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Why was he still alive?
There was a simple answer to that: it was because that fool Zidane had come after him like the damn stupid hero he was. Kuja had destroyed a world; he had been on the cusp of destroying all life, killing Zidane and his friends first. When the Iifa Tree had been flailing in its death throes, Kuja had been willing to let it crush him. If there was no escaping death and he had utterly failed in his last efforts, he might as well just get it over with quickly. But Zidane wasn’t going to let him die that easily. Taking the idea of being brothers and forgiving too far, he’d nearly thrown away his own life to reach him deep beneath the surface. Kuja had passed out not long after he’d arrived. At the time, there had been something… what’s the word… reassuring? Something nice about the gesture even if it was stupid.
Now the stupidity of it all had come out, despite Zidane somehow getting them both out of there. Despite taking a precious Elixir (Zidane had tricked him into it), despite a chocobo ride across the tides and desert to his hidden palace… Kuja could barely sit up on his own. His limbs felt stiff and heavy. His tail was also useless, although he’d always considered it useless. From those signs, he knew his body wasn’t recovering in the way it used to. Now he got to look forward to a miserable fading death, like some ordinary person dying of illness and age. At least he didn’t look like a shriveled up prune.
He still didn’t look great. He’d managed to sit at his vanity today, with help from a Drakan servant. Dressed in just sleeping pants, he was still marred by burns and bruises from his extensive Trance; such ugliness, rough violet and strained red on his pale skin. His hair hung limply with the roots browning into blond; the feathers were in worse shape, cracked and matted. And his face was marred due to sleeping with his make-up on. At least he could do something about that. After ordering his servants to clean up his bed and sheets, Kuja took a cleanser and washed his face. It felt nice, with a crisp clean scent.
But once he got his face cleaned up, he saw an almost normal Genome in the mirror. It was a plain balanced face, not ugly but utterly unremarkable. Instead of the pure paleness of pearl rouge indicative of a noble lifestyle, his skin was wearily pale. The alterations to his hair and eyes were failing too; those needed to be refreshed regularly, which he hadn’t done in a while. Twisting what remained of his white hair between his fingers, Kuja frowned at a glint of wheat-blond there. This wasn’t him! He wasn’t some ordinary Genome, built as a soulless vessel. Well, he had been, but then he made himself something more.
A strange thought occurred to Kuja: was it worth it to go through his whole routine now? The face in the mirror wasn’t his. The darkness under his tired eyes was that of a dying man. This was unfair… but that feeling had already blown over. Now he just felt tired. Was it worth doing? Only his mindless servants were around; Zidane was off doing something, but he might be back. Kuja could just get away from the mirror and ignore the reflection as best he could. It didn’t feel right, but neither did his survival.
After a sudden knock, Zidane barged into the room. “Looks like you’re feeling better,” he teased him.
“Relatively so,” Kuja said, picking up a brush. He could at least work out any knots. “It was an ordeal to get in the chair; I either have to move slow or not at all.”
“Can’t you float?” he asked, taking a nearby chair to sit in (backwards, with his arms on the back). “I’ve seen you do that.”
He shook a head. “Not across a room. That’s a trick to slow descent. What were you doing?”
“I went out to see how the others were doing in Black Mage Village,” Zidane said, checking his bag. “Mikoto wanted your opinion on some magic thing; I wasn’t able to help.” He then offered a rolled up document. “But you might.”
“Why ask me?” Kuja asked, reluctantly checking the mirror because he wanted to make sure his hair was at least smooth and even.
“What else are you doing right now?” Zidane asked.
Kuja glowered at mirror.
Seeing that, Zidane shrugged. “Might as well do something, and might as well do something that helps. And you know magic far better than me. Mikoto’s trying to figure out ways to extend the lifespans of the Black Mages. The Genomes too since being on Gaia changes things.”
“It would be difficult without Mist,” he said. Zidane tapped his chair with the paper; Kuja sighed and took it. “And depending on what’s here, it may not be enough for many of us. However, I have been growing bored of just resting. It will be some mental exercise.”
“Good,” Zidane said, smiling at him. “If you don’t want to make another long trek, I can deliver a letter reply for you.”
“I wouldn’t be a welcome guest there,” he said, setting the document aside. “Or anywhere. No one would welcome a world destroyer.”
“They might understand more than you expect,” he said. “Besides, Mikoto confirmed that you were the one who saved my friends and I after we defeated Necron.”
Not wanting to talk about that, Kuja asked, “Who is this Mikoto person? It must be one of the Genomes because the mages use numbers.”
“Garland created her to replace both of us,” he explained.
“Hmph, of course he would.” After losing control of both himself and Zidane, that tyrant would want the certainty of an Angel of Death he controlled.
“She’s really serious and negative, but the others are helping her be more positive,” Zidane said, like that was a good thing. “She was given the job of overseeing the other Genomes back on Terra, so she knows a lot about biology, magic, and such. But for this problem, she wanted to discuss it with another expert. You were the only person we could think of who might qualify.”
“It would do me no good,” Kuja said, pausing when his shoulder ached. He had to shift the brush gingerly to his other hand to continue brushing. “It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten seriously hurt, but I know what my recovery rate should be. Since my body can’t recover itself, I’m due for a slow and painful degradation to death.” He glanced over at him. “That’s what you’ve done by going back for me.”
While he looked worried, Zidane didn’t seem guilty about it. “I didn’t want you to die alone. And this could be a chance for you to do some good for others, so I’ll help you do that.”
“What good does that do me? It won’t matter after I’m dead.” Because what soul he had would cease to be once his body failed completely. His soul was too weak for Trance on its own; it couldn’t be strong enough to last. And he could remember…
He could remember his thoughts coming to a complete halt, his anger being snuffed out like a candle. Garland didn’t look angry; he never looked angry. Holding an ethereal flame in his hand, he looked mildly disappointed before turning curious. Some very basic thoughts came back, reminders of daily tasks for Terra and how to take care of himself. Such thoughts were dry and still, nothing like the wondrous tempest of discovery, disdain, and even dreary boredom that had been filling his mind and driving him to do things. The flame of his soul was beautiful; his mind struggled to grasp it again, already tormented by the emptiness but unable to overcome it.
Garland had returned his soul, after what felt like an eternity of study. “It is a flaw, but could be useful if cultivated.”
Death could be worse than that emptiness. Given how many lives he had ended… the thrill of it all danced a bit in memory, but now was joined by a horror of if his punishment would be returning to that moment where he was devoid of a soul, watching souls pass by just out of his grasp. Or perhaps something worse than that; that was beyond his imagination. In comparison, simply blanking out like going unconscious and never awakening would be welcome. But he didn’t want things to end now!
But what did he do with himself, in this limited time he had left?
A poke to his head brought him back to the moment. “Hello, Kuja, you still in there?” Zidane asked playfully.
“Do not mock me,” Kuja said, frowning as he went back to brushing his hair.
“Well you weren’t responding, so I had to make sure,” he said. “If you’re having trouble getting around, want me to help you take a bath?”
“I’ve got servants like this one, they can help me just fine,” he said. The Draken was quietly waiting there; it barely qualified as a puppet, being only a monster that was easily controlled. “What’s the point, though? It’s just you and me here, no one I need to impress.” He paused to look over his brush. “What’s really the point of doing anything? I can’t even get angry; it just makes me feel tired.”
“You’d at least not feel dirty, which would be better,” Zidane said. “Right? Come on, I’ll help.”
Kuja turned to look at him as best he could without his body complaining in pain. “Seriously?”
He was dirty from riding a chocobo around wild places, with that simple carefree style that came from giving as little care as necessary to his appearance. “Yeah, seems like you could use it. You look awkward brushing your hair like that.”
“That’s not the issue here.”
Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Then what is?”
Kuja sighed and looked over at the nearby cabinet. “How can you expect to help me when you clearly neglect your own grooming? Your appearance is unpolished and scruffy. Inelegant. If I were to introduce you to anyone as the man courting Alexandria’s queen, they wouldn’t take you seriously at all.”
“I don’t think she cares about that,” he said, scratching his head. He didn’t seem embarrassed, just uncertain at being called out.
“Hmph. If you care about her, shouldn’t you at least put some effort in?” Spotting what he’d been searching for, Kuja snapped his fingers and got a new hairbrush to come off the shelf. He then passed it over to Zidane. “Brush your hair thoroughly first.”
“Uh, I guess?” He took it and started running it through quickly.
“Slow down, I said thoroughly,” Kuja rebuked him before going back to his own brushing. “Not just a shallow brushing either. Hair is more prone to breaking when wet, which will end up creating more knots and unevenness. Make sure it’s well brushed out first before washing.”
“Okay,” Zidane said, slowing down as instructed. Maybe if he made this his new habit, he could improve.
“You were in a theater troupe, weren’t you?” he asked after a moment. “You should have learned to take good care of your appearance there.”
He shrugged at that. “Tantalus isn’t a high class group, I suppose. We wore a lot of costumes, even wigs for some roles. About the only person who fussed a lot over appearance was Ruby.”
“I learned the majority of my routine from being in theater,” Kuja said. “I wanted to cultivate a dramatic image, thus I learned from experts.”
“You certainly got that. But you were in theater too?”
“Shouldn’t that be obvious by now?” he asked, brushing a bit of his hair out with his hand.
He chuckled. “You were so hammy that I wasn’t sure.”
“At first I just read dramas, then I acted in them,” Kuja said. “That was early on, before I settled on a signature look. I needed to travel and gather information; being a wandering actor fit the bill. If you search my collection, you’ll find plays of Gaia and Terra. Literature and art of both worlds too. As soon as I finish reading one piece, I yearn for the next. It rather disappointed me to find that most people are dull, nothing like the characters I studied.”
“Most people don’t want their lives to be all about drama.”
“How dreadful.”
Kuja had one of his other servants fill the bath with hot water and mineral salts. While it was embarrassing, getting clean was important and he let Zidane help him out. He would have been able to do little on his own because he had to cling to the side to keep from slipping under. At the very least, Zidane had the advantage of literacy over monsters, meaning that he took less time and made fewer mistakes retrieving what they needed. He just didn’t know what a lot of the steps were and why they were important to looking good.
“You always hid your tail, but you condition even that?” Zidane asked, following his instructions anyhow.
“If I could have been rid of it, I would,” Kuja said. “Alas, our bodies were made so that if we do lose the tail, we become an utter klutz in being balanced wrong. It then became necessary to take care of the damned furry thing in case it got seen, even if being seen was a sign of carelessness already.”
He shrugged at that. “The tail is useful at times, so I didn’t think about being without it even if it was weird.”
“It makes us seem less human, which is regrettable,” he argued. “I still felt it even if I hid it, so making sure my tail felt soft and not coarse is important. Being less coarse would be an advantage to you when you intend on getting married.”
“What do you know about that?” Zidane asked, now embarrassed. Good.
Smirking at that, Kuja explained, “In one sense, it’s because your aimless chatter always returns back to Garnet. Only the most clueless of fools would miss that. In another sense, I know because I was married myself and the little princess appreciated the effort I put into my looks. I didn’t appreciate it when she touched my tail, although she kept trying because she said it was soft.”
“What, you were married?” he asked, in a wide-eyed jaw dropped manner that was more shocked than necessary. “You?”
It was good drama. Kuja would have liked to match him, but the movement of his hand to his chest was sluggish and painful enough that he could only give so much drama. “Of course. Just don’t mistake me: it was merely one step in my grand plan, one early measly step that I would have skipped if I could. But it was necessary. Not just anyone can get an audience with a queen, especially one in mourning.”
“You mean Brahne?” Zidane said, now puzzled at where he was going with this.
Nodding, he explained, “Picture this if you would: a noble family that appears to have the greatest influence, wealth, and power in the grand city of Treno, where nobility means so much more. But in truth, they have been bleeding money in keeping up appearances and recently losing several key members. All that was left were a bunch of shriveled up prunes, one clown who gambled more than invested, and the clown’s more intelligent and lovely daughter who was struggling to keep things together alongside brushing off her boorish suitors who thought her family still had great wealth. Then from the north comes a young stranger who quickly proves himself a quick-witted merchant with access to unusual and rare goods; he also carries an old family heirloom that turns out to be an early form of the noble family’s crest. It sounds like quite a miracle, doesn’t it?”
“Or a scam,” he said.
He nodded again. “Of course; I’d gotten the crest off one of their roaming drunks and aged it with magic. I could have made my way into their little circle just based on looks, wealth, and power, but the crest sealed the deal and the old prunes asked the little princess to capture me in marriage. I did capture her with some lines stolen from Terran romances, but my true feelings were that she was merely there to give me the name of Lord King of Treno. Well, that and she kept pestering me for hugs and kisses when I would rather not be touched unnecessarily. I turned her to stone rather earlier than planned, but that was to get some room to breathe. Now I am the sole living member of the King family and the estate has been doing quite well the past two years with those leeches gone.”
“So that’s what happened,” Zidane said. It seemed like those were the last few pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t yet figured out. “You’re cruel and ruthless.”
“That shouldn't be a surprise,” Kuja said.
Once they were done with the bath, they went back to Kuja’s room where he offered a facial mask treatment. “You already had me use that face cleaner, so why this?” Zidane asked, eyeing the jar of pale green cream warily.
“It’s the same reason you use conditioner after a shampoo,” he explained. “The cleanser is a surface clean, necessary to get off the old skin and dirt. The mask is a deeper clean, along with a moisturizer because the cleanser dries out skin. As should be clear now, beauty takes considerable effort. Someone who claims to be a natural beauty is often lying.”
“But would I really need this?” he asked, putting the mask on anyhow. “Most men I know would rather look rugged.”
“Even that would take effort if the ruggedness isn’t an excuse for sloppiness. Besides, you’re missing a key part of a rugged appearance.” He pointed to his chin. “As a Genome, you cannot grow a beard. It was deemed unnecessary.”
“Is that why? I wasn’t planning on growing one, but that’s a pity.”
“I have no interest in one either,” Kuja said. “There are many other things you can try to enhance your appearance even with lacking facial hair. If you can find a shop that sells Superslick, that is good for the fur on your tail. Some men will use that on beards meant to be luxurious. I don’t like it for my hair itself because it weighs it down.” Thinking of that, he called for a spellcrafting parchment.
“Isn’t Superslick a machine oil?” Zidane asked. “Though I did see that it makes moogle fur soft, shiny, and purple.”
“It shouldn’t add color,” he said, setting up a spellcraft he did frequently; the pen could remember most of it. “They must have added something else too. I take care of my color this way; the magic makes it last longer.”
“That’s enchantments influencing genetics, huh?” he asked.
“Do you know what that means?”
“Not really,” Zidane said without shame. “It came up with the life extension discussion.”
“It means altering the blueprints for a person at the source, so to speak,” Kuja said. “Alas, it is generally not permanent. It does last a lot longer than chemical dyes for changing hair, and I couldn’t attain the light feathery look that I prefer otherwise.”
“Yeah, it’s hard to tell the difference between your hair and the feathers in it.”
“That’s the point,” he said, then quieted to finish up the spellcrafting.
By the time he had the crafting done and the enchantment in place, it was time to take the masks off. Kuja then got the feather box from the vanity drawer, to replaced the ones that were stained or broken now. There were only a few remaining dragon feathers in the ornate box. Since he didn’t have much time himself, it should be fine. He enchanted them into his bangs.
Even if Kuja did have more time to live, Garland had killed his silver dragon as a part of destroying Alexander. It had been yet another infuriating move of his. Now that things had slowed down, he wished he could call Drasil back. Silver dragons weren’t unique, at least on Terra. He could probably summon one if he worked at it. However, it wouldn’t be his dragon; Drasil had spent years with him. His one true companion… the silver dragon had been a tool like anyone else at first, a stylish way to travel. When had it felt like something more like… friendship? That was something to use, an ideal to take advantage of. And yet…
“Don’t really see a difference,” Zidane said, looking over himself in the mirror from right by Kuja’s shoulder. “But it felt pretty good.”
He would be too close normally. It shouldn’t be worth being uncomfortable about, not after the rest of today. Doing his best to ignore the closeness, he said, “That should make the time worth it, even if one is not concerned about looks. But everything about my presentation is important to me, not just my looks. The words I speak, the gestures I use, the way I move; it’s all calculated. I will stand out and be unique, which was my goal.”
Strangely, he chuckled at that. “I’ve been all around the world and haven’t seen anyone like you. Maybe the pale face sometimes, but that’s it.”
“That would be due to this,” Kuja said, picking up an elegant little jar. “Pearl rouge is a favorite among Alexandrian nobles, for good reason. The quality is excellent, giving fairness reminiscent of white pearls without being heavy or rough on skin. If you know how to best apply it, you only need a light application daily and can make a bottle like this last for a year.”
“But what’s the point of looking so pale?” Zidane asked. “It’s odd.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said, looking at himself. He was pale in the wrong manner, and there were those nasty dark circles. If he had the pearl rouge on, he would recognize himself again. “Not only that, but it’s a beauty that hints at wealth and power. When you first saw me, you knew I was important just looking at me, didn’t you?”
“I could tell that because you were with Brahne in Burmecia,” he said. “But it is a look of nobility, I knew that. I’m just not so sure about beauty being pearl pale.”
“It is how I look,” Kuja said, considering the powder jar. “How I should look. Even with my hair fixed, I don’t feel right like this. But I don’t know if this is worth it now. My role in things is over and I’m too tired to take revenge anymore. It’s going to be more tedious to do anything because my arms and legs are slow and pained even in doing these basic things. Is it really worth doing anything?”
Still worried about him for no reason that Kuja could see, Zidane said, “It doesn’t seem like you to simply give up and go out with a whimper.”
“You stopped me from going out with a bang, as I wanted,” he said, trying to glower at the mirror again. But even that didn’t feel worthwhile.
“I couldn’t let you take everything with you,” he said, but then put a hand on his shoulder. “What I can do is tell you this: would you truly settle down and die after the vain tyrant has perished? I thought you of all people would fight for your chosen life to the very end.”
Kuja snorted, recognizing the line from another of Lord Afon’s plays. From a devil to a fallen knight who would create so much chaos and bloodshed that he was remembered as a nightmare far worse than the tyrant who proceeded him. “It is not how I would choose to die, but who do I have left to fight?” he recited, then shook his head. “Nice try, but I know you’re not trying to encourage me to go back to orchestrating massacres.”
Laughing, Zidane patted his shoulder. “It would be nice if you didn’t. But you’re not only looking out of character, you’re acting it too. Why would you not make the most out of what you have left? I’ll be here to help you out if you’re having trouble, albeit not with the whole Angel of Death business.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be going back to your canary?” he asked, setting down the jar of pearl rouge. He picked up the papers from Mikoto instead. Perhaps… was this truly defiant of the purpose set to him? “My wife was simply one step to greater things and I intended on being rid of her once I could make it not seem suspicious. But your feelings are clearly different.”
“I’ll go back to her one day, to be at her side,” Zidane said, his tone shifting at the thought of her. That was no act; Kuja knew how to act being in love, but he’d never felt love for anyone. He did love himself, that is, his self when he had the rouge on and could enact a grand drama with everything he did. Not so much this tired and dispirited face in the mirror now. And, perhaps Drasil, in a manner of friends? He had built his look to appear like its transformed twin. It was wonderfully satisfying to have people ask if he was a dragon or if Drasil was actually human.
“Then why aren’t you there now?” Kuja asked.
“You are my brother,” he said, still much closer than Kuja usually liked people. “There’s not much time left to be with you and figure out who you are behind that dramatic act you always had on when we were fighting. And like you said earlier, most people wouldn’t like to see you around. I’m not going to leave you to die alone if I can help it. I’d rather be here to help how I can, though I may go back to Black Mage Village to help you and Mikoto sort this out.”
“I haven’t agreed to this yet,” he said, keeping the paper in hand. “It would be something to do. Still not useful to me.”
“I’d tell them that it was your work,” Zidane said. “You’d be remembered in a more positive light if you can make this work.”
Giving a shrug, Kuja said, “That might be nice, even if it doesn’t do much for me while I live. I’ll see what this is about. With the Gaian souls allowed to return to their planet, Mist is an extremely limited resource, if any of it remains. There is a way to make the black mages last longer, but that can only done upon creation. Further adjustments would be like my hair enchantment, albeit more difficult in execution and maintenance.”
“Then you can do something?” he asked, smiling now.
“Perhaps,” he said, turning his attention to the letter.
He didn’t think life extension enchantments would be worth it. In most scenarios, it would end up requiring daily re-enchantments. It might not even help with declining health. In the letter, Mikoto mentioned that and was hoping it could be adjusted to last longer. She offered a good amount of measurements from the surviving Black Mages and the Genomes, then asked about recreating some of the equipment they had used in Bran Bal. It wouldn’t be as good, but he knew what could be made with Gaian technology.
Thinking over some themes that showed up in plays, and the many parents that hoped their children could carry on their legacy in a better way, he wondered if they’d accept being told how to create new Black Mages without Mist and with a longer lifespan. The survivors should have the ability to spark such life; the materials and methods would have to be adjusted to the knowledge and resources on Gaia. But he already knew where such things were from his time setting up the Dali factory. Those mages had been made to only last a year, as they weren’t expected to survive all the battles they’d be sent to. With extra care in creation, they could theoretically live over a hundred years. Genomes too.
In fact, he could make that plan work out for himself as well. He’d have to trust the child to Zidane and Garnet. But his child could do better things than himself. Maybe. His child could also be just the same, or worse.
It was something to think about.
When Zidane got back to Desert Palace, he found Kuja outside at the airship dock. One of his monster servants was at his side; it would have gotten him out here. More surprisingly, there was a Genome child out here. His white hair fluttered in the wind just like Kuja’s; his rose pink eyes watched Choco with more curiosity than the village children (although they were getting more spirited). “Hey there,” Zidane said once Choco stopped by them. He hopped off and patted Choco’s back. “Be nice to Choco, okay?”
“Okay,” the boy said, patting Choco himself.
“What have you been up to?” he asked Kuja, offering the envelope with Mikoto’s reply letter.
“Making sure the idea I offered worked smoothly,” Kuja said. He had his usual make-up on today; he had to be in a better mood now. “We are magical constructs just as much as the Black Mages. If they can’t build the equipment in the village, I have everything here. This method requires a spark from a living construct and I know it is alterable for more individuality now. So let them know that.”
Zidane nodded. “Sure, they were enthusiastic about the suggestion.”
“Even in spite of the little we can do for those of us around?” he asked, looking up at him. “You and Mikoto should be fine, from the analysis she gave me. But the rest of us are locked into short lifespans.”
“It is sad, but they seem to have accepted it,” he said, sitting down by Kuja. He didn’t tense up like he did earlier. “Some of them want to visit you, to see if you’ve changed. But I wanted to ask you about that first.”
He shrugged. “If they want to. If Mikoto would come here, these discussions would be easier. Also, since you’re determined to stick with me whether I like it or not…”
“That’s what family is for,” Zidane said jokingly, elbowing him in the side.
Thankfully, Kuja did smile a little at that. “I suppose. Would you watch over Drasil for me after that? I wanted him to be able to remember me, but also to develop more naturally in emotional terms, since Garland claimed that was a fault of mine.”
“Sure, I can do that,” Zidane said. He’d have to convince Dagger to agree, but he thought it’d be fine with her. She should understand that Drasil was like any other kid and needed a family too.
“Thank you,” Kuja said. “I’ll write up a letter to the butler who manages the King estate in my absence to set you up with payments in compensation for that.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said, shaking his head. He had plenty of gil for himself and even a child tagalong if he chose to continue traveling the world. He wouldn’t, but it was there.
“No, it’s only fair,” he said. “After all, Drasil is the sole heir to the King estate, which is a lot better off than it was when I entered the family. He’ll need to be educated as fitting to nobility and that requires money. And, I should thank you, for that and for sticking with me. I still don’t like being weak like this. But, I am grateful for your help and encouragement. I haven’t been treated like this by anyone, so it’s strange… but I’d rather Drasil have that kind of care, so I’ll trust him to you.”
This was a good sign; it might take some more time and thought, but Kuja might be coming to terms with himself and his fate now. “It’s nothing special, just how people should treat each other,” Zidane said. “At least I think so.”
“No one else mattered because I was to kill them all eventually,” Kuja said. “Since I no longer want to do that, I might as well do something memorable.”
“I don’t think anyone could forget about you, if they met you,” Zidane said. “It’s just a matter of giving them some good things to remember too.”
“Hmph, my beauty should be more than enough for that,” he said, putting on pompous airs again. But maybe it was for a joke this time.
“But you’ll want to leave your best memories with Drasil, right?” Zidane asked. Drasil himself was now tossing a ball in his hand to get Choco to play with him.
“Hmm…” The question left him reflective, but that was fine.
Hopefully Kuja could pass on with true peace now, instead of the hopeless peace that he’d nearly died with before.