Chapter Text
ith a last flare of light, the purple wormhole which had led to the Darkness Beyond Time winked out, and once again Lynx found himself standing on Opassa Beach, his journey having come full circle just as his son's had. He didn't think he could ever see the place the same way again, not after what Fate had made him do here, nor what had happened to Serge here that day fourteen years ago, but still...somehow, it was comforting. As if no matter what else changed in his life, some things would remain the same. That one of them was this beautiful, pristine, secluded shoreline only seemed good and right.
Sighing slowly, he tried not to be conscious of the hot tropical sun beating down on him, the combination of his muscular, furred body and the heavy armor and robes he wore making him increasingly sweaty and overheated. Hoping none of the others, or at least none of the humans, were aware of his muskiness, he watched the various groups and gatherings forming in the sands, by the coral formations, beneath the shade of the palm trees. The Devas, Riddel and her father, and the knight Glenn stood in one close-knit circle, either congratulating each other for the victory they had won (however much it had been the Chrono Cross, not weapons and battle prowess, that had been the key) or drawing strength from each other after all that had occurred.
The rock star Nikki and his red-clad dancer stood with the mermaid Irenes, most likely discussing the continued restoration of Marbule. Korcha seemed to be suffering from a firm scolding by his mother; Fargo was making up with the crotchety old magician Sneff; Doc was earnestly holding hands with Orlha; Leena stood with Radius, ready to return to Arni, just as Greco, Van, and Zappa were bound for Termina (he had it on good authority the painter's son would be coming home with more than enough money to pay off his heartless landlady, a gift the pirate captain had pressed upon him once he'd heard the boy's story); Luccia had her eyes downcast as she spoke softly with Grobyc and Norris before their return to Porre, while Pip floated serenely beside her, wings flapping in the offshore breeze; Serge, Kid and Lucca had formed a triple hug while Guile looked on approvingly...
The soft sound of bare feet pressing into the sand came from beside him, and when he turned he was shocked to see Princess Schala standing there, still clad in diaphanous white, the tattered remnants of what had once been a royal gown of Zeal. As he'd done since first setting eyes on her, he had to do a double-take at how identical she was to Kid—despite being a good ten years older (chronologically, not in years spent bound with Lavos), she retained a sweet youthfulness that made her look even more like her daughter-clone, with the only thing attesting to her true age being the rather haggard appearance she bore from her captivity, a hollowness to her cheeks and lines deeply creasing her brows.
She smiled at him gently. "Feeling left out as well?" Her voice was quiet, musical, as unlike Kid's as her expression of kindness and pity when she gazed at him contrasted sharply with the resentment and distrust the thief still couldn't help showing when she looked at her old nemesis; the effect was truly disconcerting. The fact he recognized it now as the same voice that had called out to him in Chronopolis to bring Serge to be healed, all those years ago—albeit distorted by crossing the dimensions and Lavos's corruption—only made his mind reel further.
"Of course," he rumbled just as softly. "I don't belong here any more...not after all I have done, and has been done to me. And neither do you, if I may say so, your Highness."
Schala half-turned to gaze out across the sea, the look on her face indescribable—distant and sorrowful, guilty and perplexed, uncertain and lost. "Your Highness...it has been so long since anyone called me that...since anyone has spoken to me at all...I had almost forgotten I was once a princess. Not that it matters now...Zeal is long gone beneath the waves, and good riddance to it." There was a bitter fierceness as she said this which surprised him...and yet, as he thought of the legends of the floating kingdom, of what it had become through arrogance and elitism, what had been done to her and what she had been forced to do, he wasn't surprised at all.
Doffing his hat in respect—it wasn't every day you met a great sorceress who was also the reason that past and future had collided and been shifted forever, that worlds had literally been split, turned upside-down, changed irrevocably in order that she might be saved—Lynx smiled and shook his head. "Once a princess, always a princess. Your kingdom may be lost, but you have been found. All thanks to Balthasar...and my son."
Even now, after having it all explained to him, his mind boggled at the truth, the many layers of convoluted scheming and plotting which had led to this denouement...which if a single thing more had gone wrong, if Serge had been a different person, if events had not fallen out exactly as they had, would have been completely impossible...it all had him torn between fury at being so fully and undeniably manipulated, and admiration at the intellect and determination it had taken.
"True. But my point still stands...I no longer have a home or a family to go back to—" For a moment her gaze flickered to the hovering form of the masked magician, so quickly he wasn't even sure he'd seen it. "—and while I am grateful to you all for what you have done for me and for the world, I find myself at a crossroads...and without any idea which path to take from here." Finally she turned back to look at him again, and his heart ached at the undeniable empathy which burned in her eyes, almost making them seem to glow—ached with unexpressed agony, for he knew he did not deserve anyone's caring or forgiveness, least of all hers, and never would. "But I do not need my magic to know the same thing can be said of you."
Lynx blinked away tears. "I have done too much...seen too much...changed too much. Even if I were fully myself again, no one would ever trust me. I would never fit in back in Arni."
"Don't you think you are doing your wife a disservice, Wazuki? And I notice you do not even seem to be considering what your son might want...how he will feel if, after finally having you back, in any form, you choose to desert him again." Although her voice was as caring and concerned as ever, the reprimand was quite clear in it, as well as a core of iron she had passed on to Kid...that had sustained her all these countless centuries, kept her from succumbing fully to the path of hatred and destruction.
He winced and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Touché. I...forgive me, I just don't know how to handle this. I don't know how any of us can." He looked up at her hopefully. "Unless...unless you could give me back my old—?"
Now it was Schala's turn to hang her head in regret. "No. I am so sorry, more than I can say, but when she changed you, when she blended your body with that of the panther demon, Fate transformed you right down to your very cells...she overrode the pattern of who and what you are, and it was lost. If anything at all of it was left, it would have been stored in her databanks. And since you all destroyed her..." She trailed off. "Magic cannot solve everything. My mother refused to see that, and it led to her demise. It took me until now to accept it."
As if her words had summoned it to prove her wrong, he noticed how her locks of blonde hair which stirred and swirled in the breeze were beginning to shine, shimmering with an inner light that was gradually changing their hue to a luminescent, ever more otherworldly blue. Apparently the hair color of the royal line of Zeal which legend had spoken of was magical in origin—most likely drawn from the power of Lavos the queen and her court had been saturated in, leached away while she was joined with the Time Devourer that had given it birth, returning now that she was free.
But he knew however he wished otherwise that she was right. And even if the memory banks in Chronopolis had not been damaged or wiped, why would Fate have retained any link back to whom he had once been? Clearly she had never intended to use his identity to try and sway Serge to her cause, and it would have served her far better—and more logically—to remove all traces of Wazuki so that there was no chance of him ever returning, so that Serge's hopes would be dashed should he ever learn the truth. Yes, that sort of cruelty would fit the cold, calculating nature of the supercomputer best. Whether she had missed something in this feline body, or the magic of the Dragonians had managed to dredge up some semblance of his memories and self or even recreate it, the fact was the rest of him was gone, and the sooner he accepted that the better off he'd be.
Thinking hard, fighting against the sense of despair and listlessness growing within—at least he was alive, had a chance to do right again, could be with his son!—Lynx considered carefully in light of the princess's words, then said at last, "What's done is done. In that case...I suppose I shall return to Arni with Serge, hope that I can fit back into his life, the lives of everyone there. If not, I imagine the demi-humans of Marbule would accept me." He paused, then smiled lopsidedly. "Either way, I think I'll need a change in clothing."
Schala laughed, and he had to admit his heart soared at the sound, not so much for its sweetness as because he knew it had been so very long since she had been able to, since she'd had a reason to. "Indeed. You do seem rather overdressed for the climate. But if you will allow it...there is something else you can change, which I can help you with." At his inquisitive look, she added, "I can...ease your pain, by altering your memories."
Jerking his head around, he stared at her in disbelief—part of him appalled at the notion, the rest yearning for it with all his being. "Wh-what? How? Why?"
The sorceress smiled sadly. "I have not lost all my power, and much is returning to me—slowly—as I recover from Lavos's touch. I also have the Time Egg, Kid's amulet, the Cross, and my position from having been beyond time...able to see and influence all of reality. Such power, thankfully, will not last. But while I have it..."
Lynx took a deep breath. "Why would you do this?" he repeated. "After all I have done—"
"All that was done to you," Schala qualified softly.
"—the fact I helped bring down Fate and the Dragon Gods, and freed you, does not make up for those sins," he continued insistently. "And wouldn't removing the memories of what I did be robbing me of the strength and growth I gained from them? Make it possible I could do such things again, because I hadn't learned from them?"
She shook her head. "That was not what I said, Wazuki. I said I would alter them, not remove them. Like Serge, you would still know of your journeys and quests, you would remember what happened and your parts in it...both for good and for ill. What I am offering is for you to forget the experience of them. You would know they occurred, you would recall why they happened and what they taught you, but living through them...it would recede into the deepest parts of your memories. You would no longer need suffer the torment they bring, whether waking or in nightmares." Schala looked sadder than ever, yet she also lifted her chin bravely. "Greatly do I wish I could do the same for my own mind, but my magic cannot affect myself, not on so fundamental a level."
For several long minutes the demi-human remained frozen on the beach, refusing to meet her sympathetic eyes, avoiding looking at anyone else but especially Serge, not even staring out at the horizon as the princess had been doing. Only looking at nothing, gazing into himself. It was a struggle; he was still frightened that losing even that small a part of what he had gone through the past fourteen years would change him, and not for the better...that it would guarantee his character would regress, that he would be in danger of once more being corrupted by envy, greed, hate, despair, by the simple fallibility and flaws of the human condition. At the very least, that he would not be a better, wiser person. But on the other side of the coin, how could he build a life with Serge and his wife again...build a life at all...if he could not move on and begin again, because these terrible memories refused to be buried, continued to cast their shadow over everything he was and did?
Clenching his fists and then forcing them to relax, Lynx at last turned back to her. He knew there was desperation in his golden cat eyes, but also hope. "I...I am sorry, your Highness. But this is too important, and too difficult, for me to choose. Could you by your grace do it for me?"
Zeal's last sovereign looked at him with gentle understanding and nodded, reaching out one small hand to rest it against his furry cheek. In spite of himself he leaned into her touch, his own massive paw completely engulfing her hand as he began to purr; would he ever get used to this? He supposed he would have to. "Very well. Turn about and walk from this place then, Wazuki of Arni, follow the path through Lizard Rock toward your home, and do not look back. When you arrive there, you will discover in your mind what I have chosen for you.
"Farewell...and although you think you did little to aid me or your son, that your crimes far outweigh your good deeds, you have my utmost gratitude regardless. What happened was terrible, yes...but good came of it in the end. If you had not fallen, the world would still be under the constant threat of war between Fate and the Dragon Gods...the Flame might have eventually fallen into the wrong hands...and Serge would not have had the opportunity to forge the Cross and free me. And to some degree, what happened to you was my fault, for calling to you through time to bring Serge to the Flame to be healed. Consider this my apology...and my thanks." She let go of his hand and stepped back, pulling the Time Egg from a pocket of her dress as she clasped the Astral Amulet hanging around her neck with the other hand.
He stared at her, stunned by these revelations, for several more long moments as he took in her words...considered them, studied them, judged their value and truth, and realized that perhaps she was correct and he had not seen the full ramifications of his actions. Then, with much more hope and confidence than he had ever thought he'd feel again, Lynx nodded and turned. He raised a paw in parting to the others; noticed that while most ignored him or remained uncomfortable and uncertain, hands lifted in acknowledgment here and there, faces turned toward him with acceptance and forgiveness...Norris, Steena, Lady Riddel...even Kid did not look at him with the same hatred she once had, her arm around Lucca as if she would never let her go again.
"I'll see you and Draggy back in Arni...son," he called. Serge nodded, swallowing hard against a lump in his throat.
Slowly at first, then more rapidly, the robed demi-human strode along a pathway so familiar and yet at the same time so alien, the sand crunching beneath his boots turning to grassy soil, then rock as he passed from the palm-strewn coral and entered the outskirts of Lizard Rock. The world began to shimmer and waver around him—whether due to the dimensions coming together as one once more, or Schala's specific magic for him—but he kept walking, staring ahead for his first sight of Arni again, and did not look back.
ehind him, Schala watched wistfully, lowering her talismans as the azure halo of her magic faded out...observing as Lynx paused briefly in his trek, his muscles locking in place as the change washed over him, and then after a long, contemplative moment resuming his forward motion. He passed over the hill, around a bend in the path until he was lost from view behind the outcroppings of rock, and she sighed.
"He will forget," she whispered. "It is far better that way. Now at last, he can have back the life he was meant to live, even if it is far different from what it would otherwise have been. If only my choice were as simple, or so readily passed to another. But then again...perhaps that is the problem. All my life I have lived for others, let them decide for me what I should be and do. My mother, my brother, the people of Zeal...perhaps now, if I finally begin living and choosing for myself, that will be all I need to explore a whole new vista of the future before me..."
Heartened, feeling oddly light and free for the first time in her life, the princess turned back to the others, gesturing for them to gather close as she once more raised the magical items she held and prepared to cast her most powerful spells.
You were treated like a pawn for so long...but you are not. May you find peace in Zurvan, my friend.
is name was Wazuki. He knew that now, and even if his body was that of a feline demi-human and always would be, he knew who he was and where he belonged. What he would do with his life was less clear...although he knew he would do everything in his power to make the world a better place, and that he would be there for his family. Assuming he was accepted by...everyone. Perhaps he could even be a bridge between humans and demi-humans, now that Marbule had been restored.
Looking up as he passed through the flower-woven archway that led into Arni Village, he sighed contentedly. The sun beat down on his bare head, heating up his scalp beneath grayish-brown fur and chestnut hair—now grown out into a veritable mane reaching nearly to his shoulder blades—so that sweat began to trickle and flow down to be caught in his familiar crimson headband. He had foregone the black shirt he always wore, donning only the white vest which had gone over it, leaving his muscular chest bare—not to show off, but to further aid in keeping him ventilated in the tropical heat. Dark green pants clad his legs, but he no longer wore anything covering his paws—he didn't want anything left to remind him of Lynx, not even the specially-fitted boots, and his old shoes would not fit digitigrade feet.
He still carried his old swallow strapped to his back; Serge had insisted he have it back, now that the spirits of the Masamune had left it (Lucca was taking the purified blade back to Guardia, naturally), since he had a spectra swallow of his own.
Unsurprisingly, no one in the village recognized him, trusted him, or even wanted him around; when people didn't scream, yell, or tell him to get out of town because no one liked his kind here, they mocked him for his species, saying it was a good thing he had nine lives so he could survive whatever punishment they would dish out or calling him a stray cat they refused to feed. Even the children weren't exempt—one was afraid he'd be clawed to death, a second insisted he must like catnip because all cats did; only the third was a positive response, calling him a "cute kitty", but even that was rather demeaning.
But in the end it didn't matter how many of them called him a monster; they had gotten used to Serge in his body being around, if only with ill grace, they could do so again. What mattered was one person's reaction...
Striding across the village commons, he paused at the top of the steps leading into what had once been his old home...and hopefully would be again. Opening the door, he stepped into the homey, cluttered room that was burned into his memories with fondness and abiding love—other than the specific flower arrangements in the vases, a few knickknacks moved about, and what particular cooking smells emanated from the kitchen, it hardly seemed to have changed at all; even his old fishing lures and poles were still hung where he'd last left them! Before he could take another step, though, the sound of his entrance and of his weight on the creaking floorboards must have announced him, for a figure appeared from the far doorway.
She stopped dead, staring at him in shock, her face gone very pale. Not because a strange demi-human had walked uninvited into her home, she believed him to be the feared and notorious Lynx, nor even because she thought Serge had somehow been transformed back again—he could see in her eyes that she knew him. By the way he walked and stood, by some sixth sense, or simply by seeing and feeling the soul that resided in his golden orbs. She knew him and stared at him, unbelieving, while he stared right back...drinking in her every feature, the love he had forgotten and discarded when under Fate's control now flooding fully back, stronger and more powerful than ever. How...how could he have ever left her? He truly must have been mad.
He stood, waited, and watched...gazing at her in case this was the last time he would ever see her in life before she ordered him out, before she too called him a beast and said he was not her husband, did not belong in Arni and never would...but also held his breath and hoped this would not be the case.
"It's you, isn't it?" Marge breathed at last. "You're not Serge this time. You're..."
"Yes," he replied softly, warmly, his voice a purring rumble that soothed rather than terrified; although he was certain anyone who was not a demi-human would not be able to tell the difference, would cringe from him in fear. Except she didn't. "It's me. I'm home. I'm finally home."
When she did not make a move, either to gesture him to a chair or to throw him down the steps, he came toward her...very slowly, one step at a time. Only when he stood less than a pace from her did he stop again, and the whole time he'd been moving he had never flinched, never torn his riveted gaze from hers. Even ten years older, her face more lined with sorrow, loss, and quiet suffering, she was still beautiful, still the woman he'd made a Komodo scale necklace for. If she would still have him.
"Wazuki...I..." Her throat fluttered; one hand rose to distractedly check her kerchief to make certain it had not come undone from her hair, while the other quickly went to her mouth, fingers pressed to her lips in wonder and anguished disbelief. Justifiably so...but this was better than he had hoped for.
Reaching out with one large paw, he waited until she had dropped the hand from her hair, then nerved himself and took it. She did not tear away; she didn't cry out in disgust or revulsion, in fact she didn't seem to mind the touch at all. She gripped him back, tightly, pressing her fingers into the soft pads that covered his palm and fingertips. He made sure his claws stayed sheathed. For a moment her image wavered before him as tears shimmered in his eyes; when he had blinked them away, he saw her eyes, too, were wet.
He had no idea how much Serge had told her; on the one hand, at the time they had been caught up in plotting Fate's downfall, when they weren't tying up loose ends like the fate of Dario, and there hadn't really been a quick way to explain the truth. Wazuki had wanted to stay away from her until their journey was concluded, when such emotional baggage could be dealt with without endangering the fate of the world...when he was simply strong enough in heart and soul to face Marge's likely response. And if he had died in one of the upcoming battles, it would be better not to have gotten her hopes up, hurt her all over again.
On the other hand, the woman had been owed as much as could be spared, and after how terrified she had been over Serge's disappearance from Opassa Beach...the same shore where he had nearly drowned in this world...then confronted with her son returned in the body of a hulking, dusky demi-human, he had most likely told her at least the bare bones.
"Shh," he said at last, squeezing her hand gently but with strength. "I know everything must be very confusing for you...it is for me as well..."
Marge managed a wry quirking of her mouth. "No, there's nothing at all confusing about my now being married to a six-foot-four panther. Why should I be confused?"
Wazuki laughed at her familiar dry wit even as his heart thudded in his chest; she'd said it, she'd claimed him as her husband still, after all this time, after his abandonment, how much he had changed, not even being the same species... "Did...did Serge tell you...?"
"Some of it. Enough to explain where he was going, what he was doing. You should be very proud of our boy."
"I am." More than you can ever know, my love.
"But he didn't tell me all...and I want to hear it from your own mouth, in your own words." Still holding his paw, she stepped sideways to her customary chair at the kitchen table, sitting down so that their joined hands rested on the expanse of wood between them. An undertone of firm strength filled her voice. "Please...explain to me exactly what has been going on here..."
The man who had once been known as Lynx, who if he had anything to say about it would be wiping our prejudice against the demi-humans in Arni and usher in a new era of peace in El Nido—perhaps they could renew their vows with the Sage of Marbule, and see about establishing trade relations with the restored island?—sat down as well. And as he held onto that smaller hand as if it were his lifeline to sanity, he began to tell her: of destiny, of choice, of time travel and the future, of a lost princess, and of how he had lost everything dear to him, everything that made him who he was—which he would now get back, how ever long it took.
Because like everyone else whose lives had been changed, in spite of everything, his dreams too were not over yet.