak-willed. A woman like Danielle was one who appreciated decisiveness and abhorred equivocation. "Two divisions," Edgar began, ignoring the way his shirt clung to his back.

"What was that?"

"Two divisions," Edgar repeated. "Your navy is stretched to her limits and the additional firepower would help your ability to keep a tight cordon around the Maverick. I'm offering two divisions of our battle group in order to help you combat the pirates and foolhardy merchants that would try to run supplies through the siege."

He did not want to make the concession, but he knew exactly what Danielle was going for.

"That's quite unnecessary, King Edgar," this time there was the strange intonation. "We're confident of our abilities. Breckenridge Sound is already filled with our ships. Our current forces already double the number that the Maverick has, thanks in part to the Battle of Actarian Bay before the winter. Once the entire fleet gathers-"

"Our ships will help with the northern patrols, the ones launching from Lechmere's Bay. There is no love lost between us and the Maverick, and I will not have our people sit aside idly when they could be helping put down this barbarian. Two divisions will comb the coasts; we will play our part in bringing down the traitor General and his band of fanatical mages, and we will do so with spirit!" he lied convincingly with faked anger.

Danielle leaned back and her finger thumped against her desk repeatedly. Edgar could read her like a book; he knew she was thinking about his offer and that the decision was a close one. But he was unwilling to sweeten the deal or make any further concessions.

All he could think of was those ambassadors and Ashford's pleas of innocence.

"Very well Edgar, I graciously accept your offer of assistance," Danielle answered after the mental debate. "I will alert-"

Baldric and two others stormed into the tent, rudely interrupting them. "Empress," one of the unnamed soldiers said. His cloak was quite dirty and he seemed out of breath. "General Starson requests to speak with you."

"I thought he didn't trust those spells," Danielle waved them aside, clearly agitated by the interruption. "Tell him he will have to wait, I am busy."

The soldier shook his head. "No my Empress, not by magic. He is here."

"What," not a question, and only a thin curtain away from deadly rage.

"General Starson is here with his army."

-=-

They did not see her anger as they were not even invited. Danielle had left in a hurry, leaving things unfinished between them. Edgar could only wonder about the Empress, her orders defied by even her closest supporter. He remembered Farin; the man did not strike him as the treacherous type. Certainly he was motivated and filled with spirit, the man was a warrior who had fought in the frontlines of a civil war. Men like that were not accustomed to idling, even if so ordered.

Edgar and Cyan were about to retire to Halstead. The King of Figaro had tired of waiting and decided that Danielle would not be back until late that the night. He had also tired of Cyan's analysis of Farin Starson. The situation between Danielle and her military was interesting, but as she had shown during the Imperial Counsel, she had them easily controlled if the situation was warranted.

Then a man that Edgar had met before -- Donnach, one of Farin's bodyguards and likely one of the finest men serving the General -- alerted them that Farin was requesting Cyan's presence. Equally surprising was Cyan's ready acceptance though in retrospect, Edgar should not have been surprised given his friend's recent attitude.

It was dusk when they arrived at the other camp. Though it was a quick ride thanks to Donnach's hurried pace -- perhaps only five minutes by chocobo -- they had waited too long for Danielle's return and the sun was setting.

Farin was lounging in the officer's tent, quite similar to that of Danielle's camp. In fact, Edgar noted that the layouts had almost been identical. He should have known the Imperials were disciplined in that regard, but it was surprising given how little time Farin's army had to prepare.

Danielle was there. The two were alone without bodyguards, though Donnach had brought Edgar and Cyan through three layers of brandished steel.

"Well, it seems your guests, my impatient ones, are here," Danielle stood up. Her tone was a stark contrast to the one she had left with. Instead she was warm and friendly, almost bubbly. She glanced up and made eye-contact with Edgar. "We will finish tomorrow," she decided.

"Of course," Farin answered despite the confusion that should have occurred from Danielle's speech. He rose only to salute, standing tall and proud. "Glory to the Empire, my Empress."

"And to you, General Starson," Danielle smiled once more before leaving. As she passed Edgar, she brought her lips near his ear. "We'll talk tomorrow as well," she whispered. "How about lunch?"

Edgar nodded, ignoring the tingling sensation of her breath. Little respect for the rules of diplomacy indeed.

The Empress left.

"Cyan Garamonde, it's good to see that you survived the winter. I take it you took my suggestion?"

"I did, Farin Starson," Cyan greeted formally. He gestured beside him. "May I present King Edgar of Figaro."

Farin was still standing, so the bow of respect was not in the least awkward. "Your Highness."

"Major-General Starson," Edgar stuttered -- there were only two stars upon his chest and he decided to avoid the usual slang that most soldiers used. "I admit, I didn't expect such warmth," he hinted at their last meeting.

"You weren't officially recognized as an ally then," Farin replied. "And given the circumstances, I think my reactions were perfectly warranted."

Whether he spoke of Cyan's outburst or Edgar's usurped throne, it was unclear.

"Well, enough of the pleasantries. I know you're a man of action, Cyan. This must grate on your nerves."

Cyan scoffed. "There is a time and place for both, Farin."

The three men settled into what seats there were, chairs made of metal and cloth -- they looked highly portable. It was quite informal and despite Farin's high ranking, there was none of the tension that Edgar had felt before. Perhaps it was because he knew that anything said wasn't particularly binding, or maybe it was just the way Farin had treated them.

Or... was Danielle playing him? Tense before, now relaxed.

No, she wasn't that good.

"Cyan, I heard about your little outburst during the Imperial Counsel. Unfortunately I was not there, I was busy with other-" Farin seemed annoyed, "-matters."

"I heard you were quite absorbed in the Wilds," Cyan remarked.

"So your popularity serves you well," Farin smiled. "Quite a few men of the Third and Ninth armies are already here, and I have brought the rest with me."

"I thought you were protecting Tzen from the Plague," Cyan pointed out. His tone had soured slightly. "Why did you shirk such an important duty?"

"Miscommunication, General Cassidy is in charge of Tzen now and he's quite capable," Farin waved aside their concerns. "Fortunately, such miscommunication will soon be a thing of that past. But really, I'm glad to be here. There is nothing I want more than to avenge those of Vector and set the Maverick in his place. I heard you were of the same mind."

"There is a certain sense of justice that would be served if the Maverick were brought to trial," Cyan admitted.

"Don't be so restrained, Sir Cyan."

Edgar's mouth almost dropped open. The way Farin had just pronounced 'sir', it was exactly the same as Danielle's inflection.

"Your outburst was surprising. Not that you had an outburst-" Farin chuckled softly but he was alone in his laughter, "-but what you expressed. Brigadier Falkland is a good friend of mine, he told me that you called them savage beasts. I must admit, that is an excellent description of the threat we face."

"It was an outburst," Cyan defended himself.

"An excellent one," Farin commended. "The traitors to the west cannot be left in peace, I urged the Empress of this fact just after her coronation but she was unwilling to commit. I understood her reasons and I kept quiet, hoping that she was correct and we would not have to sacrifice anymore of our soldiers in extended warfare. Unfortunately, I was right. As always, those who have betrayed us once cannot be trusted ever again. These traitors that the Maverick commands must be annihilated and he brought to justice. The Inquisition is an excellent step in dealing with these fanatical mages and I intend to be a part of the next phase."

"I think you want to be a part of that too, Sir Cyan."

Cyan's eyes were wide in shock, an expression rarely seen on the restrained Knight's face. Edgar knew Cyan wanted to be near the front, but this offer was...

"I'll give you a hundred -- no, a thousand! -- men to command. I won't insult you or your history by giving you a rank, instead you shall only be known as Sir Cyan. You will be accountable to no one but me, with a force of veterans that you may direct as you see fit. Infantry or cavalry, it will be your choice."

"Farin," Cyan was still shocked. "Know that while I-"

"Please," Farin held up a hand. "I understand your reluctance perfectly well, I know your past. But this-" his hand swept towards the west, "-is treachery that cannot go unpunished. I know there is a fire within you, the same fire that burns within me. We will ride into battle, punish these cowards and traitors that dare pretend to be civilized. We will destroy the evil that sends a sweeping disease to kill our innocents: the men, women and children that rely on us warriors to protect them! Are we not of the same mind, Cyan?"

Edgar looked up at Cyan, but the Knight of Doma was not searching for the opinion or support of his friend.

"We are of the same mind."

"Then take my offer, Cyan Garamonde, honourable Knight of Doma! Let it be known throughout the world that justice was served."

"Very well General," there was no hesitation in his response. "I accept."

The two men clasped hands, grinning the smile men had when speaking of victory in war.

"You will not regret this," Farin broke their handshake. "Together, we will ensure that this menace shall never rise again."

Cyan nodded. "Of course. It will be my pleasure."

"Excellent! We will discuss this tomorrow, but there is one other thing," Farin added. "Relm is here."

"Excuse me?" Edgar and Cyan both stuttered at the same time.

"She was insistent that she come with me; said she wanted to be reunited with her uncle and grandfather. An intelligent little one who still remembers my promise, I like her. She has both spirit and a clear mind, and will grow up to be just like Lady Terra."

Promise? Here? Edgar clutched his forehead in frustration. How did she-? When did she-?

"You said she's with you?" Cyan asked the moment Farin finished.

"Yes. I'll take you to her now, I'm sure you've missed her."

-=-

In hindsight, Edgar should have expected it. But he hadn't been privy to all the facts and the leaps of logic that would have been required for him to guess that Relm had befriended Farin, they were just too far-fetched.

But Cyan should have known.

They all should have known better. He should have alerted Douglas that she might try something like this. But there had been no time and really, when the world was the way it was, how could he have prioritized her so highly? Yet here she was. It was a lesson learned the hard way.

Relm was indefatigable.

"I cannot believe you left the safety of the fleet!" Cyan was half-shouting. Farin had left them alone in the officer area of the camp. They were safe here and their conversation private. "To imagine you would be so imprudent, it is maddening!"

Relm's arms were folded. "I shouldn't have to rely on an old friend to see you or gramps," she snapped.

"An old friend?" Cyan echoed. "Are you talking about Farin Starson?"

Relm's silence was even more infuriating than her retorts.

Cyan cried out in frustration. "I cannot believe that I felt sorry leaving you safe and sound, away from the chaos that is the Empire!"

"Well I'm here now, and just as safe as before," Relm's confidence was the stuff of legends considering her adversary was an enraged Cyan Garamonde. Edgar, who had kept safe distance from it all and felt himself impartial, was almost impressed that she could stand up to Cyan. Sometimes, he didn't think he had that much nerve.

"No! You are in incredible danger," Cyan declared, looming over Strago's granddaughter like a giant.

"I know about the Plague," Relm glared at her surrogate uncle. "Considering that, the Imperial Army is the safest place to be."

The veins in Cyan's temple seemed ready to burst. "Damn your impudence!" he shouted.

"She's right," Edgar quickly stepped in. As disturbingly enjoyable as it was to see a little girl half his height and a third of his weight cause him so much grief, this could not go on. "Convoys have recently been ambushed and the Imperial Army has begun sending troops to secure their lines, apparently between the Plague and the fallout of the Civil War, people feel bold enough to steal from the army. Any of them could be carriers though. We can't risk sending her back, not anymore."

Cyan groaned.

"So I'm here to stay," Relm declared. "Now where's that silly gramps? I can't wait to see the look on his face-" her bravado faltered when she saw the expressions on their faces. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Too smart for her own good, Edgar sighed. They couldn't even lie to her.

"Your grandfather is not here," Cyan answered grimly. "He left for Vector last night."

Relm's mouth was open. "Wha-?"

"He went to fight the Plague," Edgar added. "He wanted to help Terra find a cure."

"But the Plague, it's in Vector. That's what Farin said..."

"We know, dear one," Cyan bent down on one knee and looked her in the eye. "He knows."

"It doesn't discriminate, anyone can catch it at anytime," she continued with wide eyes. "And he's so old, if... if..."

"He knows."

Relm's eyes glistened. "Then why... why that stupid gramps-" she sniffled.

"To do what's right," Edgar whispered in a hollow voice. "Because he always does what's right."

"But that's so stupid!"

"I'm sorry dear one, it was his choice," Cyan pulled her close, but Relm snapped back and pushed him aside.

"Stupid gramps!" she wiped her eyes before tears formed. "Stupid stupid gramps!" she screamed.

The two men gave her the space she needed as she vented. Relm stormed back and forth in the tent, complaining to no one in particular as she ranted about her grandfather and his foolishness.

Edgar supposed Cyan had judged it to be the right time -- it certainly didn't feel that way to him -- as the Knight stepped forward and halted Relm in her tracks. "That's enough. I know you understand exactly what your grandfather has done."

"He's fighting the Plague," Relm grumbled. There was still wetness beneath her eyes.

"And that is the proper thing to do," Cyan said. Both hands clasped her shoulders as he knelt once more. "You understand that, right?"

Relm nodded reluctantly.

"Good. Come on now, you can stay with Edgar in Halstead," Cyan said as he stood up.

"Why, what about you?" she asked suspiciously.

Too smart for her own good, Edgar thought again.

Cyan paused. "I'm going... away," he answered poorly.

"You accepted Farin's offer!"

"How did you-" Cyan grimaced. It was too late, he had just confirmed her words.

"You're going to war. I knew it!" Relm glared daggers at her uncle. "And you're leaving me behind again!"

"Edgar will be in-"

"I want to come!"

"That's impossible," Cyan ruled flat-out. "There is grave risk on the battlefield, I will not gamble with your life."

Relm pursed her lips. To Edgar, he could tell that she was just biding her time. She was thinking of something, scheming. "Uh oh", he mumbled when he saw the look of confusion fade away.

Her eyes blazed with spirit. "Then let me learn about war on the front," she asked. "Let me see what you do out there."

"No," Cyan drew himself to his full height and folded his arms. "It's too dangerous to be with me."

But Relm had already expected that. "I said learn, not fight. Let me go with Farin and learn about war through him. You know I'll be safe if I'm surrounded by his people!"

When Cyan paused, Edgar already knew who had won this battle. He would say something, but he didn't feel it was his place. For one thing, Relm was right. She would be well-protected if she travelled with the commanding officers of the Imperial Army. For another...

"If you truly desire to learn the arts of war, then I commend your resolve," Cyan decided. "However, the decision will be left to Farin, and he may not agree."

There was a devilish, yet disarmingly cute grin on her face. "He'll agree."

For another, Relm deserved to win. It was an applaudable diplomatic solution... and at least somebody was getting what they wanted for once.

-=-

It might have been night, but the streets of Vector were anything but dark. Flickering street-lamps kept the city illuminated, though many of those poles were broken upon the ground. Three men on chocobos, fully-armored with visors down, watched the streets carefully. Their crossbows were not far from reach, but for now they wielded pikes to keep any potential carriers at bay.

Carriers. It was the term that many an Imperial soldier now used when speaking of the infected. It helped distance them from their fellow citizens.

Strago was in a dark mood, sitting alone in an enclosed carriage as they passed through Vector. He had not seen any of the riots they were warned of, but that was not uplifting news. He shook his head sadly, wishing there were no lights.

He did not want to see the bodies on the streets.

They were fresh, from what he could tell. The Imperial Army had been clearing the dead off the streets as often as possible, but they were few in number and tasked with keeping the peace. The capital itself seemed well on its way to destruction, with many buildings half broken and the structures themselves bare to the light of the moon. He knew that he was being pessimistic, Strago had been briefed by the Captain of his guards -- Vector had been recovering from its sack when the Plague hit.

Still, no sane man could remain optimistic in days such as these.

The walls of the Imperial Palace loomed ahead, Strago's eyes were wide-open in awe of the flawless black stone. He had read of such feats in the ancient texts, but to see with his own eyes...

Never in all years had he expected the past to become reality.

Strago sighed. Then again, he had never expected to see cities as vast as Vector -- and this was as far from her prime as possible. It seemed life had kept most of the surprises hidden until now.

A guttural groan escaped his throat as they neared the gates of the Imperial Palace. Though the road was clear thanks to the work of armed soldiers, there were still people on the streets. Many were huddled around fires, trying to get as close to the palace without setting off the ire of the guards.

Others pushed around carts filled with jars of strangely-coloured liquids; hawkers profiting off the desperate. He could hear their words proclaiming that they had a cure, that the Empire had been hiding it from them. They said anything and everything in order to make money, several proclaiming that their cures were free of magic; the thing responsible for the Plague.

Entering the Palace took a while. They were stopped again and again by soldiers at the gates. Strago left the alleged safety of his carriage in order to pass the second layer of gates. Luckily, the guards that accompanied him from Halstead fielded most of the questions. He waited impatiently, his foot tapping the ground as yet another pair of Imperial soldiers stopped them.

They were questioned thrice at the gates, twice before they were in sight of a vast staircase that led to the Imperial Palace proper, and then once more at both the bottom and the top of the stairs. Strago sighed with relief as they finally entered the lobby of the Palace.

A squad of soldiers -- only now did Strago notice that all their brown-leather armor was trimmed black -- awaited them. Leading them was a long-haired moustached officer, an insignia bearing twin-swords crossed was foremost among the many awards upon his breast.

"Mage Strago?" the man held out his hand. "Major Ivers, Commander of the Imperial Guard."

Without hesitation, Strago shook the stranger's hand. "Nice to meet you Major. I'm here to work with Terra."

"Yes, your papers were unusually complete. First Citizen Branford-" Ivers stressed her title with his peculiar accent, "-is in the Imperial Library; a heavily restricted area. I'll take you there."

Strago gestured with his hand, aware that he had slighted the Imperial officer by addressing Terra so casually. "I am in your debt. Please, lead the way."

The Imperial Palace had seen better times, her corridors still showed signs of battle. Melted steel, shattered stone and a trio of leafless trees with concentric rings of barren dirt around them, Strago could still feel the lingering aftermath of magical warfare. The spells exchanged had been vicious and savage, nothing more than brute force given metaphysical form.

Another of the topics in his ancient texts, and one Strago had hoped that he would never encounter.

They were stopped near the twisted oaks by a trio of threatening soldiers. These men were bulky underneath their woollen cloaks. A single emblem that was nothing more than a black octagon bearing a white Imperial mark was emblazoned by their hearts.

"Major Ivers?" the lead man asked.

A scowl was on Ivers' face. "What do you want, High Inquisitor?"

"Nothing more than a moment of your time."

"I am busy, as you can see."

"It is a matter of pressing security; we just need to ask a couple of questions."

Ivers scowled again. "Fine," he turned to one of the men accompanying Strago. "Sergeant, you're in charge."

"Sir."

The four men left, Strago watching the backs of the cloaked men as they departed. So this was the Inquisition that Danielle had created. How interesting.

"Mage Strago, please, the First Citizen awaits."

-=-

The Imperial Library was a barren chamber, the size of which was stunning. Thamasa and her outlying farms could have been enclosed underneath the monstrous roof that stretched above them. The combined texts of his village would have filled no more than a single shelf. It was so vast that it almost defied his comprehension; indeed he found it difficult to accurately gauge the distance from one end of the room to the other.

"What happened to all the books?" he mumbled to no one in particular.

"Burned by the barbarian," the Sergeant responded.

"Burned?" Strago's mouth dropped open. He looked around the gigantic room once more -- all that knowledge! "That's... that's barbaric."

"Quite," was the succinct reply. The Sergeant spoke with several of the soldiers standing guard and then strolled across the room. Strago followed through the many attended tables, scholars still delving into books despite the late hour, until he finally laid eyes on her. A smile spread on his face, their favourite half-Esper in the flesh at last.

Terra was surrounded by a dozen men, most wearing white coats, all writing in a clipboard or notebook as she talked. It was quite an assorted crowd aside from them, notably a woman in dark-leather with two lethal-looking swords by her hips. Immediately, Strago realized she was a Magitek Knight.

Then his eyes narrowed in concern.

Was her hair grey?

"-your recent spell-form, in addition to those sections of texts that were outlined. Thus I believe we have figured out the flaw in our implementation. The issue was not the concept of frequency transforms or even the instruments for modulation, but that of supplying signal power," one of the men wearing white reported in a professional tone.

Terra noticed Strago. A thin smile broke on her cold and detached face.

"Thank you Robert. Then that should be high priority, but not the utmost. While the Empress wants the prototype improved upon in range, I want to stress that our main task remains as it always has been," Terra concluded. "That's enough for tonight. Again, great work everyone."

The crowd dispersed after thanking the First Citizen. Only the Magitek Knight in black-leather remained.

"Terra," Strago forced the smile back to his face as he approached. "It's good to see you again."

Her hair was grey, and it wasn't dye or anything of the sort.

"When I heard you were coming, I couldn't believe my ears," Terra expressed as Strago crossed the distance between them. "You look great, Strago."

They embraced out of politeness. Once apart, Terra turned towards the Magitek Knight.

"Catherine, if you would leave us."

The woman's head was bowed submissively. "As you command, Sophis."

Strago's smile vanished. What did she just say?

Terra was a bundle of restrained joy. "You don't know how happy I am to see you moving, Strago," she sighed. "When I think back to those nights after the airship crash, I admit that more than once, I thought you had no hope. It's so great, and also to have you here!"

"Well, I pray that your standards for me improve. Just because I'm old doesn't mean moving is any great achievement you know," Strago answered with a sly smile.

He must have heard wrong.

Terra giggled. "You know I didn't mean that," she pointed out.

"Do I?" Strago's mischievous grin grew wider as her mood grew warmer. "Now that's the smile I'm used to seeing! You're too young to look so grumpy, leave that to us old men."

"I thought you wanted me to ignore those stereotypes!"

"Only when it suits me," Strago remarked.

Terra suppressed another giggle. "I've missed you, Strago."

"I -- no, all of us -- have missed you," he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "How is Locke?" he said with a devious grin. "You two are generally inseparable, even back in my village! I don't see him hanging around here, so I guess he's up to no good?"

Terra's good mood took on an artificial quality. Her radiance dimmed and her bloodshot eyes flickered away from the old man. "He's gone," she answered simply.

Strago's eyes grew wide and a shiver travelled down his spine. "Gone?" he whispered. "That's... that's not possible. He's too damn persistent to fall to disease!"

"He's not dead yet," Terra corrected herself, but there was no change in her attitude. "He left Vector a few days ago."

"And left you here alone?" Strago frowned. "What an irresponsible young man. I'll give him a good talking to when he gets back."

"If he comes back-" Terra's forced smile was gone now, "-and anyways, I doubt you'd accomplish anything. He was pretty intent on joining the Inquisition and hunting down the Maverick's men."

"He joined the Imperials? Locke joined the Empire?" Strago could not believe his ears. "We are talking about the same Locke, right?"

Terra sighed. "How's Relm?" she asked instead.

"She's fine. Still causing everyone trouble and showing up where she doesn't belong. We managed to keep her aboard Edgar's fleet, so she'll be safe," Strago was still interested in Locke and didn't give much thought into the matter. "Tell me about this Inquisition."

"That's good," Terra's smile returned. "At least Cyan's with her. He'll be able to protect her from anything."

His mood soured. "She'll be away from the war and the plague, that's all that matters."

"So I guess Edgar convinced you to do this?"

"I'm not a child who needs guidance," Strago scoffed. "I'm here of my own accord; I know how deadly disease is and if there's magic involved, well, you're going to need some help. Finding a cure... it's a terrible burden."

Terra expression was hollow, devoid of anything remotely resembling optimism. Strago had seen that expression before and with a shudder, knew at last that the past was gone forever.

"The books we have are all that remain, but they were Gestahl's personal possessions and their quality is high. The selection has been quite broad so far, from theory to philosophy, he had an interesting collection. I've divided the texts amongst all the aides we have, but many are in dead languages and the scholars that can read those are few," Terra gestured to a seat and the two sat down at her desk.

"Do you really think a cure can be found in the books of the past?" Strago phrased his question to guide her.

"No," Terra tapped one of the books that were open on her desk. "But we find references to disease all the time. As well, poison isn't exactly a lost art -- magical or not -- so the counter-poisons are often in these books."

"Then we'll find one with similar effects and experiment with the original cure?"

"That's the plan, but it's beginning to look like an impossible dream. The labs are busy working from another angle, but I don't think they'll succeed. No, I'm still certain that the answer is somewherein these books. I just know it."

Strago eyed the half-Esper -- grey hair and all -- and nodded. "I believe you," he said sagely, "and you'll be glad to know that I'm a master of quite a few dead languages."

"I hoped as much," Terra waved for an aide. A young girl scrambled to them, perhaps half-a-decade younger than Terra. "Yes Sophis?" she asked with her head half-bowed.

Strago's eyes went wide. He had not heard wrong.

"If you could take Strago to the books no one can read, I'd be quite grateful. Have a couple guards find a desk and carry them for you, I'm sure they wouldn't mind the exercise."

"As you wish, Sophis," the young girl nodded again, rather submissively in Strago's opinion. She curtsied and turned to him. "Mister Strago? The books are downstairs."

"Please have the soldiers carry all of them here, I'll separate out the relevant ones on my own."

"Of course."

As the girl scrambled away, Strago scowled. "What-"

"Sophis," it was the woman in dark-leather from before. "Major Ivers requests a quick moment of your time. He says it's of grave importance."

Terra stood. "Sorry, I'll be right back."

As the two departed, Strago grumbled underneath his breath. There had to be a logical explanation, though for the life of him he couldn't find one that put Terra in a good light. There was only one reason and that was not good.

His eyes wandered over the books Terra had been reading. He took a closer look.

-the power of which would radiate even while idling as a mere spear. So it was that they came prepared, a spell designed specifically to disable Gungnir. Treachery had been the source of his fall -- pride once again his undoing -- but it is the binding of force that must be noted. An attentive reader would recall the failures just two centuries before: controlling vast quantities of energy had been attempted and failed due to-

Strago put down the book. Interesting history, but nothing that should have had anything to do with finding a cure. He flipped the tome over and read its title, but the gilded letters had been worn away through time and the front pages were ripped out.

He supposed that Terra and her aides had been comprehensive in their search, leaving no books unturned so long as they could read them. Why else would she have been reading a title-less, unremarkable tome?

A smile spread on his face. Terra had probably been skimming, just like Relm. He remembered how his granddaughter studied, how her eyes would glaze over as she ignored the details of magical theory. Relm had no interest in such things, but she always liked a good story. Maybe Terra and his granddaughter had more in common than he thought.

Still, his expression hardened as Terra returned. This Sophis business had to stop.

"I've never seen Major Ivers so unnerved," she sighed as she sat down. Terra rubbed at her bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry about that Strago, they do it to me all the time. There's always something that needs my attention."

"Why are they calling you that?" Strago asked directly.

Terra pressed her lips together, confused. "What?"

"Sophis: why are they calling you a Sophis?"

Terra rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. They don't really-"

"You realize what it means, don't you?"

"I don't appreciate being interrupted," Terra remarked. Her eyes narrowed. "Or your tone for that matter."

Strago rubbed his sweaty forehead. It was late and he was too tired for this. "Terra, you're special, we've gone over this. Your lineage is unique and you're a wonderful girl, but having others address you in this manner-"

"They forced it on me," Terra snapped.

"Oh? So they decided to worship you as a goddess on their own?"

Terra sighed. "Yes," she mumbled.

"And you just let them," Strago waved his hands in the air. "After all, there's nothing wrong with pretending to be a goddess! The submissive worshippers, they're just facts of life. Everyone bows their heads, addresses you only by title, and treats your word as law. After all, it's not as if blind reverence of Gods hasn't led to anything horrible in the past, like a worldwide war that nearly annihilated humanity!"

"I'm disappointed in you, Terra," he shook his head.

"It wasn't my choice," Terra growled. "And they were quite a bit more overt before, it took me weeks to convince them to stop kneeling."

"Maybe you should stop surrounding yourself with weak-willed fools willing to deify anything," Strago snapped. "I can't believe you would do something like this."

"Fools?" Terra echoed. "Now see here Strago, you're surrounded by the best minds of the Empire, put together by Anson himself. I think you should have a little more respect for the people that are putting their lives at risk to find a cure."

"Religious fervour has levelled continents in the past," Strago growled. "It doesn't matter how intelligent this Anson and his team of great minds are, they're fools for placing faith and deifying-"

"Strago, I will not stand for this tirade!" Terra was red-faced and her voice controlled, but she was definitely angry.

"Listen Terra, it's immoral for you to delude these people with your magic and-"

"No! You will listen and you will remember that these people are risking their lives to save us all from this Plague; they deserve your respect. I am not deluding or forcing anyone to call me Sophis, they choose to follow my lead. They know I'm not perfect, but that doesn't stop them. Why? Because I use my gift to help the people of the world -- because power begets responsibility. I try with every fibre in my body to help others, that's why they follow me!"

Terra shook her head in disgust. "But I suppose since you've spent your entire life hiding your abilities instead of helping those in need, you feel it's morally necessary to lecture me."

Strago felt his blood boil. He wanted to retort, but knew better and kept quiet. They were saved from a long period of awkward silence when one of the white-coated men arrived in a hurry; he still gasping for air.

But this was far from over.

"First Citizen, these statistics," he showed her a graph on his clipboard. "We're pretty sure they're indicative of a trend."

Strago could see that the graph was fluctuated up and down, with many dots here and there and a line somewhere in the middle. There were all sorts of numbers in the margins, symbols scrawled on. He couldn't make out much more than that though, the writing was illegible and what could be read seemed to be in another language.

Terra didn't bother to look at all. "What's the trend?"

"The time while symptomatic, it's growing," the scientist flipped through his notes. "We have some who nearly survived three weeks, and one of the ones who died today was just starting his fourth week."

"So we were wrong with our estimates?" Terra stood up. "How did this happen? And what else could we be wrong about?"

"Not wrong," the scientist returned to his original graph. "I really wish we wrong, but there's consensus in the labs."

"Out with it already!"

The scientist shook his head. "It's the Plague, First Citizen. The Plague is evolving!"

Visions of Peace will be continued in The Twenty-Second Chapter - No Mercy

Quote (Author Postscript)

This is highly unprofessional, but I would like to ask for critiques and commentary... pretty please? I am beginning to grow weary of this project and it would help to know what others think.

Thank you very much.

The Twenty-Second Chapter - No Mercy

The warm wind whipped at his face. It was arid out upon the Plains of Callaghan and there were many who preferred the fresh, salty breeze that came from Breckenridge Sound.

Not Cyan Garamonde. The heat invigorated him. He could almost feel the blood coursing through his veins as his chocobo galloped through the rough country. Talons picked out soft patches of ground between the hard rock as rider and mount climbed steadily higher. A few trees were here and there, but the vast majority of vegetation was wild-grass that they trampled over.

The well-trained bird halted on his own, alerting his rider with a loud cry.

They stopped just shy of a sheer precipice, one that dropped a dizzying height. A few pebbles rolled off the side and fell out of sight. Beyond was the vast expanse of Callaghan, a soft breeze rippling through the fields of wild-grass. The sky was still a muted grey, but just the slightest trace of the rising sun could been seen peaking over the horizon. A wide, speedy river twisted its way towards the light -- it had probably carved out the valley below in ages long since forgotten. Now it lay quite far away; a lush, fertile field between it and the cliffs.

His eyes narrowed.

Upon that fertile field of wild-grass was a fortified camp. It was not permanent, but typical Imperial practice for armies in the field. Trenches, battlements, ordered rows of tents and makeshift roads were a hint to the eye of any discerning foreigner: this was no band of barbarians, but a disciplined, civilized force.

Even if they belonged to the Maverick.

"Sir!" three more chocobo riders arrived, outpaced by the Knight of Doma but not in the least bit weary. The closest, a broad-shouldered man who wore an eye-patch, held out a pair of binoculars. The other two maintained their distance.

"I can see far enough, Captain," Cyan replied. He had no need for a pair of lenses.

Beneath them, the army of General Forsythe was manoeuvring once more. Nightfall had led to a deadly mistake: camping upon defensible terrain instead of readying for a quick departure in the morning. The choice might have been obvious for a lesser leader, but for one that had been on the run as long as Forsythe had, it was a glaring oversight.

One that would lead to his death.

Just finished fording the river was the Second Army, led personally by General Alysworth. They were spread out, somewhere in the order of fifty-thousand men. Hundreds of crimson banners flapped in the wind, the varied marks of those who bore them were inscribed proudly in gold and black threads. Though few were the same, the Imperial Emblem was the only symbol visible at a distance. The plains were covered by the Empire; from this distance, the varying greens of wild grass were totally replaced by the brown helmets of the Imperial Army.

This was but one of the dispositions that the Empire had sent into the Plains of Callaghan, and one alone was all that was necessary to crush Forsythe's retreating forces. For two weeks, a combination of five Imperial Armies had manoeuvred again and again, pushing Forsythe further and further back while trying to force an engagement. Outgunned and outnumbered, Forsythe had been unwilling to fight.

It was a war of attrition. Their opponent gave ground, retreating north of Oakham while gathering many of the units scattered about the countryside. The Imperials had laid siege to that city while perusing their prey. They could not trap Forsythe -- the man had been a career soldier under Gestahl and his generalship was more than just academic -- but they could prevent him from uniting with the rest of the Maverick's forces.

They pursued the enemy so far that even the Imperials had to worry about being stretched too thin. Forsythe knew this and Cyan supposed this General of the Maverick's might have thought his odds were good. Karen Alysworth's army was the larger, but made up of lighter units. At least, that's what one might have guessed from the pace of the chase.

"Forsythe's no fool, have to give the man credit for that. But he's been outplayed; General Alysworth's a genius," the Captain analysed. He smiled as a thunderous roar erupted from the Second Army.

The artillery pieces had fired and their song would not end for hours. The Third Battle of Callaghan had finally begun.

"Forsythe has the cliff on his left, but he is focusing the bulk of his forces on the right," a lifetime of experience interpreted the situation unerringly. "What is General Alysworth doing? Her disposition over there cannot hold!" Cyan growled. He noted that the twists and turns of the river had serendipitously given Forysthe room for manoeuvre while depriving Karen of the same.

The Captain held out the pair of binoculars to Cyan. "It seems Forsythe expects just that."

Cyan knew that the eye-patch wearing Imperial was no fool -- many of Farin's men were quite capable thinkers as well as warriors. He reluctantly pressed the lenses against his eyes and squinted.

Fifty-thousand men were about to become locked in combat, each square-like formation was six ranks deep and hundreds abreast. There were many of these staggered in lines, spacing between still intact as they advanced. Thousands of men in brown leather armor were about to slaughter each other should the opportunity arise.

And that opportunity was still likely, despite the ferocity of the artillery duel. There was no worry of a long siege, Alysworth's forces were advancing without abandon and no matter what type of battlement had been built in Forsythe's favour, they were hastily-raised and the quality was lacking. In addition, the same cliffs and rivers that protected the enemy's flanks were also bottling him up.

This would be a bloodbath.

But the real story were in the guns -- hundreds of cannon pieces firing continuously. Cyan had never seen so many gathered; attached to wheels and drawn by chocobo. The Imperials had never relied on the cannon, preferring their hulking Armors instead.

However, with the massive disparity in artillery, General Alysworth was slaughtering the entrenched traitors. Thick knots of black smoke rose into the air behind the thousands of friendly soldiers on foot, thundering blasts so numerous that there was a continuous rumble in the earth. A dark cloud began to form overhead from all the cannonade.

It was devastatingly effective, so effective that Forsythe's decision to leave his fortified camp was a blunder beyond compare.

And then beams of brilliant crimson light exploded through the Maverick's ranks, those lucky enough to survive the cascading walls of flame were sent flying away by the force of many explosions. Miniature mushroom clouds rose into the sky, glowing crimson and raining ash below.

"Those men on the right flank, they strike a different poise," Cyan mused at last. He lowered the lenses. "Heartier."

"That's Fedelis."

"Fedelis?" Cyan echoed.

"Veterans, sir. 9th Division; they fought for Maley's Point through the winter. Tough bastards."

Cyan allowed himself a brief smile. Everything became clear to him. "It seems Forsythe could not comprehend the changes in disposition."

The Captain nodded.

"Very well, alert General Starson," Cyan turned his chocobo around. "The cliffs are impassable, worthless even for a small team to scale. We must hasten the march."

"-and then we'll have'em between two fires!"

Cyan nodded gravely. "The day shall be ours."

North of battlefield, the four men galloped back to the Third Imperial Army. Forsythe had made his last mistake: an additional forty-thousand men were about to make their presence felt.

-=-

She narrowly avoided the big hulking soldier, his armor and cape combined made him seem like two men. She scowled at him, but between the metal helmet and his quick pace, he saw nothing.

"And you are?"

Relm turned around and looked up. These soldiers were taller than the rest. "I'm Relm," she answered.

The bearded man frowned. "Well I don't know if I'm supposed to let children through..."

Relm scowled at him. "General Alysworth told me to be here before the battle."

"Well the battle's started, hasn't it?" the soldier pretended to cover his ears as the mass of cannons fired once again. "Schedules are strict, early or tardy, we can't make any exceptions."

"Stop teasing her," his partner snapped. "Go right ahead, Relm, before the General notices."

Relm smiled warmly at the man who helped her out before rushing past them. Karen and her staff were not in a tent for once, their tables of maps and models were finally exposed to the sun. They were surrounded by a cordon of soldiers as messengers constantly ran in and out.

"Girlie! Glad to see you finally made it," it was one of older men on Karen's staff. He had bushy eyebrows that made it seem like he was always angry, but Relm discovered that the man was just the opposite. "They're over there," he pointed to the right.

At the biggest table was a huge map pinned down with blocks on top. Encircling that was a host of officers; Karen Alysworth and many of her staff. The General was easily picked out, her dark cape fluttered each time the cannons fired. She was wearing brown leather armor, one with wide shoulder guards and many leather segments that encircled her body.

The first time Relm had met the General, she hadn't seemed any different from the other ladies back home. Farin had done the introductions, praising the lady and explaining that Karen would make a better mentor. It was obvious that Farin owed Karen a favour now, so Relm grudgingly followed her around. Relm hadn't liked it at first -- Cyan wasn't going to be with Farin -- but then she saw Karen work.

She saw what it was like to be at the head of the Imperial Army.

Tens of thousands of soldiers were at her beck and call. Many were bigger and stronger than she was, some were older and others younger, but they all respected her. If Karen started talking, everyone would hush up and listen. If Karen wanted something, they would get it for her right away. Even if Karen wasn't doing anything, everyone would glance at her nervously, waiting for her commands.

It was awesome.

And then there was the army. It was huge! She had thought Farin's army was big, but his was just a small part of the Imperial Forces. Karen didn't give her a number, but Relm guessed it was something like half a million. It was just like the stories in her grandfather's books.

"They're driving towards our right flank as we speak," one of the officers pushed a red block on the hastily drawn map. "Intelligence confirms that Forsythe has yet to withdraw back to his camp."

"It seems like the 9th's ruse worked," commented another.

"But now engagement is unavoidable lest we expose ourselves. If they have plague poison, we could be risking everything. It'd be no different from marching into Magitek fire!"

Karen made eye-contact with Relm for a brief moment -- the mood was serious and a silent greeting was the limit of courtesy -- and nodded sagely. "Well, we expected as much. Artillery and Magitek Armors look great on paper, but in the end we must rely on steel. Only a fool would make plans without preparing for the enemy's greatest weapon; remind all commanders of quarantine procedures and have all doctors prepare for the worst."

"Hasn't this started too soon?" a short officer, barely half a head taller than Relm, pointed out. His eyelids were drooping as if he needed a nap. "The plan was drawn with the assumption of engaging after dawn, not before! Yet they marched to battle the moment we crossed the river."

"No, this is correct," Karen answered immediately. "The timing should be perfect."

"But Fedelis may not hold against that force," the short man protested again.

"They will. Have faith," was Karen's curt reply.

"Still, we should reinforce river-side," pointed out a tall man with a blue cape. "The 9th Division is stout, but we risk Forsythe trying to escape by fording the river. Considering our lack of communications with General Starson, we should not take the risk."

Karen folded her arms. "Derek, would you explain to the Major why we haven't cordoned off the river?"

All eyes fell upon a young boy. Relm thought he was maybe two or three years older than she was. He was actually taller than some of the officers but so thin that he looked like he never ate. A lanky kid like him was out of place amongst large, hulking professional warriors.

Relm had met Derek a couple days earlier, when Farin had first introduced her to Karen. He had been quiet then and was quiet now. That Karen had picked on him turned his cheeks cherry-red.

"Well," Derek cleared his throat. His eyes darted around meekly.

"It's quite alright," Karen soothed in a soft tone. "You've been under my tutelage for several months while the Major has been securing our lives against the enemy. He doesn't mind being shown up," a glare was directed at the blue caped man.

"Think of this as a test," the Major quickly added.

Derek looked down at the map, analysing carefully. His eyes snapped up at last. "We should leave an outlet free as we press forward. It's so tempting to attack that they won't think of anything else. By funnelling the enemy along a predictable path, the chances of being surprised elsewhere is minimal."

Relm glanced at the map. That made sense.

"Very good. Most importantly, we don't want Forsythe to get desperate," Karen explained. "He knows that it's not a blunder and we're aware of our weakness, but it'll still play with his emotions. He'll remain lax, advancing instead of fortifying because he believes in his last resorts: to manoeuvre across the river and flee, or to attempt to accost us doubly along the right flank."

Most of the general's staff looked shocked. "What if he does just that?"

"Then he's already lost," Karen scowled as a particularly loud cannon explosion deafened their ears. "Major, see to it that the men don't destroy all our guns in their haste. I want the enemy destroyed, but not at the expense of our artillery pieces."

The blue caped man nodded. His fist went to his heart. "Sir."

As he left though, another arrived. This one was a messenger who exchanged hushed words with one of the General's staff. Quickly, he readjusted the red blocks, putting several on top of the blue hexes that represented the river. "This disposition is already minutes old," he growled. "If the 9th falls-"

But Karen had already stepped away, bringing her binoculars up to her eyes and looking towards the center of the enemy army. Relm could make out the enemy without aid though; they dotted the field with their numbers, a mass of black and brown that was covered in smoke. Fire beams lanced towards them, raking lines in the field and searing an uncountable number of men with each shot. Karen's army retaliated with dozens of blasts for every shot as rows upon rows of cannons thundered away.

"Fools. They've thinned their ranks," she commented to no one in particular. Karen glanced down. "Relm, have you read the texts I gave you?"

Relm looked around her in shock, realizing she was standing right beside the lady general. No one else had dared, but she had accidentally stepped forward in order to find out what Karen was observing.

"Of course," she replied with what confidence she could muster. "The entire stack!"

"I take it that's why you were late."

Relm grimaced. "Yes ma'am."

"Very well, let's see what you've learned. What is our next course of action?"

Relm pursed her lips, swinging a leg from side to side as she thought. Karen had given her many books and she had read many of them, but they were long and boring so she had skimmed a lot. Sometimes, there were blocks of writing that spanned multiple pages; no pictures, no graphs, not even a chart. She had definitely skipped those.

Yet, as her eyes turned back to the map where the battle was being modelled, something seemed to make sense. Maybe it was all the battles she had read about, but the way the blocks were moving, there seemed to have a pattern.

Another messenger arrived and the plot was updated with the shifting and removal of more coloured squares.

There was a pattern! It was... it was like two beasts entwined.

"We should crush their center now," Relm declared confidently. Her eyes went wide when she saw the surprised looks on everyone's face though, was she wrong?

It was Derek, of all people, to speak out first. Perhaps he felt emboldened by his answer's acceptance, or maybe it was because he was picking on her and not the older soldiers. "We'd lose the ability to reinforce our left flank, especially with Forsythe's cavalry bearing down on Fedelis. That's too brutish!"

But Karen chuckled quietly to herself. Her arm rested softly on Relm's shoulder with a light, inviting smile on her face.

"A decade ago, Danielle told me to do the same," she whispered.

Relm blinked in confusion.

"But no, it was imprudent then and it's still imprudent now," Karen's voice rose and she was addressing her staff. "Now we wait."

"For what?" Relm asked.

Karen narrowed her eyes, shielding them from the reflected glare of the sun. Her hair fluttered in the breeze and her frown deepened.

"For our men to do their duty."

-=-

His sword lifted the soldier clear off of his feet, a fatal gash across his chest spilling blood all over the many segments of his brown leather armor.

"For Justice!" Cyan Garamonde hollered.

His chocobo dashed through the shallows, a trail of mist rising in the air behind him. Alert soldiers had turned towards the unexpected assault from the river only to be greeted by charging wall of cavalry. Many could not even bring their shields to bear before the blows came. Cyan's sword tasted blood with every swing, a different flavour each time but always satisfying.

The river was a deep Imperial crimson.

Lines of men collapsed, formations deteriorated. A few enterprising officers had begun a retreat, but their actions only confused the dying flank of Forsythe's army even more. The artillery of Farin's forces joined in; beams of spiralling infernos following the arcing trajectories of their cousins in war.

Cyan's chocobo dashed through a field of corpses splattered apart by cannonfire and into the enemy. Twin blasts of fire narrowly missed him as the roar of cannons sent smoke and dirt flying into the air. Friendly arrows fell upon them, embedding into his shield and those on foot who had chosen to stand their ground.

This was nothing new.

His chocobo was like a predatory beast, the bird's helmet was splattered with blood and its steel armor had shrugged off more than one arrow. His mount dashed faster and charged headlong at the Magitek Armor that had fired on them; it was as if the bird had a grudge to settle with the pilot.

Cyan felled two more soldiers as he passed, killing them before they killed others. Another managed to bring his shield to bear, but Cyan's blade took the soldier's arm along with the cloven shield. A multitude of fireballs erupted to his right. Arrows flew through the rising flames and thick black smoke, thousands cruising in long lazy arcs that darkened the sky.

Forsythe's ranks were thin, he had been overstretched and unprepared for the assault upon on his right flank. He had made many mistakes and now, there was nowhere for the Maverick's general to run.

Blood splattered across his leather armor and Cyan barely blocked an arrow with his shield. He screamed a deadly cry and threw a javelin, piercing the offending bowman in the chest and sending him flying backwards. Pulling at the reins, his chocobo turned its attention back to the Magitek Armor.

"Abomination," he cursed.

It was nothing more than a shape obscured by smoke and dirt that had been kicked up by thousands upon thousands of exploding shells. It was not the biggest Cyan had ever seen, but there was no time for proper classification. Icy blasts tore into the ground, but Cyan had known they were coming and briskly cleared the deadly shockwave. Still, even with his foresight the force almost threw him off his mount.

Then blue light blasted past his vision, leaving a trail of white snow that Cyan blinked away. One, two, five blasts of ice and fire slammed through the Magitek Armor and tore it apart at the seams. As the arms fell off and the beast teetered on one leg, cannonfire caught it square in the chest and an explosion of flame engulfed the deadly machine. It toppled to the ground and shook the earth.

Cyan's eyes snapped to the victor. The largest of Imperial Magitek Armors, a lumbering beast that was more building than war machine, had its huge cannons pointed in his direction. The pilot within saluted in a gruff manner.

Now that was new. Magitek that was on his side.

Two knights passed him -- Cyan recognized the Captain from before and gave a brusque grunt of acknowledgement. The thousand men that Farin had assigned him had excelled in combat, slaughtering Forsythe's cavalry from the rear while Cyan had taken a small, capable detachment deeper.

He was not alone though. With a brilliant black cape flying behind him, the like-minded General Starson slew two men before turning around for a third. Only two of his personal bodyguards could keep up with his swift chocobo as Farin advanced deeper than was prudent. Four men accosted him, their pikes scaring the mounts as they advanced.

One of Farin's bodyguards fell and the General was exposed. Two more fell to his deadly sword, tendrils of electricity snaking around the bloody blade.

But one had snuck behind him. With a cry of effort, Cyan hurled a javelin. The flying spear cleaved through shield and pierced the enemy through the chest.

The General finished off the remainder, glancing up to discover his saviour was Cyan. He grinned as his bodyguards -- the shaven heads of Donnach and Reinhardt were amongst them -- finally arrived.

"Cyan! I knew you'd be here," Farin shouted as they waited. Every second that passed, another chocobo joined them. "Justice is served today, wouldn't you say?"

"These despicable villains fall before us, but we must strike while the advantageous is ours," Cyan counselled. He noted with a sense of satisfaction that Farin had not hid behind the bulk of his army. The rumours had proven true.

"Your suggestion?"

"Deeper with our fifty chocobos against the cliff, we shall come down behind Forsythe's line."

Farin laughed, but it was filled with bloodlust. "Bold, almost too bold. I like it!" and then he turned to men gathered around him. "Today is the first stroke, one of many in which we will avenge all those fallen to the barbarian! And we, the Eighth Vindicet, shall draw the blood of Forsythe!"

"Glory to the Empire!" the man cheered.

And then they were off.

They charged behind enemy lines, half a century of chocobos unopposed until they caught sight of Forsythe's battlements: broken, smoking, and aflame from the vicious combination of cannonade -- elemental and conventional. Their flags were burning, the tents smouldering, and the fifty men fell upon a score of confused and uncoordinated barbarians.

Cyan almost laughed, such was the feeling of battle in which righteousness was being served. The moral defence of a nation and the crushing of an immoral opponent, there was no doubt in his heart that he was doing the right thing. He would chase out every villain who sought to win through treachery and cowardice, one who slaughtered men, women and children indiscriminately!

Never again would anyone dare to wield poison as their blade.

A bloody mist lingered in the air and Cyan could no longer kept track of all he had fought. Five, ten, fifty, maybe even a hundred opponents had fallen to his blade. They were all faceless and unremarkable, mere extensions of the evil that had occupied Maranda.

And then he was alone atop a small hill, his mount patiently waiting. Fresh blood dripped down the side of his face; he did not remember whose blood it was. He wiped it aside and watched as the enemy burned around him. The thousands of guns of the Empire launched shells into the midst of their foes, a chorus of thunder announcing each vengeful blast of an unforgiving god.

Farin arrived next to him. The General's sword flashed out and the heavens responded with a bolt of lightning.

The two men turned to each other as the sun rose high into the sky. Their bloody capes, his blue, Farin's black, rustled in the wind. Their armour made their statures ever wider and their helmets hid all but their eyes.

Cyan finally understood the purpose of the flamboyant red-crest atop Farin's helmet. He turned away from Farin, and the General away from him. Each had a confident smile upon their face as they waited together in silence.

-=-

"Their center is collapsing!"

Karen scowled. "I can see for myself," she snapped, her binoculars still held against her eyes.

Relm had been denied the lenses. Even though they were on higher ground and had a good view, she wanted to see more. Those brown and black squares had collided and broke apart, like thousands of ants they swarmed at each other seemingly without pattern. Relm wondered what the battle would look like up close. She wondered what it was like for those soldiers to fight.

The sword at her side was heavy.

Her mind drifted to Strago -- stupid gramps. Quickly, she refocused and wondered if Cyan was in the middle of battle. Of course he was, she decided. Relm glanced at the updated map of the battlefield and tried to guess where he would be. The blocks were entwined with each other now and there were a large number of them gathered near the river. They represented thousands of men each.

Only half a year ago, she would have been stunned silent at the mere existence of such numbers. Now she wanted to be out there amongst the thousands, commanding them, fighting alongside of them... like Cyan was doing. Like he had always done.

Oh how she wished she could see it.

"You want to be out there, don't you?"

Relm blinked rapidly, spacing out in the middle of the battlefield shouldn't have been possible but she had managed it. "I can fight," was her only reply to the powerful General.

Karen smiled and shook her head. "That-"

The closest cannons thundered and suddenly, they were separated by thick black smoke. Relm coughed the moment she inhaled the putrid fumes, they burned her nose something terrible. She gritted her teeth and quickly closed her eyes, they were watering from the stinging smoke. When a gust cleared the nasty stuff away from them, Relm suddenly had a new-found respect for the taste of air.

"Look and tell me what you think," Karen held before Relm's face a pair of binoculars.

Relm took her gift and scrambled atop a conveniently empty table. She mimicked the other Imperials -- Karen chuckling when Relm looked into the wrong side -- and suddenly she was in the middle of the battle.

A man who looked like Locke, his face dirty and beads of sweat dripping from underneath his helmet, was panting on the field. He grunted as he threw a spear, eyes wild as he screamed in effort. His lips formed words that Relm tried to understand.

A blade tore the soldier's face in two.

Relm flinched, barely stifling a cry of horror. She lost the man in the chaos of battle and try as she might, she could not find him.

But there were thousands more like him.

The cannons thundered again and Relm saw men, dozens of them, blown to pieces by exploding shells. Smoke and dirt blocked her view, but Relm was almost glad she couldn't see everything. Shapes screamed voicelessly as fires devoured them. She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry for some inexplicable reason.

Then her sight rested upon the dark, hulking menace that was the Imperial Magitek Armor. Like a man hunched over, it staggered towards her covered by a shadowy veil, pinpoint specks of light flaring into blasts of brilliant magical energy.

She lowered the binoculars, recalling those same monsters storming her home.

Grandpa.

"Well?"

Karen was waiting impatiently. Relm didn't know why, but she just stared back at the General dumbfounded.

"I asked a question: what do you think?"

Grandpa... Relm gazed down at her feet. She kicked at the dirt. Cold sweat was already running down her back.

Karen turned away to address her staff.

"Engage the right flank," Relm's voice quivered, but it was filled with determination. Karen would not walk away from her, not until she had told the Imperial General what was on her mind! "With a single blow you'll break the enemy!"

She would fight the Plague, just like her grandfather.

"A bold idea," was the blunt response.

Karen spun on her heels. "General signal: Advance upon the enemy," hers was the voice of god. "Have the 6th and 14th merge by battalion and fall back to support the 10th, all Brigadiers will coordinate strictly by the book. Any mistakes and I swear I'll decimate their command regardless of the outcome!"

Karen's general staff was now a maelstrom of activity, aides running all around her as flags were raised and messengers were sent. All the while, cannonade thundered across the Plains of Callaghan. Men died every second, stabbed, blown to pieces, or consumed by blasts of magic.

Relm stood beside Karen and watched it all.

The books her grandfather had given her, they didn't describe war this way. From their distant vantage point, Relm saw the same scene repeated over and over again. There was no thrill to this battle; no knights in shining armor.

Her mind's eye recalled Cyan's gallant image, saving her from Imperial soldiers deep within the mountainside. For some reason, the scene was more vivid this time. Details came to life: the chill of the winter air, the scent of blood, the reflected light in drops of sweat, the screams of the dying. The spray of spittle from Cyan's mouth as he charged to save her.

The fear in his eyes.

A hand suddenly grasped her shoulder. Relm was shocked to discover that she had been shaking.

"It is terrible, is it not?"

Relm could only manage a nod.

Karen squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Maybe you are too young to start. I know I was."

Relm was speechless.

"But..." Karen trailed off. "Do you still want to study, Relm?"

Just like Grandfather.

Relm nodded.

"Very well. You have some keen insight, it's no wonder General Starson sought a tutor for your talents," Karen smiled and let go of her shoulder lightly.

Relm watched the battle continue in a silent stupor. Time passed by quickly and if Strago or Cyan were told how long she stayed quiet, they never have believed it. News came and went: General Starson had crossed the river, the 9th had routed their opponents, Forsythe's right flank was collapsing, and that the enemy had retreated into his burning fortifications and sued for peace. But everything seemed dull to her.

It was Karen who finally snapped her out of her solitude. "I want my chocobo readied and the Major alerted," the lady General declared. "We're joining the melee."

Relm glanced back to the models in confusion. "Why are you going out to fight?" she asked, keeping an eye on the battlefield.

Derek, who had seemed jealous by how much attention Karen was giving Relm, lashed out. "It should be obvious: the battle's not over and this battalion consists entirely of fresh troops. We'll join for a final push that breaks Forsythe's last-ditch defence."

Irritated by the way he spoke, Relm drew on a deep font of hidden strength. "Don't be stupid," she snapped. "There's no need to risk catching the Plague, we've already won!"

Karen stepped between her apprentices. Her dark cape cascaded down her armour, covering the sword she had just put on. She turned her back to Relm. "That's quite enough Derek. You should take a long, hard look at your study habits. You could learn a lot from Relm."

Victorious, Relm stuck out her tongue.

Karen turned around and Relm quickly acted as innocent as possible.

"-no matter how imprudent she is," Karen declared to Relm's dismay. However, Karen lowered to one knee and put a reassuring hand on Relm's shoulder. "You did well today, but you still have a lot to learn from me," she said with a wink.

Her bodyguards had arrived, their bulk making the General look tiny in comparison. Still, Karen took her red-crested helmet from the two and fitted it to her head. With one last glance at the two children, she turned back to the smoke and debris that marked the camp of their enemy. A thundering crescendo of cannonfire seemed to declare her intent to join the front.

"Let's move," Karen ordered as the blue caped Major and a dozen chocobo-mounted knights took formation beside her. The sun was high in the sky. "It's time to finish this battle."

-=-

As the Imperial Armed Forces prepared for the final blow against Forysthe and his army, Edgar's face was mashed against a wooden table. The smell of alcohol wafted into his kingly senses. His face twisted at an odd angle and he bolted upright. The sheets upon his bed were fresh, clean and untouched. Beside it, a clock was ringing; it was noon.

He had fallen asleep.

Blinking away the grogginess, he grabbed a cloak to hide from the glare of the sun. Exiting Bill's empty establishment, he was surprised to see Arvis waiting just outside. A bead of sweat ran down the older man's face.

"Sorry about that," Edgar excused himself. Nodding gruffly at the two Figarian soldiers that stood guard, he quickly pulled on his hood. "Aren't you hot?"

"It's nice to sweat for once."

Edgar rolled his eyes. "Can't say I understand you Northerners."

The two men strolled to the outskirts of Halstead, trailed by their bodyguards. There, Imperial manpower was conspicuously missing. Instead, only Figarians were visible as they prepared a carriage in one of the local stables. Most of the men saluted or bowed to Edgar, but others were so busy with the chocobos that they could only nod respectfully in the presence of their King.

The commander of his personal guard stood stoically in the sun. There was not a trace of sweat upon his face, despite the heat of the sun and the deep blue garb he wore.

"Major," Edgar ignored the crisp salute. "Is everything ready?"

"Of course, my King. Also, Admiral Pellyn sends his regards, but it is Admiral Amedeo who is waiting in the bay."

"Amedeo?" Edgar knew that name. He pursed his lips. "Just as well, Pellyn would probably disregard the ploy. Amedeo would jump for the chance."

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Edgar?" Arvis asked.

Edgar let loose a deep sigh. They were safe here, protected by his finest and most loyal of men. Here, he could speak his mind freely and not worry about spies.

"I've thought this through many times... and my conscience can't bare further inaction. Arvis, I'm counting on you."

"Don't worry about me, I'm not much more than a messenger," Arvis patted his chest, where Edgar assumed a secret pocket was hidden behind the fashions of Narshe. "Let's hope this Admiral Amedeo will follow your written orders."

"I would love to speak with Amedeo myself, but my presence here is essential. I'm not sure how convinced they are that you must return home to discuss the new political arrangements."

"It's the truth," Arvis pointed out. "The Elder may not be happy with the new Empress."

"He'll be happy so long as there's peace in Narshe," Edgar growled.

"Perhaps, but the cost might wound his pride. Anyhow, the sun is already high in the sky. I suppose this is where we part, King Edgar," Arvis bowed slightly. "It was an honour, as always."

Edgar shook his head. "I owe you greatly for doing this, my friend."

Arvis' smile was devoid of any joy.

"Let's hope you've done the right thing. This is a dangerous game we're playing."

-=-

They dismounted in the midst of thousands of Imperial soldiers, many covered with blood and gore. The ground laid beneath a blanket of corpses and clouds of smoke darkened the skies overhead. A rain of white ash fell down upon them, thin flakes fluttering softly through the air. In the background, Forsythe's battlements burned.

Farin raised his blade.

A cheer erupted throughout the ranks, cries of victory and shouts of joy. They raised their weapons and saluted.

"For General Starson!" one particularly bold commander shouted above the rest.

That sentiment echoed through the ranks of the Third Imperial Army. They cheered on their victorious general, louder than the cannons that had won them such a victory.

Farin removed his helmet, his face visible to the thousands surrounding them. Blood and dirt were mashed in lines across his face, but there was a smile beneath all that grime.

"For our Empress, for Vector, and for the Empire!" he hollered.

"The Empire!" the thousands thundered.

Cyan folded his arms and watched as the victors basked in their glory. He did not join in the celebration, but did return the gratitude of the men that passed by. He stood near Farin's closest circle -- Reinhardt, Donnach, and several of the decorated men that had been recently transferred to his command.

"I can't believe it. You would be Garamonde."

A familiar face: he was short and perhaps a little on the thin side for a soldier. His leather armor was also clean of grime and gore, so Cyan knew at once that this man was a pilot. A flash of insight came to him.

"Thank you for saving my life," Cyan offered his hand.

The Imperial pilot looked down at Cyan's outstretched arm, eyes wide in disbelief. He had a silly grin on his face. "You know, all I can think of right now is how absurd this is. I can barely stop myself from addressing you as the Relentless."

But the gruff soldier took Cyan's hand strongly. "I'm Captain Waldgrave," he offered.

"Godric," Cyan made the connection.

"So you've heard of me? I guess after Third Reddenhurst, it was bound to happen."

This was the man that had almost caught them in Nestil, forced them to send Sabin away and had been a shadow that they had feared for weeks. And now, this man -- a Magitek Pilot of all people -- had saved his life.

Absurdity did not adequately describe the situation; Cyan could not hold back his laughter. "The day is full of surprises!" He slapped the pilot on the back and laughed away the tension and stress.

Godric coughed, recovering from Cyan's strong blow. His seriousness faded away though and he joined an unlikely partner in an equally unlikely laugh.

In the background, Forsythe and thirty-thousand corpses burned.

-=-

The Battle of Third Callaghan was over. Of course the Empire had won, and by an overwhelming margin at that.

Locke shook his head. He had read the report and while it was supposed to be good news for everyone, it was not for him. Time was running short for the Guild and its fanatical mages. With the destruction of General Forsythe and his forces, the back of the Maverick's army was broken.

Oakham had fallen as well, encircled as the city was by Brigadier Falkland and his 17th Division. The Empire was on the march and in its wake, her enemies burned in mass graves.

Locke had discovered that the Maverick's last true army, all veterans of the Maranda War years ago as well as the Civil War, had been marching to Callaghan when Forsythe fell. Karen had succeeded in preventing the Maverick from joining his veterans into a single, cohesive force. Now the greatest conventional impediment to the Empire's total victory was camped out in the Plains of Incledon, blockading any entry into the Marandan heartland. As for the warlord himself, the Maverick was doing all he could to recover. News had spread quickly that armies were being raised in Sutton and Maranda.

But it was the unconventional that was the greatest danger. They could not find the Guild's leadership -- not even a name! -- and her members were just as difficult to locate. They had left their mark on many villages, that was for sure, but they had vanished from the memories of many. Considering the pace of the Empire's advance, Locke knew it was only a matter of time before those mages got desperate.

He dared not imagine what the fanatics would do when pressed against the wall. That was what nightmares were for.

"Not a single lead," Locke muttered as he glanced around the occupied village.

The Inquisition's efforts were redoubled. Orders from Norris were to capture any Guild Member at any cost. Their efforts had led to this small village on the coast and the moment it had been feasible, they stormed in. Locke should have been nervous -- they were close to Sutton -- but in light of the Plague, mere armies that stretched beyond the horizon didn't seem to be that big of a deal. For all they knew, they were the walking dead.

They had to find the Guild's headquarters before it was too late.

"High Inquisitor," one of the men under his command gestured.

Locke followed the Inquisitor into a mansion they had taken over. A number of the bounded villagers knelt on the ground. They remained tight-lipped despite their obvious connections to the Guild.

"Still unwilling to talk?" Locke asked once more. The silence didn't surprise him, but it was disappointing. "We know the Guild was here, your own people were abused and tortured. We can protect you from them. There's no reason not to help us."

This village had been visited by several Guild Members and the fanatical mages had stayed here for weeks. Many of the people were scarred in disturbing fashions; Locke's stomach turned whenever he saw their gaunt, thin bodies and wide-eyed stares filled with eternal horror. They should have received their pity, but instead Locke had to mark them as Shrouded.

That there were some who conspired against their own people...

"Fine, we don't have time for this anymore! Take him and him, her too," Locke pointed at the ones that looked important to him; the ones that would likely have had meaningful contact. Perhaps they had been an official or a business owner, but no matter what they were or how far they had fallen, Locke could still pick them out of the crowd.

"What about him?" the Inquisitor gestured at a young man with one arm.

Locke judged the teenager for a while. "Yeah," he answered at last, somewhat reluctantly. His gut told him that the well-fed teenager might know something.

"We should take that one too."

The Inquisitor pointed at a boy, no more than ten years in age. He hid behind the skirts of his mother, the woman who Locke had just picked out.

"No," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Not him."

"Sir, even if he doesn't know anything, we might need him as leverage-"

"I said no!" Locke growled. His eyes burned with rage. "Do you understand me, Inquisitor? Not the boy!"

"As you command, High Inquisitor sir."

Locke left the house and with a cry of frustration, pounded the supports of the awning above him. The thin cloth swayed from side to side as he punched the wood, grunting with each impact. Dust and dirt fell until his hands, wrapped in tough leather gloves, complained about their mistreatment. He gasped for air and wiped at the beads of sweet that ran down the sides of his face.

"Damn the Guild," he whispered underneath his breath.

Locke stormed back to their campsite, outside the village for security reasons. Only two men were there, the rest were keeping an eye on the town.

"High Inquisitor Locke," one stood up as Locke approached. "We've got a message."

The men were always uneasy around the glowing green globe that was their source of news to the outside world. Locke was surprised by their reaction; men of the Empire rarely blinked twice when they saw magic. As a result, he had to ensure his own abilities were a secret; he preferred if the Inquisitors he commanded did not feel the same way towards him as they did towards the Guild.

Reaching into the soft, yielding surface of the green ball, Locke gestured according to the instructions he had memorized and slowly retrieved a small piece of paper from it. Norris had gone without sleep for a day or two creating these; only the most important and trustworthy teams had been given them.

The writing was small, barely legible if Locke hadn't had so much experience with Norris. Apparently, the Inquisition had already slipped into Pierpoint and discovered some terrifying things. Norris didn't have the room for details, but explicitly told Locke to head south and await his arrival. Norris was short on men after sending several teams north.

Locke's eyes narrowed. Norris was sending forces north? That was further away from Maranda, away from anything that mattered.

What could be worthwhile north of Pierpoint?

-=-

This post has been edited by Elessar on 5th May 2007 06:04

His eyes snapped open. He bolted upright, covered in a sheen of sweat despite his nakedness. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his heart pounded so quickly that a headache of epic proportions threatened to overwhelm him once more.

"Not again," he whispered.

The candle next to his modest mattress was almost burned down. He had forgotten to extinguish the wick... again. Judging by the melted wax, he guessed it was still a few hours before dawn.

Well, he wasn't getting back to sleep this night.

He grabbed a convenient towel and wiped his face of all the sweat and grime. He tossed the soaked cloth aside and picked up one of the few clean shirts he still had. Alert eyes wandered across the walls of the little shack he called home.

At the geometric patterns that spiralled all over the walls.

His eyes averted in embarrassment, only then realizing that his right hand had fallen to his side and was tracing circles on the sweat-soaked sheets of his bed.

"Dammit!" he cried out, whipping his shirt at the wall in frustration. His calm breathing sped up again as blood rushed into his head. He gripped his rebellious hand and glared at it, willing it to be still.

"Sabin!"

Sabin Roni Figaro turned to the intruder that stormed through the thin wooden door of his home. Her red ponytail whipped around her neck as she skidded to a halt.

"Trouble," Siana Deardon gasped.

Sabin grabbed a shirt out of the nearest, dirty pile and pulled it on. "What's wrong?" he asked in a cocky manner. "Did Ben hurt himself again tripping over the-"

"South," Siana interrupted. "Intruders are coming from the south."

Sabin's smile vanished. "Are you bringing in the garbage again?"

"This isn't the time for games," Siana snapped. "They're good, I barely noticed them pass. Definitely elite troops, probably former ISF."

"We're in trouble," he deduced from the wrinkles on her face.

Siana nodded. "That's an understatement."

Sabin grabbed what weapons he had lying around. Armor was not going to help them, not the way they were going to fight. However, this was the first time Siana had sounded scared of advancing Imperials. In half a year and over a dozen fights, not once had Siana ever complimented intruders. Hers was always a professional opinion, one that had proven reliable and fail-safe.

"We've dealt with plenty of infantry, those two magic-less buffoons that pretended to be Guild Members, and even a Magitek Armor the last time," Sabin growled. "It's been months since any further incursions, why start again?" he mumbled in frustration. He hoped the lull would not be their undoing.

Siana tapped her feet impatiently as a belt of knives went around Sabin's waist. He fitted his brass knuckles carefully. "So what's our chances?"

"Bad, and getting worse with every minute. These guys already found some of the traps, and probably the decaying corpses at the bottom of the valley."

"We better move."

The two dashed out of his home and away from Dorset.

-=-

Siana was right, but Sabin had not expected any errors from her. The Imperials who were advancing were not just good, they were excellent. Like shadows, they passed through the thick underbrush with hardly a scratch on their arms. Had Sabin not have spent so many months in these woods, he doubted that he could have kept up with these men. They were professionals trained in the art of infiltration.

They had never faced anything like this.

Sabin motioned to Siana, telling her to keep the others silent. Without surprise, the unofficial militia of Dorset had no chance against men like these: warriors trained to kill from a young age. Sabin could probably deal with them in single combat, but soldiers worked in teams to their advantage.

This was very bad.

Their only chance would be a dangerous, rocky pass that was the only safe route down into the valley. It was narrow, offered little cover, and the fall was fatal.

Sabin was hidden underneath leaves and dirt, as still as a corpse. The Imperials would pass by him and when he judged the timing was right, he'd give the signal and a deadly rock-slide would wipe out these soldiers.

Unfortunately, the enemy had split up and sent two ahead to scout the treacherous descent. Apparently wise to the dangers of passage, these men were taking no chances. This was almost their worst-case scenario: they had to wait until the two scouts declared the descent safe. Then when the remainder of the group ventured down, the militia would have to deal with those two while the rock-slide killed the rest.

It was a good plan except for one, little problem. When the scouts signalled, only half the enemy made their way down the cliffs.

Now it was the worst-case scenario.

Siana had feared this from the beginning. The former-pilot knew that if the Imperials were smart enough to follow such precautions, they had no choice but to kill the ones descending while ambushing the ones left at the top. That was what she, a few of the stronger men of Dorset, and Sabin prepared for.

The timing would have to be perfect. The moment the rocks began to fall, they would have to strike. Otherwise, those at the top would alert their comrades descending.

A drop of sweat ran down Sabin's cheek. His fingers traced inexplicable patterns into the dirt.

No!

Two men detached from the group at the top. They were moving towards the point where the hidden boulders were.

This was really bad.

He moved without thinking, rising from his hidden spot like an earthen monster. Dirt and leaves fell off of him noiselessly as Sabin stalked towards the two men. The taller one was in front, he looked to be a leader. The one behind seemed paranoid. Sabin fought the urge to crack his knuckles as he advanced within spitting distance, hiding behind a thick tree trunk as one of the men glanced back.

Now.

His fist connected with the nearest, a forceful blow to the stomach that dropped the man with little noise. Sabin charged over the fallen and pulled out his knife.

*click*

Sabin halted in his tracks. He could feel the eyes of another man behind him.

There had been three, not two.

He had still been four steps away from the tall man in the lead, who turned around with what seemed to be a look of admiration. An axe was held out and ready, his one-eyed visage evidence of his warrior status. He wore a plain cloak that was the shade of the forest, only a single symbol above his heart marred his camouflage. It was a white octagon with the Imperial Emblem painted in red. From a distance, it looked like dripping blood.

"You don't look like one of them," he announced simply.

Sabin didn't know what the one-eyed man was talking about, but stood tall and awaited the killing shot from the crossbow behind him.

"You're not Guild, are you? You're protecting the village in valley," he continued to muse.

There had been enough oddities today that Sabin suddenly made the connection. The elite nature of the men -- without a single one that looked like a Guild Member or displaying the traits of a Magitek Knight -- and the way they moved, acted, and responded to any perceived threat.

"You're hunting them," Sabin whispered.

The one-eyed man dropped his axe slightly.

"Lower your weapon, soldier."

Siana's hiss was like that of a cobra. It carried in the moist forest air, clearly coming from behind the man with the crossbow.

The one-eyed man's single eye flickered towards his ally in the bush. It was a chance that Sabin could have taken, a quick strike to the throat and his opponent would be down. Their plan would continue and hopefully, they could protect Dorset without too many deaths.

But instead, he took a chance.

"I am protecting the village," Sabin acknowledged. "And who are you?"

The one-eyed man's attention returned to Sabin. The half-smile on his face was definitely one of admiration. "Military training," he noted. "Well, it seems like you have the upper-hand for now. In hopes of avoiding bloodshed, might I suggest we all lower our weapons? You might have the advantage, but your plan with the rocks won't work. The village would suffer if any of my men were to fall."

Sabin gritted his teeth. He had chosen to risk it all. "Let go of him," he said to Siana, deliberately leaving out her name.

A grunt of frustration -- she probably didn't like his decision -- and then something happened that made the one-eyed man nod in approval.

"I think it's unlikely the Guild managed to come here, given those rather... fortunate acts of nature," the one-eyed man continued. "I think we're friends."

"And why is that, Imperial?"

"Because I am High Inquisitor Miles of the Imperial Inquisition. Our group has been hunting those affiliated with the Guild at the command of the Empress Danielle. So we have a common enemy, man of Dorset, and that makes us friends."

-=-

"-and the Inquisition has been active in pursuing any possible connection to the Guild. So far, we believe that they have yet to cross the ocean and spread the damned Plague, but we cannot be sure."

Twelve heads today, one more than yesterday. Edgar's tally had gone up again as yet another messenger was murdered.

"It would be best if we coordinated our efforts," Danielle levelled an unnerving look at Edgar. "We need to restrict ocean travel."

Edgar sighed. He had to focus. "These pirates, what would they gain by making such a crossing?"

"Petty criminals do not concern me," Danielle tapped the desk for dramatic effect. "The lawless brigands have been crushed once more and what remains is unlikely capable of the crossing."

"Then why have your vessels so far north in our waters?" Edgar countered. "What we need to do is to tighten our grip on the Guild and keep them isolated. That's why I offered you my ships and that's what they're doing now: ensuring the Maverick does not escape."

That was not all they were doing, but Edgar left that unsaid.

"We do not know the intentions of fanatics," Danielle admitted. "But the threat that still exists is not directed towards the Empire, they cannot pass into the east. It is reasonable to assume that they will seek refuge and there are many places in the north where they could hide."

Edgar agreed reluctantly. He could see where this was going.

"The fanatics must be completely destroyed. Our forces will pursue them wherever they flee, even within your country."

"That would be infringing on our sov-"

"Edgar, enough," the Empress snapped. Today, Danielle seemed unusually impatient. "We are either allies or not. I am not suggesting that my armies will establish a permanent presence, nor even independent movement through your kingdom. I am asking for us to work as partners, not just here, but wherever the enemy hides."

Despite knowing Danielle's loathing of equivocation, Edgar was out of choices. Until more facts arrived and he was sure that this alliance was not in error, he had to delay. Until he was sure the Empire would not turn around and stab them in the back once its borders were secure, he would only commit the absolute minimum. He had to do everything in his power to assure the safety of his people.

"That's quite reasonable, but I am unwilling to commit until Arvis returns. There is more to the northern continent than just Figaro," Edgar pointed out reasonably. It had barely been a week since Arvis had left. That gave him over two months of excuses.

"Then wait, King Edgar," Danielle lowered her arms. "Wait and pray that when the Plague strikes the north, I am still willing to commit my men to die for a foreign cause. Perhaps I might send a token force of ships -- say... two divisions -- and keep my own people out of danger while maintaining our relations."

Blunt and brutal; Edgar knew this was a dangerous game he was playing. He could feel everything and everyone slipping away from him. Events were moving at a brisk pace, like a tide that was dragging him out to sea. Cyan and Strago had both abandoned him, each risking their lives and fighting the Plague in their own manner. Terra's commitment made theirs' seem pitiful and with her was Locke. Everyone else had already decided the path they would follow. Edgar was alone.

Alone to barter, to scheme, to decide the fate of the world.

"Perhaps we could work on a more detailed agreement, outlining a path to guide our nations through this crisis and become closer friends," his words took on a meek quality. Let her believe she had the upper-hand. Edgar needed time to think and regain a grasp on the situation. If the price was his pride and dignity, well so be it.

"That's interesting, a plan towards mutually beneficial goals. But I wonder, what would do you see at the end of this road, King Edgar?"

"As closer allies, I believe a day will come when we leaders would meet as friends, advising instead of negotiating. It would be the same for any of our subjects; there would be no apprehension when speaking to someone of another continent."

Danielle smiled. "That is a... peaceful vision."

"What do you see, Empress?" Edgar responded in kind, asking her to define an abstract term.

"I see the same as you, but more," Danielle gestured around them. "I see our military working together, soldiers eating with one another at a common table. I see us agreeing upon necessary courses of action, debating as peers joined in a common cause to secure our nations' safety."

Edgar mentally frowned; to her, even the notion of peace was seen in such a martial light.

"I see our people trading with one another: food, drink, books, art, workmanship... all manner of thought, freely exchanged and encouraged."

... and military technology, Edgar realized. Suddenly, everything became clear.

Danielle knew, or at least, suspected that they had developed something to counter the Empire. Certainly secrets could not be kept forever, not when Figaro commanded ships that could sail beneath the seas. And as time continued to pass, the probability that she would find about their submersibles would grow. It was inevitable.

This was an even more dangerous game than he had possibly imagined.

"For now, that is certainly a dream. But with some forethought and planning, such friendship might be achievable," Edgar remained calm and diplomatic despite the frantic churning of emotions. His mind ran wild with possible scenarios. He feared that Figaro's secrets would be laid bare and they defenceless against the vast might of the Empire.

Could Danielle know about their ships? Or worse, did she suspect what Narshe had created? They had managed to keep their finest invention a secret for so long! Only against Magitek Armors had it been used in desperation, and those pilots were dead and Terra's mind a haze.

"I propose a break, I am sure you have much to attend to," Edgar finished.

"Until tomorrow," Danielle agreed. "Lunch as always?"

Edgar wiped his lips and stood. "Of course. A pleasure, as always, and my compliments to your chef."

Baldric was already standing by the entrance, stepping aside in order to allow Edgar through. The King of Figaro paused outside as the flaps to Danielle's tent closed. He took a deep sigh.

Alone.

Edgar had known since he had been a child that his future was going to be a great challenge. He knew his responsibilities; never once had he questioned the path he walked. Everything fell upon his shoulders ever since his father fell ill. He had his duty... and he would not shirk from it.

"Sabin," Edgar muttered. He hoped the best for his brother.

"Unacceptable!"

With reserved surprise, Edgar realized that he was still alone. Baldric had not led him outside and past many bodyguards that protected the Empress. Instead, Edgar was left unguarded before Danielle's tent. This had never happened before.

Voices were coming out of the Empress' tent; there was little more than a thin weatherproof cloth between them. Edgar's ears perked up and against his better judgement, he decided to listen. With an uneasy eye kept on the entranceway, he strained the limits of his senses.

"Please, Empress," it was Baldric's deep voice pleading with Danielle.

"You know what happened to 7th," Danielle snapped. "There is no recourse! If the outbreak cannot be stopped, they will be decontaminated the only way we know how!"

"The army was aware of such risks when they fought, and I am aware of the same."

"You are not fighting," Danielle was irritated. Edgar could tell her composure was broken, her voice shook in a way that he had never heard before and her speech patterns were breaking down. "You're throwing your life away."

"I ask very little, Empress. All I desire is a week of time-"

"To travel to Mansfield and die," Danielle growled.

"The outbreak there is not so bad."

"It isn't contained!" Danielle's anger was unrestrained. "We can't contain it, you big fool! We're strained enough as is trying to keep the provinces from infection. I actually had to assign soldiers too green to pacify monsters to the recent outbreaks in Mansfield and Ethelben, there's no one left!"

"Empress, I will not let my nephew remain alone."

"You can't come back," Danielle snapped.

"Then I will not. But with my sister dying, Tyler has no one. You remember Tyler, don't you? He has curly brown hair and loves to tinker-"

"Baldric, please," Danielle reasoned. "If he's all that remains of your family, fine. I'll send Inquisitors to retrieve him. After the quarantine, you can go meet him. I'll give you as long as you need then."

"He needs his family now. His mother is dying. I must be with them."

There was silence, a long period in which Edgar thought he might have been discovered. But then Danielle's voice returned.

It was nothing more than a wretched, raspy whisper.

"I don't want to see you die too, Baldric. I've lost so many..."

"I have been but a ring of steel around you, my Empress," Baldric remained composed. "I have always been willing to sacrifice myself for your sake. Ten years, I have devoted myself to your service without reservation. Please, let me help my family. Tyler is all that's left."

One by one, the hollow sound of her finger tapping lightly against the desk dispersed through the thick silence.

"Granted," she whispered hoarsely.

"Thank you, my Empress. It has been an honour."

The sound of slow, heavy steps could be heard approaching.

And Edgar hurried away, his feet taking him as fast as they could. His back was slick with sweat despite the cool air. His heart was pounding faster than his legs moved, but not because he feared he would be seen.

He could not bare to look up, to even acknowledge the presence of Imperial soldiers. He just wanted to run away.

-=-

It stank in Vector. The high-heat of summer was bad enough, but when mixed with stench of rotting corpses, it created something truly nauseating. The air felt thick, so moist that it stuck to the flesh and even with the coarse soap provided by the Imperial Army, required multiple scrubbings to wash away.

It wasn't hell -- Strago had lived too long to so easily label any situation the terror of terrors -- but his heart ached and his stomach turned.

Imperial Guardsmen, still wearing their black-trimmed brown leather, were well-prepared with lances and shields. Ten men protected Strago as he prowled the streets of Vector, their demeanour enough to scare people away during peaceful times. In desperate days such as these, only the truly deranged gave them a second glance.

Strago heard soft sobs coming from one of the buildings on the side of the road, the doors themselves barricaded so that nothing -- hopefully not the Plague -- would enter. Many had smartly stayed indoors, isolating themselves from all but their closest loved ones.

It didn't help.

The Plague struck at a whim, killing entire families in one room but leaving their neighbours totally untouched. In some cases, entire buildings were full of the symptomatic, while others who had nursed the dying remained healthy for weeks. Strago remembered a family of six, everyone had been in the advanced stages except for the grandfather. A frail, old man whose life was at risk from the common cold, and he had to watch everyone he ever loved die before him.

Strago wept every night.

The riots had calmed down, not because the people had finally respected the wishes of their imprisoners. The army still treated anyone in Vector as an enemy; their battlements encircled the capital without fail. Everyone knew about the Principate Slaughter -- how their own army had turned Magitek Armors on an innocent and unarmed crowd. They detested the Imperial Army and given a good chance, would probably kill in order to escape Vector.

No, there was emotion enough to incite a riot. It was the lack of instigators that prevented this. Those who had spoken the loudest, swayed the crowds to their will and sent people against their former-protectors, it was they who had fallen to the Plague the quickest. People were deathly afraid of speaking out -- the Plague struck those who gathered crowds and spoke ill of the world.

Strago gave a half-hearted nod to the men guarding the Imperial Gates. Failure again, as it always. They had nothing to go on. The books -- if they even had analogous situations! -- were cryptic and rarely contained anything of substance. Everything the labs had tried, magical or not, had no effect. They were powerless.

One of the head scientists was waiting for Strago. There was not even hope on the man's face, apprehension gave way to resignation the moment Strago shook his head.

"Were there any abnormalities at least?" the scientist asked as he fell into step beside Strago.

"The children were further along," Strago answered darkly as he strolled through the halls of the Imperial Palace. His feet carried him at a brisk pace; the only thing keeping him going was force of habit. Children were dying. Kids! How could anyone have created such a horrible thing?

"You'd think that with these statistics, that the Plague is weakening and be more susceptible to our remedies," mumbled the frustrated scientist. "I thought it was a blessing."

"Yes, a blessing," Strago growled. "And if by blessing, you mean prolonging the pain before a gruesome death, then I might agree with you."

The Plague had changed. People were living longer once symptomatic, commonly surviving two weeks. Some had survived a month, outliving many that came down with the Plague after they did. The scientists were fearful that epidemic was changing in order to resist a cure; that their efforts were doomed to failure from the beginning.

So far, that seemed to be the case.

"I'll go over the data again. I doubt anything will change though," the scientist added under his breath.

"Yeah, go ahead," Strago sighed. He rubbed his eyes, tired from the day. Anytime he went out to observe and monitor those given treatments, he came back with a profound sense of mortality. It grew day by day, a pit of despair and fear that they might never find a cure.

That the Plague would consume all of civilization -- another apocalypse only a thousand years after the last.

Terra was on her balcony again, one that overlooked Vector from the high towers of the Imperial Palace. She was by her lonesome but as always, carried a single dagger for protection. Strago thought the weapon was a tad small and given the yellow gemstone on its handle, probably nothing more than decoration. That didn't mean Terra was unarmed though, far from it. If her magic was not enough to give a man pause, her shadowy protectors -- Imperial Guardsmen of the elitist nature -- were always close by.

She gazed over the Imperial Capital, resting her head in her hands while leaning upon the guard-rails. A thin red coat was wrapped around her upper-body, it was always there no matter what the weather was like. Her long grey hair fluttered freely in the wind. There was a hard look in her eyes and she was muttering to herself.

"Again, nothing changes," Strago reported gravely.

Terra straightened. A book had been held open by her elbows, one that she quickly set aside face-down. "I'm sorry," was her only response.

What intuition she had was apparently not enough to overcome this menace. Her power to heal did not even delay the inevitable. Strago studied Terra's haunted look, the hopelessness within deepening as he did so.

How could she not know what to do? Was she not the daughter of an Esper? Was she not a creature of magic incarnate and sensitive to the fabric of reality itself? She had mastered spells he had never known existed, understood principles that he could never grasp without seeing them in practice. She had lead them to victory over those who had sought to control the Gods themselves, against odds that were surely astronomical...

If she did not know how to fight the Plague, what hope did he have?

"What about the books? Have there been any further hints?" Terra's half-hearted questions snapped Strago out of his brooding silence.

"None," Strago answered.

"Certainly something has to be there, we haven't covered even a quarter of all them," Terra pointed out. Though her words carried hope, there was none to be found in her despondent voice.

It annoyed Strago for some reason. "The books are worthless!" he snapped. "Inaccurate history with nothing resembling facts, they're more of a collection of stories and legends passed down the ages by half-wits barely capable of literacy! Oh the great Odin and his retinue's wondrous disappearing act," Strago's voice dripped with sarcasm. "We don't need anymore ballads about battles fought millennia past, and I swear I'll burn the next book that gives me a fifty-page poem about the beauty of deities!"

Terra lowered her head. "I understand how difficult it is... most of my books also cover the same subjects, written about the cause of war and what must be done to ensure it never happens again. The War of the Magi was the culmination of many foolhardy mistakes rather than a single root cause. It seems they wanted us, their descendants, to avoid their mistakes."

"Well, all they managed to do was to bind worthless piles of paper together," Strago grumbled. "Nothing useful has been found in the books."

"Not for combating the Plague," Terra agreed. She gestured at the blue book she was just reading. "They do give insight into other things though. We know the origins of those great beasts, the flying green skull and its kin, and we have an idea of how to deal with them permanently. If they return, countermeasures are in place to destroy these monsters bred for war. Our future is secure."

"If one exists," Strago grumbled. "The dead are piling up and our quarantines have only delayed the spread of infection. Forget about those monsters -- no one's seen them for months anyways!" he added beneath his breath. "There's no indication we'll ever stop this Plague!"

Terra's hands dropped. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"Do you believe otherwise?" Strago replied.

"Of course," Terra answered. She turned back to Vector. "I have a destiny," she declared.

Strago furrowed his brow.

Terra closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if it was as fresh as the spring breeze instead of the putrid, death-soaked fog that choked Vector. "I've made promises," she whispered to the heavens.

Strago was exhausted. "Terra, we're friends, are we not?"

"We are."

"Then forgive me for asking, because no one else dares... but we need you in the labs with us. Your responsibilities as the First Citizen, they're too much. Some days, I don't even see you while we slave away improving yet another antidote. We need your guidance."

"I can't leave the Empire alone, not at this crucial time. It's during this crisis that the greatest challenges arise, the ones that could fragment what administration remains and turn generals into warlords."

"Terra, we can't find a cure," Strago said pointedly. "We don't even know where to begin! Everything -- everything! -- has failed."

"You have the best minds in the world. The best facilities and what resources there are, they're yours."

"But we need you," Strago begged. "We need your undivided attention."

"I can't give you that."

That she did not even consider his request, it infuriated him. "You would ignore the plight of the suffering, of the hundreds dying in Vector each day? Of the thousands throughout the Empire? For what, shuffling pieces of papers around?"

"Strago..." Terra warned with a low growl.

"You work daily to maintain power over the living dead," Strago snapped. "Go ahead! Keep writing your letters and conversing with nobility. Before you know it, this will be an Empire of corpses!"

When he had first met her, Terra would have been too shy to respond to such an insulting remark. When he had met her again, just a few weeks ago, she would have snapped back with the fury of a blazing fire.

Now, she folded her arms calmly and mused over his words.

"Strago," Terra answered at last. "I've lied to you. I don't spend my days maintaining relations with the House of Lords, and I've only given a cursory glance at edicts for the outer provinces. Despite what you think, I'm doing my best to save everyone."

"You're working on a cure without me?" Strago supposed he should have been insulted by being left out of her inner circle, but instead he felt just the slightest bit of hope.

"It's perspective," Terra answered. "Going into Vector everyday, I can see why you're so upset. But you have to remember that what you see is only part of the story. Devoting all our efforts into a cure for this Plague is a short-sighted response."

This Plague; the intonation left no room for other interpretations. "You mean there are more?" Strago whispered dreadfully. A shiver travelled down his spine as he already knew the answer. Terra's intuition on this matter was unlikely wrong, and her command over the Imperial network could not be discounted.

"Almost certainly," Terra acknowledged. "I've faced the Guild more than once and I tell you: the fanatics never rest. They'll keep improving what they have," her voice faltered, "-even if they're spells," she whispered.

"Another plague," Strago felt weak in the knees and quickly sat down. The air seemed thicker than normal, breathing was so much more difficult. "And we don't even have a cure for the first."

"That's why I haven't had the time to help you, because I can see the big picture. In fact, it's all I see. Everyday, I wake up and I remember what Anson told me. He was prophetic and had a keen sense of the challenges we would face. There are dark things out there, shadows that threaten life itself. The Maverick and his fanatics have set loose this Plague, but it's just the tip of their sword. They haven't unsheathed it fully and I don't know if they're ready to, but I won't devote my time to fighting just the first phase."

Strago understood. They had to find something generic but powerful -- a spell designed to fight any malady like the Plague. Anything less and the next iteration could wipe them out.

"If you need my help..." Strago offered.

"No, because I still hope you'll succeed. Your work is easier than mine, and we need it to give people hope for the future. That's why I've decided to assign Catherine to you."

"Your warrior mage? She's not exactly the thinking type."

"No, but she sees things in a different light," Terra explained. "It's all we have left, hopefully you'll succeed."

"Hopefully we'll both succeed," Strago corrected.

"It'll take time."

To forge a new spell? "It always does," Strago replied. He wasn't sure if it was even possible, history on the War of the Magi rarely referred to such details and instead focused on bravery and heroic deeds. With the Sealed Gate destroyed and the link to the Esper Realm lost, they could not seek the help of Espers and learn spells from creatures for whom magic was instinct. They had to rely on their own abilities...

Strago watched the grey-haired half-Esper, the only being alive who was still attuned to the fabric of magic. Terra seemed invigorated by their conversation. An ambitious look was on her face, one that gave Strago hope.

But if Terra could not forge a new healing spell, then the next plague would come. And perhaps they might find a cure for that, but then another one would come... and again and again. They would always be one step behind until at the very end, when there were no more left alive to fight.

Their future laid in the hands of Terra Branford.

-=-

Strago was not one to leave his fate in the hands of others though. He rested in the Marble Square, wishing that the Empire had bothered to repair the center of the Imperial Palace. Admittedly, it was probably a waste of resources. The Empire did not entertain foreign guests during a war and citizens were refused entrance. Only those who lived in and protected the palace would see the aftermath of magical battle.

There had been trees once, but they were cut down now. Even the stumps were blackened through, drained of life by sorcery. Rings of barren soil ringed the phantoms of proud oaks, not even the slightest hint of colour remained to delight the eye. Marble was cracked or broken, smudged by dirt and shrivelled by fires. Melted metal were frozen upon the walls, forever dripping from the decorative gold bands they once formed.

Strago frowned. This was too depressing a place to wait.

But wait he did, until wide-shoulders guards with rings of black leather approached him. Catherine was at her physical peak; shapely, rock-hard muscles peaked out from beneath the segmented armor. Strago had confused the warrior mage as a man more than once, her face was covered with battle-scars and her head was shaved bald. Her feminine charms were hidden beneath layers of leather, cloth and muscle.

"Lore-master. My Sophis has assigned me to your service," her voice was feminine in pitch, but her inflection was more like a man's.

"Call me Strago," he rose from his seat and they shook hands.

"As you wish."

"I hope you're up to date with the research," Strago said as the two began to walk towards the laboratories beneath the palace. "I don't have time to explain everything."

Two Imperial Guardsmen broke their statuesque forms and trailed the pair. Strago had been assigned bodyguards by Terra despite his objections. He did not need to be protected, least of all by illiterate mindless brutes. However, Terra had been insistent and he preferred her mind clear of everything save the Plague.

"I read all reports available up until yesterday's," Catherine announced. "Your research directly follows the scientific method, so it wasn't difficult to understand the underlying ideas. You still believe in advancing a potent counter-poison, correct?"

"That's one idea," Strago answered. "Unfortunately, none of the improvements have had any effect. Even alleviating the pain has been beyond us, the magical element is what we can't grasp."

Catherine pursed her lips. "There was no mention of this in the reports."

"That's because there's no evidence supporting it."

"Then it's a poor theory."

Strago rolled his eyes. "The Empire's schools are too strict. I swear your education chokes your ability to think! Don't you people value the experience and intuition of your elders?"

"Your many years indicate our failures are due to magic in the Plague?"

He nodded. "It's a gut feeling."

"Then we should try experiments in that direction."

Considering the abrupt change of heart, Strago expected mockery on the warrior mage's face. Instead, Catherine was perfectly serious, which thoroughly confused Strago. "Didn't you just say that without evidence, my theory is worthless?"

"Correct. But if you believe in it, then perhaps there is some merit."

Strago scoffed. "Now you're just humouring an old man."

"I am not," Catherine stated flatly. "I believe there are things we cannot understand, Strago. I believe that gut feelings are more than just that. I have magic," an icy flame burst in her upturned palm. It started to suck the warmth out of the air, glowing a bright whitish-blue as it devoured the heat of summer. "I didn't learn this through repetition, I just follow my instincts."

"Funny, I do the opposite," Strago grinned. "I believe that's the definition of irony."

"But you understand what I'm saying," Catherine let the flame flicker out and die. "I've seen the way you look at the Sophis. You believe in her, just like I do."

Strago twitched ever so slightly hearing Terra's appellation. He suppressed his revulsion. "I value her instincts, if that's what you mean."

"You have faith in her decisions," Catherine stressed. "I do so as well, and I don't need hard evidence to tell me what I already know."

"Now hold on," Strago held up a hand. "Terra is half-Esper. She is literally part of magic itself. I mean, she's sensitive to the metaphysical in ways we could never understand. That's why I value her judgement in these matters, not because of faith."

"Then I value your opinion for the same reason," Catherine answered.

Strago lost a step. "What do you mean by that?"

"Are you not a descendent of the Mage Warriors? Were you not born with magic?"

"I am," was his slow response.

"Then you are also connected in ways I could never be," Catherine pointed out. "As much as I wish I was born with magic, I was not. You are special, Strago."

"I don't feel that way."

"I've protected the Sophis for many months now, and I am certain she does not think herself different from us. Her humility is noble, but the truth remains."

Strago was surprised by the woman. He had never thought someone who devoted so much time towards maintaining her physical shape -- to train daily for battle -- could be so insightful. "I think I misjudged you, Catherine. That was very perceptive of you."

If she was encouraged by his compliment, she didn't show it.

"Well then, do you want to hear the mad ravings of an old man?"

It was at that moment that five men strolled past them, their cloaks swishing against the ground as they waltzed through the center of the corridor as if they owned the entire palace. Both Strago and Catherine pressed up against the wall and let them pass. Their octagonal badges were easily visible even from a distance: the Inquisition. As the metaphorical arm of the Empress, their unlimited authority and explosive temperament made them feared by many.

Strago shook his head disapprovingly at the backs of the Inquisitors. Even if they were hunting down the Shrouded, their ways were disgusting.

"I prefer not to hear it," Catherine was unshaken, instead continuing the conversation as if it had never been interrupted. "But the labs are far away so I'll entertain your ranting."

Strago smiled at the level of self-confidence radiating from the warrior mage. "Well then," he began, feeling more confident just by being near her. "I believe we need to weaken the Plague's magical components with a fighting spell of our own. Then we let an antidote finish both weakened combatants. The only problem is that we need a sample of the original or else we risk killing the patient outright."

They turned the corner and followed a series of five gold and silver threaded arches. They were spaced part, each supported by marble columns that were engraved with images of historic battles of the Empire. Most of the carvings were damaged -- chipped or gauged by lethal steel.

"Another attacking spell within a diseased body? A dangerous idea... the balance would have to be perfect or else we'd create a monster more horrible than the one we're fighting. We'll definitely need an original sample, but I doubt we'll get any with all things considered," Catherine pointed out.

"Right, so the enemy must have thought that the initial stages of the Plague were its weakest point. I think that's the key: we need the weaponized form of the epidemic."

"We have failed to capture any of the Guild alive."

Strago sighed. He felt depressed again. "I suppose even if we did, it would take another week before we could get our hands on a sample. It's too bad none of our spells have ever interacted with the Plague. If we found even some magic that had an effect, maybe we could use that to fight the pathogen."

"Spells do not heal the wounds caused by the Plague?"

"You're not a healer, are you?"

"I could never could grasp the concept."

"No wonder," Strago humphed. "We ordered all the healers to treat the illness, but little can be done. We haven't even succeeded in comforting the dying; absolutely nothing we cast has an effect."

Catherine stopped in mid-step below an archway. "You mean the spells succeed, but it's as if nothing is there to heal?"

"Yeah," Strago failed miserably to keep away the image of a diseased girl he had just met. She had been covered in lesions, her lungs filling with fluid... twelve years of age with not another week to live. "We're fighting an atrocious monster," he whispered.

Catherine glanced around them. Aside from Strago's silent bodyguards, no one else was near. "We had the same problem a while ago," her voice lowered. "All manners of scanning, healing... nothing worked."

"Same problem?" Strago echoed.

"When trying to find Remiel Lilienthal's killer."

"Who?"

Catherine frowned. She quickly explained who Remiel Lilienthal was, describing the Governor, his peculiar condition, and the vicious ambush that led to his death. "We were tasked months ago in finding out why his entire body had seemed completely drained, but never got anywhere. As time passed, the autopsy was officially re-prioritized and we moved to other matters."

"Did the body not rot on you?"

"That was why we were so confused. It didn't seem like it was decaying."

Strago scratched the growing whiskers of a beard on his chin. "Intriguing. Ageless, you say?"

"So I was told."

"Killed by the fanatics?"

"So everyone was told."

There was a glimmer in Strago's eye. "Take me to this body."

-=-

Blissfully unaware of the Empire's deteriorating conditions and the growing death toll, a dozen Figarian vessels swayed to and fro in cold waters far from their homeland.

"The Lieutenant is nervous."

Arvis lowered his telescope. "Admiral Amedeo," he greeted the thin, wizened officer. The old man seemed starved, though only yesterday Arvis watched Amedeo eat a hearty meal. Considering his voracious appetite and unlimited energy, Arvis could not imagine why the man was so gaunt. Amedeo was almost dwarfed by his own uniform.

"You are a guest upon this ship, but we have officers on deck for a reason. There is no reason for your continual oversight."

Their ship swayed side to side and a salty mist lingered in the air. "I'm just nervous," Arvis explained. He gestured at the wall of fog all around them.

"We are in no danger, even in these foreign waters. Have faith, my Lord."

"I'm no Lord," Arvis protested.

Amedeo scoffed with his back half-turned. "Of course not," he declared.

Arvis shook his head in confusion. Such a strange old man.

"Admiral, UCS reports enemy contact," one of the senior Lieutenants saluted as he climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck. "They're trailing a single vessel. By its size, they're sure it's a ship of the line."

So they were coming, Arvis mused. That was quick.

"How long until they arrive?" whatever might have sapped Amedeo's physical strength did not drain his voice. He was loud, brash, and authoritative.

"UCS judged another five minutes by their wake."

"Lazy fools, remind them that any further delay would make them irrelevant. Letting the enemy come so close is a careless mistake!"

"Aye sir."

Amedeo turned to yet another officer. "Signal the fleet and beat to quarters!" he ordered. "Then I want you to personally handle the cargo. We can't afford anything to be broken; we have no spares."

The man saluted.

"And keep a close eye on the gun crews. Everyone's already nervous and this ship is arriving far too early. It could be a trap, but the last thing I want is an errant sailor spoiling everything."

Arvis glanced landward, looking for the ship that the submersibles had found. Even with his telescope, nothing could be seen through the mist. "I'm glad we have the UCS, otherwise this fog would be the end of us," he noted.

"Their reports are too slow at this range," Amedeo growled. "They make fine scouts further out, but I wouldn't trust that information. One, five or fifteen minutes; it could be anything."

"I'll keep an eye out."

"If you desire so, my Lord. Just don't make my men look bad."

Arvis cut short his sigh. He turned back to the mist.

The minutes passed by slowly, rife with tension. Their ship was the only source of noise, the ocean was quiet today and not a bird was near. Groans came from below their feet as men moved the cargo, but that only lasted a moment before being abruptly silenced. A system of pulleys was set above Arvis, those sailors working professionally without a word.

And then three minutes later, the sailor keeping watch whispered below.

"Sir, sails! East, over there," the young lad pointed.

The mist had allowed the vessel to come much closer than normally possible, but the Figarian fleet was already well-prepared. Amedeo pulled out his own telescope and joined Arvis' search.

"That's definitely Imperial-built -- what an ugly beast," the Admiral growled. "And they've come early, which means either they're feisty or we're in trouble. Lieutenant, open gunports!"

Arvis didn't protest, the response might have been hasty but they were definitely treading dangerous waters here. He scanned the enemy's decks; the sailors were all uniformly Imperial.

"Well, I've done all I've can. Now we pray."

"For what?" Arvis asked as he continued to scan the deck of the approaching vessel.

"That the ship is actually the one we're waiting for. I don't like the idea of dealing with former-Imperials, they're all the same: heartless bastards who can't be trusted."

Arvis sighed. "They did respond to our offer rather quickly."

"Yes, and with a ship of that size. I hope that we didn't approach the wrong Imperials."

"That's unlikely," Arvis tried to soothe the worries of the Admiral, but found himself wondering the exact same.

"All the same," Amedeo turned to his officers. "Hold until my signal. Reassure the men that the situation is under control."

"Is it, sir?" a freckled midshipman asked.

"Anymore of that kind of lip and you'll be swimming home!" Amedeo snapped. "You know better!"

But the officer did have a point, Arvis reluctantly admitted. His telescope scanned the approaching vessel. Her gunports were closed, but it could have been an elaborate trap that they had played into. If Danielle had the slightest suspicion, she would have waylaid their route with her own ships, ordering them to act like-

Arvis opened his mouth in shock as his eye passed a caped sailor. He refocused on that man, recognizing the face from all the posters. "Admiral," he said as he lowered his telescope. "It's the right ship. There's no need for our guns."

"I'll trust your judgement-" Amedeo scowled, "-but I won't trust any Imperial. Bloodthirsty and honourless dogs, that's what they are. I even have the Boatswain and our marines ready in case we're boarded."

"I wouldn't worry about that. They've conceded to all our conditions and more."

"So? Don't ever trust the Empire!"

"They'll do exactly as we say. They're desperate."

"And how do you know that, young man?"

Arvis let the Admiral's attitude slide and instead pointed. "Do you see the man with broad shoulders on their quarterdeck, beside those two with pikes?"

It took but a second for Amedeo to find that figure with his telescope. "The one with the burned cheek and black cape?"

"That's him."

"Their Captain? Very well, he'll have the honour of falling first."

"No Admiral, that's not just any mere captain. It's their General," Arvis gritted his teeth. "It's the Maverick himself, come to do business with us."

Beneath his breath, Arvis muttered:

"Edgar, you better be right about this."

Visions of Peace will be continued in The Twenty-Third Chapter - No Surrender

I'm loving this more as it goes on. It's rare to see someone have the key characters caught up in a major event they're virtually powerless to affect or influence, and I love rare things. It seems to me the more powerless our main cast grow the more intresting the setup.

And biochemical warfare's always fun, in a starange twisted my-skin-is-melting-this-is-not-at-all-fun-kind-of-way .

So yeah, in defiance of the laws of physics, getting even better.

--------------------

"Only the dead have seen the end of their quotes being misattributed to Plato."
-George Santayana

"The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here..."
-Abraham Lincoln, prior to the discovery of Irony.