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Chapter Text

Cecil’s introduction to hatred was when he met Kain. The older boy had taunted him, calling Cecil soft and spoiled, and the foreign emotion emerged, overwhelming with its suggestion of violence. With tight fists at his sides, Cecil had sprung forward, intent to extract an apology from Kain’s bloody mouth.

Kain, the bigger of the two boys, easily hauled Cecil up by his shirt, his fist hovering over Cecil’s face. The added humiliation fanned the new feeling hotter.

Rosa, however, with her brilliant light, dispelled the dark urges. With her, Cecil could pretend it wasn’t there, lingering in the shadows.

“It’s… complicated,” Odin said, holding the black blade aloft. “You inflict slight pain to yourself, which generates the Darkness you can use against your enemies.”

“Darkness,” Cecil echoed, distantly. Something within him was curiously stirred at this offered potential; he both did and did not like the feeling. Looking at Odin, Cecil’s young heart was certain in its blind trust of the king. “Should I do this?”

Odin gripped the sword by its blade, turning it over to offer Cecil the hilt. “Does it feel right?” Odin asked, eyes full of hope as Cecil took it.

“It does,” Cecil lied.

“You’re making history,” Cid declared with a tight smile. “The first Dark Knight of Baron, commander of my ships, I’da never dreamed it.”

“But?” Cecil prompted, sensing Cid’s criticism.

Cid sighed, “You? A Dark Knight?”

“I know you disapprove,” Cecil said, stiffly. “But it is King Odin’s approval that matters.”

Cid looked wounded, and Cecil pretended not to notice. “You could tell him no,” Cid insisted. “I’d back ya.”

“You would?” Cecil asked, surprised.

“I’d always help you,” Cid replied, uncharacteristically solemn. “Remember that.”

“I will,” Cecil said, touched by Cid’s fierce loyalty, unsure if he had earned it yet.

Cecil and Kain’s rivalry started in their childhood, as a simple test as to which one was faster, stronger, better with a sword, or who could successfully talk Rosa into their mischief.

It became serious with Odin’s interference. The king would often show up at their spars, offering encouragement for one but not the other. His choice seemed random, and that uncertainty only fueled both boys to fight harder, cherishing the victories and dreading the losses.

Cecil wondered what would happen if he and Kain were truly enemies, and whether he would stop holding his darkness inside, finally freeing it.

“A Dark Knight’s concentration must be unbreakable,” Odin lectured Cecil sternly. “You must not let anything distract you from your studies.”

“What do you mean?” Cecil asked, genuinely confused. “I have been diligent in my lessons--”

“The Farrell girl,” Odin said impatiently. “You cannot court her.”

“But why—”

“Because you are the future king of Baron,” Odin interrupted gruffly. “If you marry, it will be appropriate to your station; your marriage is too important to waste.”

“We are not even courting,” Cecil said; he looked aside, embarrassed.

“Good,” Odin replied, seeming satisfied. “You will have time for a mission, then.”

Chapter Text

Odin’s obsession with Dark Knights began in his childhood, from a grand tale of adventure where the vicious villain was a Dark Knight, whose unmatched power was feared by all. Odin read in rapt fascination of how the Dark Knight’s adversaries would fall to their knees, blood bubbling from their lips, drowning as their lungs and throat filled up.

Odin chased the stories and fables, trying to find some account that taught the Dark Knight power. When he finally acquired the Leonhart tome from Fabul, Odin knew then he was too old to pursue it himself.

But there were others.

Odin was nothing if not patient.      

Despite his eagerness, Odin knew he had to wait to find the right person. Not just anyone could be Baron’s first Dark Knight, but someone who was strong and steadfast enough to embrace their own darkness without flinching. For many years, Odin waited and searched, not wanting to make a mistake; he needed to choose correctly.

After an eternity, young Kain Highwind came into Odin’s custody. Odin recognized the jealous anger in the orphaned boy; he knew it had deep, burrowing roots, and wondered how far Kain might go to never feel powerless again.

“Pain is a gateway to immense power,” Odin said, awestruck. “You would be unrivaled,” he added, the word choice deliberate.

 “I don’t want to be a dark knight,” Kain said, his chin defiant. “I will be a Dragoon, like my father.”

“Then you will always be second-best,” Odin said, the words angry and prophetic. “You will strive for greatness and always fall short. You will never be as good as Cecil, or have what he has, or be my heir.”

Kain scowled but didn’t protest, not daring to contradict his liege.

“Get out!” Odin boomed like thunder.

Relieved, Kain ran.

Death came for Odin – not on the battlefield, as expected, or from a diplomatic knife in the back, as feared. Instead, it was his own greed that lured him into the trap. Golbez had promised power, and Odin couldn’t resist, eagerly agreeing to meet with the mysterious Cagnazzo.

As Odin fell to his knees, briny water flooding his mouth and nose, he watched Cagnazzo, body shifting grotesquely, transform into a new shape. Ignoring Odin’s distress, Cagnazzo plucked the crown from Odin’s head and put it on.

“Long live the King,” Cagnazzo burbled in Odin’s own voice.

Odin’s world went dark.

“There are opportunities for you,” the woman said, strangely dream-like and impossible with her rotating faces; the current one smiled benevolently. “If you offer obedience.”

“Obedience?” Odin repeated, the word felt foreign. As a king, he expected obedience, but never extended it.

One of the woman’s too many arms snaked forward, a long, glittering katana in hand. “If summoned to battle, would you fight?”

Odin considered the blade – Zantetsuken, he realized. “Yes,” Odin answered, taking the blade; it felt right in his hand.

The woman’s face rotated, showing a dark grin. “You will be terrifying,” she promised.

Odin believed her.

Chapter Text

“Someone took a ladder from my workshop,” Cid declared, gruffly. “An’ I found it against a wall outside. So, who would be playing on the roof?”

Cecil, only nine years old, said nothing, eyes on the floor.

“I figure, there’s a thirty-three percent chance it was you,” Cid continued anyway. “Or Rosa or Kain. Am I yellin’ at the wrong kid?”

“I like heights,” Cecil shyly admitted. “I feel more like myself up in the sky.”

Cid considered Cecil closely, then asked, “Would you like to fly, someday?”

“Do I ever!” Cecil answered with enthusiasm.

Anger immediately forgotten, Cid smiled.

“You’re dead wrong,” Cid interrupted abruptly. Both Odin and Cid looked surprised by the outburst. Cid found a thread in courage in the stunned silence, and continued, “Cecil’s too kind-hearted for this.”

“Cecil will be a formidable Dark Knight,” Odin replied, “And it was offered, not ordered; Cecil chose freely.”

“Freely?” Cid laughed, feeling suddenly giddy in his defiance. “Cecil would do anything you ask. You’ll push him to death, and he’d let you.”

“If only all soldiers were so loyal,” Odin said, dangerously serious.

“If only,” Cid countered sarcastically, wondering if he was finally brave enough to say no.

Cid had been trying to run away from Baron since Cecil returned from Mysidia. Odin had soldiers everywhere and it was impossible to move within the castle or town unobserved. Reluctantly, Cid continued outfitting the ships for their next mission, waiting for the right moment to leave.

He still hadn’t found his courage when the Red Wings, loaded with deadly cargo, departed, heading north toward Damcyan. When the ships returned with news of Damcyan’s fiery destruction, Cid knew he had waited too long; he’d been complicit in a war crime, his hands as bloody as Odin’s.

Never again, Cid promised.

“You are accused of desertion and treason,” Odin said, his big voice like waves crashing on the shore. “What do you have to say?”

Cid, wrists bound in chains, had been forced down to his knees before the throne. He met Odin’s eyes with a defiant glare. “I will not help you in your massacre anymore. If that makes me a traitor, then I’m ready for your judgment.”

“I should have you hanged,” Odin hissed, the sound uncharacteristic for the King. “But you are still needed.” He smiled eerily. “Take him to the dungeon.”

Strangely, the air smelled of salt.

“How long do you think Cagnazzo was posing as King Odin?” Cecil asked, hesitantly, one night in the Troian Forest, as they set up camp. “It might’ve been years. Was it Cagnazzo who wanted me to be a Dark Knight?”

 “Perhaps,” Cid answered carefully. “I don’t think we’ll ever know when he changed.”

“But it’s possible?” Cecil pressed, obviously seeking solace in the unlikely idea. “Maybe Odin never meant to…”

Cid considered the new Cecil, in his shining paladin’s armor and holy blade. Would the truth help, or hurt? Cid wondered, unsure.

“It was Cagnazzo,” Cid lied; Cecil looked relieved.

Chapter Text

Descending from his Jump, Kain landed wrong, rolling his ankle. He stumbled to catch his balance, then looked up to see Cecil’s concerned expression.

“Kain,” Cecil panted, breathlessly. He lowered his sword. “Enough. There’s a storm coming in and you can’t safely Jump,”

Kain, too aware of the gray clouds gathering overhead and the wild winds that teased them, shook his head. “Excuses,” he muttered, ignoring the throbbing pain from his ankle. “Again.”

“Again?” Cecil asked, unsure, watching Kain’s movements carefully.

“Again,” Kain repeated. He lifted his spear, then smirked.

Sword drawn, Cecil charged; Kain met the dark blade eagerly.

Using Cecil as a proxy, King Odin took his vengeance.

Odin didn’t rebuke Kain again for refusing the Dark Knight training, but Cecil’s new moody silence, his withdrawal from friends, and each terrible cut on his arm was a punishment for Kain, reprimanding him for his disobedience.

It should have been you, Odin told Kain without saying a word. Cecil’s black blade taunted Kain, a reminder of Odin’s wrath and the depths the King was willing to go.

What if Odin pushed too far? Would Cecil ever have the courage to say no? Kain wondered.

Kain desperately hoped Cecil could.

Love was a complicated emotion for Kain Highwind.

He thought he loved Rosa, with her gentle nature and understated beauty. He appeared under her window one night, flowers in hand and the moonlight highlighting him like the hero in a romantic tale.

Rosa had been kind in her rejection – she loved him, but as a friend, she told him, eyes full of sympathy.

Days later, Kain watched from the rooftop as Cecil and Rosa snuck off into an alleyway, away from prying eyes, exchanging clandestine kisses.

Why not me? Kain wondered, his jealousy burning a hole where love had been.

The acrid smoke in the air burned Kain’s eyes, tears streaming down unchecked.

“You’d betray your king?” Kain asked, flinging the accusation at Cecil, who stood before the burning backdrop of the tiny village of Mist as it was rapidly consumed by flames; a terrified girl watched them with huge eyes.

“Betray him?” Cecil countered, angrily. “Any man who'd wish for this is no king of mine.”

Kain laughed, suddenly giddy with relief. It had taken a genocide, but Cecil was finally telling King Odin no. Kain’s cheeks were wet with tears again, but Kain knew it was from love.

“What inspires you, Kain Highwind?” The strange man, Golbez, asked, face hidden in his helmet. “What passion drives you?”

Kain looked aside, suppressing the thought of Cecil and Rosa together, and how the image made his blood run mad with jealousy. It had been what pushed him to try harder, to show everyone he was the better choice – for the throne, for the Red Wings, for Rosa.

“My inspiration is my father,” Kain lied. “To be the greatest Dragoon in the skies.”

“What if you could be better than your father?” Golbez proposed. “And Cecil?”

“How?” Kain asked, curiosity piqued.

Chapter Text

“Never again,” Fusoya declared, watching Zemus slumber in his prison. “We must leave this planet so Zemus can never sow his hatred and destruction. The natives are too primitive to resist.”

“They can be taught,” Klyua countered, calmly. “With the gift of our technology, they can work together to fight against Zemus or any other alien threat.”

“No,” Fusoya protested. “We put them at risk by staying.”

“We owe them our protection,” Kluya said.

“We owe them nothing!” Fusoya snapped, sharply.

Kluya smiled, grimly. “It isn’t the humans we need to worry about Zemus corrupting.”

Fusoya scowled but said nothing.

“The Lunar Whale is online,” Fusoya announced, reluctantly. “Kluya, is there no way I can convince you to leave the Blue Planet alone? We can search for a better planet.”

Kluya ran a loving hand down the piloting console. “No,” he answered. “Instead, come and explore with me. Meet the inhabitants and learn more about their culture and customs. You will love it.”

Fusoya frowned. “One of us must watch over the others.”

“Of course,” Kluya agreed, quietly. “You do our people a noble service.”

Fusoya forced a tight smile, pretending he could ignore the growing shadows of his resentment.

Kluya was dead.

Fusoya knew Kluya had two children with a woman from the Blue Planet but never met his nephews. It would have been easy enough to find two newly orphaned brothers, but Fusoya did not even look.

Instead, Fusoya hid the Lunar Whale in the ocean outside Mysidia, then returned to the moon, prepared to forget the Blue Planet and the tragedy it had brought him. His nephews would grow up with the planet’s natives, not knowing about their otherworldly parentage.

It was for the best.

Fusoya hoped Kluya would forgive his failure, knowing he didn’t deserve it.

When Fusoya saw the paladin enter the Lunar Palace, he thought it was Kluya. Was it a Revenant, raised by the unholy magic of Mount Ordeals, here to seek vengeance? Or was Kluya alive again, rebirthed through sheer willpower, here to do what Fusoya could not?

Fusoya watched the paladin move uncertainly through the Palace. This was not Kluya, Fusoya realized with relief. But who else could it be, looking so much like Kluya in his youth?

Realization slowly dawned, and Fuosya then knew who it was. Burying his shame, Fusoya called out to Kluya’s son, “At last, you've arrived!”

The moon shuddered as it broke away from its orbit, drifting toward the endless black of space.

“Are you sure?” Golbez asked – no, it was Theodor, Fusoya reminded himself. “Is this the right choice?”

“As long as there is darkness in the heart of men,” Fusoya quoted Zeromus’ ominous warning. “We must wait, and sleep, for men to fortify their hearts against the temptation of darkness.”

“The Blue Planet may never be ready,” Theodor said quietly, his face lit by the glow of the Crystals. “Will we sleep forever?”

“Perhaps,” Fusoya said, hoping they’d never return to this terrible planet.

Chapter Text

“I love you,” Cecilia said, her face pressed onto the top of Theodor’s head. She inhaled, nostalgic for that newborn smell his hair had once carried. She adored the boy he’d become, of course, but missed his baby sweetness.

“How long will you love me?” Theodor asked quietly.

She leaned back, peering down at him; Theodor watched her with a tender vulnerability that made her heart ache. “For forever and a day,” she promised.

Theodor leaned against her, head pressed to her belly. “And my brother?”

Cecilia smiled. “Like the Blue Planet and her twin moons, I love you both.”

Without Kluya, Cecilia was lost.

Drowning under the weight of her grief, Cecilia could barely get out of bed. The idea of a world without Kluya was impossible, and she could not imagine her life without him.

Then, she felt a tiny hand in hers, a small voice asking, “Are you okay, Mama?”

Peering out from the blankets, she saw Theodor watching her with worried eyes, so much like his father’s. He squeezed her hand, and that small gesture grounded her back to reality. She squeezed back; somehow, Theodor had found her.

“I’m okay,” she said, hoping it was true.

“Whenever you feel lonely,” Cecilia told Theodor, “Then look to the light of the moons. Your father’s love still lives on, despite the darkness.”

Theodor, bathed in the moon’s glow, watched the night sky. “What if there’s no moon? No light?” he asked, clinging tight to his mother.

“Keep looking,” Cecilia answered, ruffling his hair affectionately. “The moons may wax and wane, but they are always there, watching and protecting us.”

“And you?” Theodor pressed. “Will you always be there?”

Before she could answer him, Cecilia’s belly seized with a familiar cramp. “It’s time,” she said instead, through clenched teeth.

“Breathe,” the midwife said, voice calm. Despite her words, Cecilia saw the worry in the woman’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Cecilia asked, trying not to panic.

“Focus on your breathing,” the midwife ignored the question. She pulled away, and Cecilia saw something dark and dripping on her hands.

It’s blood, Cecilia realized, the thought fuzzy and distant. Why is it so dark? she wondered.

It seemed to spread, all around her, engulfing her with its coppery smell, looking black as it leaked out on her nightgown and bed sheets.

I will drown in his darkness, Cecilia thought, Kluya, please save me.

“It’s a boy!” Theodor exclaimed, “I have a brother!”

His voice roused Cecilia. “Please,” she pleaded, weakly. “Let… me hold him.”

“You mustn’t strain yourself, Cecilia,” the midwife warned.

“Please,” Cecilia repeated. She pushed herself up to sit and held her arms out for the baby. The midwife hesitated, then put the baby into Cecilia’s embrace.

Holding the baby, Cecilia looked at Theodor, whose eyes shined with joy. It would be Theodor, she realized, who would protect him, she just had to have faith in Theodor’s love and devotion to his baby brother.

It was Cecilia’s last thought before darkness.

Chapter Text

Against the black backdrop of space, the new planet was a vibrant shade of deep blue, broken up by landmasses of brilliant green. Zemus had never seen such colors before, even on their lost planet. He stood there, watching the Lunar Whale’s viewscreen in dumbstruck awe.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Kluya said, breaking Zemus’ spellbound stupor. “This could be our new home.”

“I see opportunity,” Zemus said, dismissing Kluya’s tendency to romanticize. “Any intelligent life?”

“Possibly. It’s hard to tell while in orbit,” Kluya answered, then peered up at Zemus with a boyish grin. “Would you like to find out?”

The idea of exploration excited Zemus, to discover new things that had never been seen before, and Kluya’s enthusiasm was brilliantly infectious. Zemus looked out over the planet – the Blue Planet, they had aptly named it – and thought, This could be our new home.

“Wait, what’s that?” Kluya asked, pointing to the Lunar Whale’s monitor. Zemus looked and saw along the ocean’s coast a series of crudely built houses. Small figures moved around, and when Zemus looked closer, he saw they resembled Lunarians. Somewhat.

“Intelligent life!” Kluya exclaimed, excitedly, as always.

“Are you sure?” Zemus asked doubtfully, desperately hoping Kluya was wrong.

“We cannot just take the planet,” Kluya insisted. “Primitive or not, we mustn’t disrupt the natives.”

“This could be ours!” Zemus shouted, infuriated by Kluya’s constant calmness. “We could rebuild our home and make it better! We could rule the skies and stars, we could—”

“No,” Kluya interrupted. “We must observe, and wait for them to evolve so we can co-exist—”

“Co-exist?!” Zemus repeated. The idea made him suddenly see red, the crimson haze obscuring his vision. No, he thought, not anger, but something else, more visceral and primal.

It was hatred, Zemus realized. He hated them all.

“As Lunarians, we must be a beacon of light, shining the way for others to follow,” Kluya lectured, pompously righteous. He paced back and forth in front of Zemus’ lunar prison. “And with the light, comes shades of gray. You have committed no crime, yet we must imprison you, for the greater good.”

“Another moral gray area?” Zemus sneered.  “Shadows thrive where the light cannot reach. See what happens when you leave me in the dark.”

Kluya said nothing, only turned to walk away.

“I won’t be alone for long!” Zemus yelled at Kluya’s retreating back.

Then all went black.

Zemus was alone in his lunar prison of eternal sleep. He sensed the minds of the other Lunarians, deep in slumber, but they remained closed to him. Kluya was dead and Fusoya held a tight control over his own mind to keep Zemus out.

Zemus was forgotten by all who had known him.

Until, weeks after Kluya’s death, a new mind cried out in anguish and grief.

Mother!

Zemus groped after the mental link, then heard a baby wailing while a young child cried.

A vile thing, isn’t he? That brother of yours… Zemus asked, slithering into the boy’s mind.

Chapter Text

Rydia knew Mama as a perpetual dreamer, often catching Mama watching her, eyes unfocused and distant as if she saw something far off. Rydia seldom interrupted Mama when she was like this, not wanting to disrupt whatever enthralled her.

Finally, Rydia asked, “What are you thinking about?”

 “I’m thinking about you,” Mama answered, smiling as if she had expected this question. “And who you’ll grow up to be.”

“Me?” Rydia asked, surprised. “What do you think I’ll be?”

“I’m not sure,” Mama said, pulling Rydia into her arms. “But I think no matter who you become, you’ll impress the world.”

Mama’s job was to protect the Misty Cave, the valley’s only connection to the outside world.

So, when Mama came running into town, thick tendrils of white mist around her ankles, Rydia knew something was wrong. Rydia abandoned the house made of twigs she’d been working on (for the Sylphs, of course) and hurried to meet her mother.

“Get inside,” Mama said; her face pale and drawn. “Hide in the secret passageway and don’t come out until I get you.”

“What’s wrong—”

A dragon’s agonized cry interrupted Rydia.

Mama abruptly collapsed to the ground; she did not move again.

The sky exploded, sending burning balls all around Mist. The straw-thatched roofs were set ablaze immediately; people ran from their homes, their clothing and hair on fire; the air turned hazy with smoke, making it harder to breathe.

But still, Rydia did not move from her mother’s side.

“Mama, you can't die!” Rydia sobbed, “Just because your dragon did…”

Nearby stood two soldiers discussing something; Rydia ignored them.

“Then the dragon we slew was her mother's?” said one.

Shocked, Rydia looked up at them. Her grief transformed into a strange new emotion, one that burned deep within her core.

Hate.

She was out of time, Rydia realized, as the three Red Wings soldiers drew their swords. She was too worn and depleted to cast or summon again. She could dash between their legs and run, but Rydia doubted her little legs would carry for long. She desperately wished she could just hide in the safety of the Inn’s bed, and pretend it was her own.

When the dark knight stepped between her and the soldiers, Rydia assumed he would join them.

“Stand aside, Cecil,” said one soldier.

“I think I’d rather not,” the dark knight said, drawing his black blade.

“I know how to fight,” Rydia said flippantly, annoyed at Cecil’s endless fussing. She wasn’t a baby, anymore!  Mama started her teaching the basics of bows and rods when Rydia turned five and started exploring on her own.

“If you’re out in the world,” Mama had cautioned her, “then you need to be prepared to defend yourself.”

Cecil frowned at her, uncertain. “Knowing how and actually doing are two different things.”

Rydia mirrored his expression, exaggerating the deep frown. “I fought you, didn’t I?”

At first, Cecil looked surprised, then sorrow and guilt darkened his eyes. “You’re right,” he admitted quietly.

Chapter Text

The dirt road split: one fork led north, toward the coast of Damcyan and its shallows. The Hovercraft would take Edward back to the castle, where a list of stuffy responsibilities awaited. Edward sighed, suddenly reluctant to return.

The other path, however, led south to Kaipo, its blue waters glittering brightly like a jewel in the desert. Its beauty paled in comparison, however, to Anna; the memory of their last passionate parting made Edward secretly smile.

“Your Highness?” his royal guard prompted.

“Let’s make a stop,” Edward suggested too casually, taking a step south, toward love and its eventual doom.

“Come with me to Damcyan Castle,” Edward had insisted, slipping a slim gold band on Anna’s finger.  “Then not even your father can stop us from finally starting our lives together.”

Now, hand in hand, they stood before his parents’ thrones. The king and queen exchanged a look of fond nostalgia of their own hasty courtship and smiled.

“Welcome to the family,” the king said, getting up to embrace his new daughter-in-law.

Outside, thunder boomed, rattling the castle walls.

“What—?” the king started to ask, interrupted as the roof was violently ripped off, and the world exploded around them.

After surviving Baron’s attack on both Damcyan and Fabul, Edward thought himself prepared for everything else. He regretted the thought as the ocean tossed the ship around like a plaything, huge waves crashing over the ship’s railing, soaking everyone. It was nature’s fury, Edward decided, punishing him for his hubris.

With saltwater stinging his eyes, Edward looked up to see the open mouth of a dragon, rapidly closing in on them. The ship rocked violently, throwing Edward aside; he landed hard, head bouncing off the deck.

Faintly, he heard the crew shouting and Cecil’s panicked scream before all went dark.

Surrounded by Troia’s serene beauty, Edward should have been at peace. But he knew there was more needed, and that sense of incompleteness kept him from fully resting, often waking up with the fading memory of a melody.

Upon seeing Cecil in his paladin’s armor, Edward had an idea, pushing the Twin Harp into Cecil’s hands. Still, Edward worried that when the time came, he wouldn’t know what to do.

Edward’s doubts vanished when he heard Cecil’s desperate plea for help, vibrating through the harp’s strings. With expert fingers, Edward began to play.

Anna, he thought, heart breaking anew. Of course.

Anna’s song thrummed through Edward, in steady rhythm with his beating heart and pumping lungs. It had haunted him since he first played it to rescue Cecil from danger.

The song evolved, as Edward journeyed to Mysidia, the wind whistling through his hair and the steady flap of his cloak adding new notes. Surrounded by the faithful in the Tower of Wishes, their murmured prayers became the chorus.

“Have courage,” Edward told the vision of Cecil and his party, deft fingers moving across harp strings, finally playing his heart song, despite loss and sorrow; a song of love and strength.

Chapter Text

Having a twin was like having your reflection always around, Porom often mused. But despite their mirrored appearances, their personalities were wildly different; Palom’s bravado often clashing with Porom’s calm caution.

Now, they stood before the Elder. Porom assumed they were in trouble; it was probably Palom’s fault.

“I have a mission for you,” the Elder said instead, solemnly. “Baron’s Dark Knight seeks redemption on Mount Ordeals, and I want you two to accompany him.”

“You want us to spy on him?” Palom asked bluntly, grinning.

The Elder nodded. Palom pumped his fist triumphantly while Porom felt a pang of unease.

Porom tried to find reasons to dislike Cecil. She was polite and helpful when needed, but kept an uncertain eye on the Dark Knight, waiting for the moment she’d see the man who slaughtered pacifist mages and stole holy relics.

Instead, Porom saw an unexpected tenderness in Cecil. Climbing Mount Ordeals, she witnessed the heaviness of his dark blade and what each savage swing cost him. She wondered what sort of man he’d be unburdened by his darkness.

When the dazzling light fell on Cecil, she saw his brilliant new reflection in the mirrored walls and thought, How beautiful.

Before, Porom had never seen Cecil without his helmet. He only took it off when they made camp, and the dancing flames from the campfire threw too many shadows for her to see. As a paladin, however, Porom was stunned by finally seeing Cecil, like a rare butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

The word perfection came to mind. Embarrassed, Porom rejected the thought; a mountain crawling with undead was hardly the place to nurse a girlhood crush.

“What’s up with you?” Palom finally asked her when she’d been too lost in thought.

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, cheeks red. “Let’s go.”

Cecil took to his holy sword easily, having had extensive training already. White magic, however, was an entirely new skill.

“I’m not very good at this,” Cecil said, looking at his hands, only able to conjure up a minor Cure spell.

“Don’t fret,” Porom replied. “This is everyday magic. It’ll be second nature soon.”

“You’re very talented,” Cecil remarked with a rare smile. “You remind me of Rosa as a girl.”

“Really?” Porom asked, uncertain.

“Yes,” Cecil affirmed, smile growing.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Porom said.

Cecil looked at his hands again, though now he had fists. “Soon.”

In the sewers of Baron, the group trudged along.

 Ahead, a pipe leaked, spraying water down on the pathway. Cecil lifted his shield over his head, creating an umbrella. He gestured to Porom, and together, they moved under the broken pipe, staying dry.

Cecil was thoughtful like that, always looking out for Porom, especially on the battlefield. He knew Tellah and Palom could defend themselves with their magic, but he wanted Porom to conserve her magic. She trusted Cecil to defend her.

But what else could she do? Porom wondered, wanting desperately to be more useful but not knowing how.

As the walls around them shuddered closer, Porom considered everything that had been sacrificed to get them here. She watched Cecil as he pushed against one wall, Yang on the other, but they failed to keep the walls from inching closer together.

“Together, now,” Porom said to Palom, their Twin magic already mingling. She ignored the protests around them as she braced her shoulder against one wall, Palom opposite, and felt the stiffness creep through her body.

It was worth it, Porom reasoned, two lives for the rest of the party. It was her last thought before the stone sleep.

While the wedding reception party raged on in the ballroom, Porom found herself wandering through the castle.

Her traitorous feet brought her to that hallway. Even in the dim lighting, she found the imprint easily, her fingers and palm gliding over the indents in the wall.

Porom had been relieved when Cecil won against Zemus, but it didn’t assuage the nightmares she still had, waking up with her limbs feeling heavy and dense. The enormity of her near death was suddenly overwhelming. As Porom hurried to leave, she ran into Palom.

“You too, huh?” Palom asked.

“Me too,” Porom agreed.

Chapter Text

Since boyhood, Kain had troubling thoughts but usually shrugged them aside. He fought them in the training yard, where he exhausted himself and had no thoughts at all. He sparred most often with Cecil, and somehow hitting Cecil or being hit by Cecil seemed to alleviate the disturbing thoughts and images; Kain pretended he didn’t know why.

Then Kain met Golbez.

Kain didn’t know what Golbez did to him, only that every troubling (inspiring) thought about Cecil surfaced, and Kain was unable to ignore them or pretend they weren’t there anymore.

Kain wondered if the only cure was Cecil’s death.

Conflicted by his kinship with Cecil and Rosa, and the (not so) new feelings of bitter jealousy, Kain was unsure what to do. Should he stay here in Baron with the new Lord Captain, Golbez, or escape with Rosa to find Cecil somewhere on the other side of the new mountain range?

These dual desires warred within, vying for control.

Kain sat on the castle’s roof, brooding. “I’m going after Cecil,” he announced to no one. Wrong decision or not, at least it was a decision.

The wind began to stir around him; a woman’s seductive laugh filled the air.

“It’s time to think about your future beyond Baron,” King Odin said, his voice strangely raspy and wet.

“What do you mean, Your Majesty?” Kain asked, looking around uncertainly. Golbez stood silently, while Barbariccia smirked.

“Conquest, Kain,” King Odin continued. “We could rule so much more than this kingdom and planet.”

Confused, Kain took a step back. “What could be beyond our world?”

Odin chuckled as his face contorted and turned blue, fangs emerging from his mouth; the air smelled moist and fetid.

Golbez put a hand on Kain’s shoulder to stop his retreat. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

The Damcyan soldier nearly made it to the Healing Pot before collapsing. He lay sprawled on the floor, almost within reach. As Kain approached, the soldier groaned. Blood spilled from his lips. “Have mercy.”

“Mercy?” Kain echoed, dark and sarcastic. He thought of Rosa, with her goodness and how she’d offer help. But why should he care about a foreign soldier’s health?

“There’s only one kind of mercy,” Kain said as he knelt beside the soldier, slipping a knife into his bloody hand. “Take it yourself.”

“Wait!” the soldier cried out in dismay.

Kain ignored him as he walked away.

At the Tower of Zot, Rosa struggled in her binds, apparently determined not to be passive. Golbez, tired of her antics, waved a hand, casting a spell. Binds of magic circled around Rosa, securing her tightly in place.

“You’re wondering why I took the girl,” Golbez said in the face of Kain’s brooding silence. “Separating your enemy from their allies weakens them even before the fight begins, both in spirit and resources.”

“Is that why you took me?” Kain asked, ignoring Rosa’s accusing eyes.

“You joined me because you wanted to,” Golbez corrected him.

Shamefully, Kain knew Golbez was right.

Chapter Text

“Will you sacrifice everything?” Kain asked, as Rosa packed her bag. “Is… it really worth it?” 

“Is Cecil worth it, you mean?” Rosa corrected him. “And yes. I’d give everything for him.” She paused. “There used to be a time where’d you give everything, too. What happened?”  

Kain said nothing, having no answer. 

“Come with me to Kaipo to find Cecil,” Rosa implored. 

“No,” Kain said. “The new Lord Captain has plans for me.” 

“Aren’t I worth it?” Rosa asked quietly. “I’d give everything for you, too, if you’d let me.” 

Kain looked aside, unable to meet her earnest eyes. 

“Slow down!” the old man warned as Rosa stumbled through Kaipo’s entrance. 

“Slow down!” Cecil shouted, laughing, as Rosa splashed ahead, determined to cross the river first.  

“Are you all right, miss?” the man asked, now sounding concerned, seeing the high color in Rosa’s cheeks. 

“Slow down...” Cecil murmured against Rosa’s open mouth. Inexperience and youthful impatience made her hands fumble as she showed him where to touch her.  

Something burned blazingly hot. It was love; no, it was the sun, overhead; no, it was a raging heat within, overwhelmingly present. 

“Cecil...” Rosa moaned, collapsing, praying Cecil might catch her. 

After casting Fire at the entrance to Mount Hobbs, Rydia had been unusually quiet. Normally, she’d chatter to everyone, an endless commentary on everything they saw, but now there was a tense air around the young summoner.  

“I’m sorry I pushed you so hard,” Rosa said to Rydia, as they set up camp. “It’s unfair to ask so much of you and put you in danger.” 

“But you ask anyway,” Rydia countered, seriously. 

Rosa winced. “And for that, I am truly sorry. Soon, we’ll find a safe place.” 

“Together?” Rydia asked, finally perking up. 

“Together,” Rosa agreed, smiling. “After Fabul.” 

Rosa had always taken pride in her combat prowess, but she’d never felt truly challenged until Mount Hobbs. Between firing Holy arrows at the undead and healing the party's wounds, Rosa never stopped. 

As they reached the summit and found the Fabulian monk, outnumbered but still fighting, Rosa briefly had a selfish thought – why us?  

Why must Cecil right all of Baron's wrongdoings? How far into danger was he leading her? Should she still follow?  

Even before Cecil drew his black sword and charged, Rosa knew the right answer. Inhaling deeply, she took careful aim, then fired; she didn’t miss. 

In Fabul’s infirmary, Rosa felt exhaustion creeping in, threatening to halt the endless flow of healing magic. The wounded seemed infinite; as one soldier or civilian was treated, more poured in, cradling their injuries, begging for relief. 

Beside her, Rydia’s energy seemed boundless, and Rosa wondered when she’d lost her own youthful vigor, feeling much older than her years after the nonstop journey to Fabul.  

A ringing bell interrupted Rosa’s thoughts.  

“The throne room has been breached,” a Fabulian white mage announced, soberly. 

Ignoring her fatigue, Rosa ran for the door; Rydia followed, and Rosa was too tired to argue. 

Chapter Text

The key to being a believable doppelganger was meticulous accuracy. Learning the way a person moved in their body was necessary in not raising suspicion while wearing another’s likeness. Cagnazzo had watched the fisherman on the shore for weeks before attempting to take his shape. 

But Cagnazzo still didn’t know how to fill this strange shape, skin bulging in all the wrong places. There was only one way to truly learn a container: by filling it himself. 

The fisherman gurgled his last breath as Cagnazzo flowed into his lungs. 

Too easy , Cagnazzo thought, Whose shape shall I learn next?  

Cagnazzo stood with a group of petitioners in Baron’s throne room, waiting and watching. 

“But Your Majesty,” the astronomer, Corio, protested. “If the moon’s irregular orbit continues, it might affect our planet. It could change the tides—” 

“Baron commands the skies,” King Odin interrupted. “Let the sea do what it will.” 

“Sire, this needs more research—” Corio started. 

“If you had Mysidia’s Water Crystal, you could command both sky and sea,” Cagnazzo said. “Baron would be unstoppable.” 

There was a sudden greedy glint in Odin’s eyes as he looked over Cagnazzo. “Tell me more.” 

With his borrowed mouth, Cagnazzo smiled. 

Cagnazzo would never admit to the other fiends how taxing it was to be Odin. As a public figure, it was difficult for Cagnazzo to have privacy to be himself, as himself. 

Rubicant would remind Cagnazzo that only he was “given” a kingdom, and to focus on the next mission.  

Barbariccia would tease Cagnazzo about the limitations of stinking human flesh and make a crass joke. 

Scarmiglione wouldn’t say anything, only give Cagnazzo a baleful look, maggots wriggling from his sockets. 

Only the ocean knew the true Cagnazzo and loved him anyway; its cold embrace accepted him as he was. 

When Cagnazzo found the wreckage, the survivors had been in the icy water long enough to have frost on their lashes. Cagnazzo brought them to Baron, then threw them ashore. 

At first, they were treated kindly, given food and warm clothing, beds to rest in. Then, the interrogations began – had they been transporting Cecil Harvey? To where and for what purpose? They all feigned ignorance; they all lied. 

Except the monk, Yang, who had been unconscious for days until he awoke with no memory. 

“Help Baron, and we’ll help you,” Cagnazzo-as-Odin promised, then pressed a key into Yang’s eager hand. 

For a moment in time, Cagnazzo believed he could win against Cecil Harvey. Combat made Cagnazzo feel alive, finally showing who he was and what he could do. No cunning or deception, Cagnazzo would win by skill alone. Golbez and the other Archfiends would finally have to acknowledge Cagnazzo was more than a convincing liar. 

With two children and a fragile old man among Cecil’s allies, Cagnazzo reasoned this would be an easy win. Ultimately, it was the old man who defeated Cagnazzo, with a Thundaga strike cracking his shell in half. 

Cagnazzo was relieved; at least he died as himself. 

Chapter Text

Until the death of the summoners could be confirmed, the Misty Valley was dangerous territory, Golbez had warned.

As Barbariccia rode the wind high overhead, she witnessed the summoners’ destruction firsthand: the mountains looked like they had been torn apart by giant hands. She scanned the rubble for movement, prepared to strike down any survivors.

Instead, there was a Dragoon, also searching.  Changing direction, Barbariccia landed beside him. He looked briefly startled, then intrigued as he pointedly looked her up and down. Barbariccia knew the effect her appearance had on mortals, especially men, and smirked.

Dangerous territory, indeed, Barbariccia thought.

Barbariccia was eager to show Kain there were no boundaries in the sky, or for her. She was everywhere – the strong current guiding him along, the breeze whispering in his ear, the intimate embrace of the wind. She took what she wanted without regard, demanding his loyalty and devoted worship. She was a wind goddess, after all, and deserved everything offered as tribute.

“You will go to Fabul and bring me the Wind Crystal,” she told Kain.

“But...” Kain started, but Barbariccia’s greedy mouth was on his, stealing his breath. He was hers, she decided; nothing would come between them.

Something had changed.

There was prisoner – a woman – and Kain seemed strangely distracted as he guarded her. Eventually, Barbariccia’s curiosity brought her to the tower's top, where she listened, hidden by shadows.

“Soon, you’ll realize,” Kain said, “and you’ll know I’m the better man.” His heart beat louder as he neared the woman, sending sound waves rippling into the air. “I love you.”

The unsettling revelation of Kain’s true desire sparked new in Barbariccia, something dark and dangerous: jealousy. Who was this woman, and how dare she compare herself to an Archfiend?

She must die, Barbariccia decided then. Very slowly.

“I’ll leave your eyes free,” Barbariccia said as the stone paralysis crept up Rosa’s torso. “So you can watch as I slowly shatter your limbs into pieces.”

Rosa said nothing, her eyes full of fear.

“So much passion wasted on you. Why?” Barbariccia asked incredulously. “Why you?”

“Enough,” Kain’s voice boomed from behind.

Barbariccia faced him with fury of a raging tornado. “How dare you!?”

“Let her go,” Kain demanded. “Golbez’s orders.”

Barbariccia pouted, turning away.

“I’ll protect you,” Kain whispered to Rosa, touching her carefully as he administered a Soft potion.

Why her? Barbariccia wondered again, her heart shattering.

“Traitor,” Barbariccia hissed at Kain. “You may have bested me, but the last Archfield remains.” She collapsed, her power dissipating.

Confusion filled her. She had given Kain everything. They could have ruled the skies together, as a goddess and her champion. Was being hers not enough? Was she not enough?

Stay with me, the wind whispered to Kain; Barbariccia’s last temptation.  I can give you anything.

Kain glanced briefly at Rosa but said nothing; his bitter silence answered Barbariccia instead.

“You won’t leave here alive,” Barbariccia declared; hatred consumed her, raw and raging.

Around them, the tower began to fall.

Chapter Text

It was at death when a person finally met their true self. Seconds from darkness, one final breath, one chance to make peace, one last appeal. Many people are cowards, however, pleading for more time, begging for mercy. Sometimes, their prayers were answered. 

It was not by a benevolent deity but a strange and monstrous creature, limbs wriggling under a funeral shroud stinking of decay: Scarmiglione the Earth Archfiend. With foul magic, he reanimated their broken bodies. 

“Death will never harm you now,” Scarmiglione would tell them as they crawled out of their fresh graves. “This isss the true you.”

Scarmiglione watched with disgust as his fellow Archfiends played a perverse game of trying to be human.

Cagnazzo wore human skin with ease, mimicking their crude gestures and mannerisms, as though he could pretend he wasn’t a monster.

Rubicant followed a bizarre moral code, as if that would absolve him of the destruction he rained down from the skies. 

Barbariccia toyed with human emotions and desires, trying to fill the terrifying hole inside of her made by endless years of loneliness.

Only Scarmiglione made no such pretense, content in his nature. Eventually, all would die and be just like him. 

“Master, when will I use my power?” Scarmiglione asked, driven by jealousy of the other Archfiend’s triumphs. 

“Patience, Scarmiglione. Your time will come soon,” Golbez replied. “You are uniquely suited to counter Cecil Harvey. Should he resurface, you will have the honor of slaying him.”

“Thank you, Lord Golbez,” Scarmiglione hissed. “I will not fail you.”

Scarmiglione did not wait long until Golbez summoned him again, giving him the task of slaying Cecil Harvey on Mount Ordeals, before the Dark Knight became a Paladin. 

It was too easy. How could a Dark Knight hope to defeat Scarmiglione, master of undeath?

After his second defeat, Scarmiglione expected to truly perish and finally return to the earth; the thought was almost comforting.

Instead, as midnight closed in on Mount Ordeals and the barrier between worlds was at its thinnest, something called, dragging Scarmiglione from his rest.

You will return, it insisted, again and again. 

Scarmiglione tried to ignore it.

And when your fellow Archfiends inevitably fall, you will raise them.

“Why? To what purpose?” Scarmiglione finally asked, intrigued.

The cycle must continue, the darkness told him.

“What cycle?” Scarmiglione felt a rare pang of uncertain fear.

CHAOS, the darkness answered, engulfing him.

After their resurrection, the Archfiends had obviously changed.

Rubicant was quiet, trying to puzzle out how the paladin and his allies had managed to defeat them. 

Barbariccia was withdrawn, looking perpetually hurt.

Cagnazzo rarely left his shell and wouldn’t even attempt shapeshifting. 

“Many are more powerful than one,” Rubicant sagely declared as the Giant of Babil shuddered to the life. 

Scarmiglione looked around at his fellow Archfiends. As the flickering artificial lights cast uncertain shadows across their faces, he wondered how many times they would fail and die, and if death might finally accept him this time.

Scarmiglione hoped so.

Chapter Text

As Golbez approached the village, he assumed the dense air was just the usual summer haze. As he drew closer, however, he saw destruction: burnt buildings and the ground littered with bloody bodies and household treasures, all left behind by careless raiders.

“Help,” came a strained plea.

Golbez spotted a man, his skin mostly burned away, reaching up.

“Why should I help you?” Golbez asked.

“I… must have vengeance,” he struggled to speak, but something familiar blazed in his eyes.

Golbez’s Cure spell (oddly, he still knew White Magic) engulfed the man. “You shall have it,” Golbez promised, now smiling.

“Is this it?” Golbez asked, watching Rubicante curiously. “Will this ease your vengeful heart?”

Rubicante hesitated. He held a torch, and its blaze drew him in, whispering memories of how his life used to be. The dancing flames became his wife, a hand on her belly, smiling; then his son, a boy with skill for finding mischief; finally, his mother, pulling him into a hug, just because she knew he needed one.

Blinking back tears, Rubicante threw the torch into the pyre. “Nothing will be enough.” As the fire spread upward, the bound raiders began screaming. “The world must burn.”

Rubicante watched Golbez collect Archfiends like game pieces, plucking them from death for new purposes.

Barbariccia was a courier, left beaten in the road for the information she carried; she wheezed, “Yes…” through her crushed trachea.

Golbez found Cagnazzo the sailor washed ashore, water burbling from his mouth as he agreed.

Golbez tracked a trail of risen dead and discovered Scarmiglione, a necromancer slowly rotting from some disease. Golbez didn’t ask; Scarmiglione followed anyway.

“There’s a change in the weather,” Barbariccia finally told them. “Like the world awaits its transformation.”

“It’s time,” Golbez announced. “First, we take the Water Crystal.”

After the Red Wings rained down fiery destruction, Eblan Castle stood silent, with no fleeing civilians or guards crying out warnings. Only an eerie nothingness remained.

“We managed to take the king and queen, but the prince is missing,” the Red Wings captain recounted. “But reports say he left the other survivors to find you.”

“But that’s illogical,” Rubicante said. “He should be collecting allies and power now. What purpose does this serve?”

“Vengeance,” the captain said quietly. “He’s enraged with grief.”

Rubicante frowned, remembering the flames of his home and how they really never went out. “Let him come.”

“They’re only human,” Golbez said, although he sounded strangely uncertain. “And no match for my strongest Archfiend.”

“Only human,” Rubicante repeated. Rubicant remembered his encounter with Edge, how the prince’s rage burned wildly out of control. He was human and flawed, blinded by strong emotions. “Their flesh will burn.”

Rubicante waited as Edge and his party climbed the Tower, wondering how Edge’s rage would transform him, like a forge-tempered blade glowing brightly.

What he didn’t expect was the party’s camaraderie and how their journey had bonded them. “Only human,” Rubicante repeated as Edge finally struck him down, this time impressed.

Chapter Text

On his braver days, Golbez wondered why he stayed. With Zemus pouring endless evil into his heart, it seemed insane to endure any longer. On those days, he’d pack a bag of supplies, determined to leave.

But where would he go? Golbez had no answer. There was no place on the Blue Planet where he belonged. Here, he was a grateful, groveling parasite with the privilege of bearing witness to the greatest power: hatred, and Zemus’s masterful use of it.

You belong to me, Zemus would needlessly remind him. You are nothing without me.

Golbez already knew it was true.

The Archfiends gave Golbez many advantages in his conquest.

Scarmiglione dug up fresh corpses and offered them a chance to unburden their guilty hearts, gaining endless secrets through confession.

Cagnazzo tricked his way into their enemies’ lives, pushing them to Golbez’s purpose without them even realizing it.

Barbariccia could track anyone, no matter the terrain or weather conditions, giving their enemies nowhere to hide.

Rubicante brought out the worst in humans, fanning their rage hotter until it exploded into magnificent hatred, granting Golbez a chance to bend them to his whim.

They needed each other; it was almost a family.

Golbez took over Odin’s quarters and spent evenings going through the study. Golbez admired Odin’s pursuit of power through countless books on legendary magic and rare Eidolons.

Golbez sometimes fell asleep there sprawled out on the desk, an open book and scattered notes beside him.

The second time it happened, Golbez woke to his cloak draped around him.

The third time, Golbez woke to Kain leaving a dish beside him. “Why?” Golbez asked.

“It’s breakfast,” Kain said simply. “You must eat.”

The next morning, when Kain entered Odin’s study, Golbez feigned sleep.

Kain tidied the desk, pretending not to notice.

Despite their connection being severed by Fusoya, Golbez felt echoes of Kain. He looked up to the Lunar Subterrane’s shadowy ceiling, expecting to see a flash of familiar blue armor, strangely disappointed by its absence.

In battle together, they were formidable, with Kain Jumping ahead, reporting enemy locations and conditions through their mental link. Golbez never needed to give commands; Kain often knew Golbez’s desires before Golbez himself.

You could have him again, Zemus whispered in the back of Golbez’s mind. If you only came back to me…

Golbez was horrified to realize he was deeply tempted by the offer.

“Come with me?” Golbez asked, looking up at twin moons in the sky, brightly glowing in the dark. “We would fall asleep and wake in a new world, our names and crimes forgotten.”

“But we would know,” Kain countered. “We have seen the worst of each other and there’s no amount of sleep that will make us forget it.”

“I see…” Golbez struggled to hide his disappointment even from himself, made worse by knowing Kain was right.

As a dragoon, Kain was skilled at falling; he would eventually land safely.

Golbez, however, would never stop falling, his heart forever stumbling.

Chapter Text

Eblan castle shook violently under the Red Wings’ cannons.

“You will survive!” the Eblan servant grabbed Edge and pulled him along. “You must pick up the pieces.”

Before Edge could protest, the world exploded around them as the roof fell inward, showering them with falling stone.

When the dust settled, Edge was relieved to feel the servant’s hand still gripping his arm. Edge stood and the hand fell away, flopping to the ground.

Horrified, Edge looked and found himself painted in blood and gore, then saw the servant’s severed limbs, twisted torso and smashed head in pieces throughout the debris.

“If we dig here, it should lead to the Tower,” Edge said before the stone wall.

A ninja on the excavation team approached.  At Edge’s nod, he began to cast Ninjutsu, but Edge didn’t recognize the spell. A gunshot sound cracked overhead as a bright light branched out in arched lightning from the ninja to the wall, stone exploding outward.

“Is that Raijin?” Edge asked, awed; he had never seen it. “How?”

“You must master your rage before it overwhelms you,” the ninja replied.

Through the settling dust, Edge saw the bright lights of the strange Tower, beckoning him inside.

After Eblan’s defeat, Rubicante offered no ransom, so Edge assumed his parents had already been executed. He grieved them, thinking there was no greater tragedy than their deaths.

Then, Edge discovered them still alive, twisted into gruesome chimerae; he killed his mother with his own katana at her request.

Edge’s grief, horror, and rage all merged, and he suddenly felt possessed with Ninjutsu magic. He saw the ocean during a storm and the destructive shot of lightning in a dry forest and knew he now matched nature’s fury.

“Rubicante! For this… you will pay!” Edge declared, power building around him.

As the sun finally met the horizon, the twilight glow of the day’s final light made Mysidia even more magical.

Or perhaps it was the evening, Edge wondered, a few perfect hours, not worrying about fighting on the moon or what Golbez would do next with the gathered Crystals.

“You okay?” Rydia asked cautiously.

Edge looked at Rydia beside him, whose green hair looked almost black in the fading light, making her look otherworldly. She smiled at him, and to his surprise, his heart beat faster.

“I’m okay,” Edge replied, feeling it for the first time since he fled Eblan.

“What is this place?” Edge muttered, looking around the strange interior of the Lunar Subterrane.

You are nowhere, something answered, an insidious whisper in his mind.  And if you stay, you will be nothing…

Edge ignored it, but as they journeyed on, closer to the Lunar Core, the voice became stronger. The great Eblan line dies here with you, it told him, bringing fresh images of his parents, deformed by profane magic, begging for death. You could still leave…

The deeper they went, the more tempted Edge was.

It was Rydia who kept him there; her smile banished the darkness.

Chapter Text

Fabul Castle was ahead; Yang hesitated, filled with trepidation.

It wasn’t worry for the impending Red Wings assault, but the inevitable questions. The slain monks’ families had a right to ask them: what happened on Mt. Hobbs? Why was Yang the only survivor? How could he leave behind their bodies?

The answers were intensely uncomfortable:

The monks were butchered by Golbez’s monsters.

Yang had been inside his tent when the meditating monks were initially attacked.

There was nothing to bring back, the exploding Bombs splattering each monk against the mountainside.

Yang took a deep breath, then continued toward the castle.

Rydia sat on a fencepost, watching the busy docks, her legs kicking up and down.

Yang had witnessed Rydia’s formidable talent on the battlefield, but the childish gesture reminded Yang of her youth and innocence; how could he protect her from the horrors of war?

“You’re worried,” Rydia remarked, spotting Yang. “Are you scared of ocean monsters? Edward told a story about how they eat people.”

“I won’t let any monster eat you.” Yang was more worried about what awaited them on Baron’s shores and how Cecil’s battleplan involved Rydia.

“Promise?” Rydia asked.

“Promise,” Yang agreed, hoping it was true.

As Yang slowly drowned, he lost consciousness, then dreamed.

Yang was at Mt. Hobbs, monks dying around him. One fell to a Goblin’s knife, another pushed over the side, another Kicked a Bomb, which then exploded, killing more.

You don’t have to do this, something whispered from the darkness of Yang’s mind. You could forget….

“How?” Yang asked, too tempted.

Walk away, the darkness suggested, Don’t be the man who remembers this anymore.

“Walk away,” Yang repeated, surprised by the simplicity of the advice. He turned and walked away.

Yang woke on Baron’s shores, coughing up seawater, his mind blank.

Cecil had forgiven Yang, eagerly welcoming him back to their quest, citing the amnesia for how Yang was persuaded to fight for Baron. The reality, however, was much darker.

It hadn’t been just Yang’s amnesia and resulting confusion. Baron offered a chance to be both powerful and to actually use it. Yang’s monk training emphasized the importance of restraint; to finally unleash had been exhilarating.

Yang was dismayed how much he still liked the feeling of being superior.

You could have it again, the darkness offered, always present and tempting.

Yang ignored the persistent whispers, but still wondered, What if….

I will die, Yang thought as he slammed the control room’s door closed, shutting out Cecil and the others. He felt strangely peaceful, in calm acceptance of how events must unfold. On the cosmic scale, his life was worth saving so many others.

Still, as he approached the control station, its monitors crackling with electricity, Yang felt a moment of hesitation. If he died, what would happen to Sheila?

You can’t leave her alone, the darkness insisted, What are these dwarves worth against your great love?

But Shelia was strong, Yang knew; she would understand his sacrifice.

Yang charged ahead.

Chapter Text

“Like this,” Cecil said, correcting Porom’s grip on the staff. “Hold it firm when I strike.”

“Okay…” Porom said uncertainly.

Cecil stood opposite her, armed with a branch he’d cut from a dead tree. He remembered his old sword and its weight; he was relieved to be finally free of its darkness.

“Now, defend,” Cecil said as he raised the branch and slowly approached.

Porom held the staff defensively, as instructed, but as Cecil got closer, he saw giant tears streaming down her cheeks, her brown eyes overflowing.

Cecil stopped abruptly, alarmed. “Porom!?”

Porom grinned mischievously, resembling her twin. “Gotcha.”

As the door closed, Rosa was on him, pressing needy kisses against his neck.

“Slow down,” Cecil protested, surprised by her enthusiasm.

“I can’t.” She pulled insistently at his clothing. “I need…”

“What do you need?” Cecil asked gently, unsure if she even knew.

Rosa froze.  “I need to feel safe again. At Zot, I thought I might…”

“You’re safe now,” Cecil assured her. “We’ll never be apart again.” He pulled her in closer and kissed her carefully.

Rosa broke the kiss. “Never?”

“Never,” Cecil repeated; it was a vow.

“Show me,” Rosa insisted, urgently pulling him to the bed.

Cecil found Yang and Cid at Baron’s Inn, playing a card game together.

“Join us?” Yang suggested. “Cid’s teaching me the game.”

Cid scoffed. “Cecil’s face is too honest. He can’t bluff and then the game’s no fun.”

Cecil frowned deeply. “That’s not true.”

“My point exactly,” Cid said in an aside to Yang, who cracked a rare smirk.

“I can play,” Cecil insisted, tossing his coin pouch on the table.

Hours later, it was empty.

“I don’t miss the helmet!” Cid laughed as Yang divided up the coins between them.

Despite the monetary loss, Cecil smiled. “Neither do I.”

Kain stayed by the campfire, where the shadows lurked. Everyone was exhausted from fighting murderous doors, but Kain didn’t sleep. Instead, he stared down at his hands, looking deeply concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Cecil asked as he left his shared tent with Rosa.

Kain looked up, surprised. “Nothing.” Only, his hands were curled up into fists. “We’re going to confront Golbez soon,” he added, quietly.

“Yes,” Cecil said. “But no matter what happens with Golbez, you’ll always have my friendship.”

“But..."

“Always,” Cecil repeated, more firmly. “No matter what.”

“No matter what,” Kain agreed, although Cecil saw his lingering doubt.

“This doesn’t have to be the ending,” Cecil protested, blinking back unexpected tears.

“It does,” Golbez replied. Behind him, the Lunar Whale waited for departure.

“Will you be gone forever?” Cecil asked, feeling childish. It felt unfair for Golbez to leave now, after everything they’d lost.

“I don’t know,” Golbez admitted quietly. “But this for the best…”

“Maybe it’s better for you,” Cecil countered tersely, “but not for me.”

“Cecil…”

“Come back when you’ve forgiven yourself,” Cecil continued, “Because I already have.”

Golbez said nothing.

“Goodbye, brother,” Cecil said, turning to go.

“Goodbye,” Golbez finally spoke, then added, “Only for now.”