The Brothers' War

We all know their tale.

Their tale is, after all, that of many heroes and heroines that have come and gone throughout the ages. Men and women whom Kismet chooses to smile upon in the wake of some new crisis or unconquerable enemy. People as diverse as the day is long, a body of unwavering souls which overcome adversity, incalculable odds, and even themselves. Yes. Their tale is nothing new to the annals of time.

This, however, is not their tale.

The story which follows concerns what came before. For every tale that is told, pieces will often be missing, just as the odd voice is left silent or the scattered question will linger like a splinter in the skin. Reasons for such omissions as these warrant their own little story, thus giving a better understanding of the larger picture in the process. The curious need only exercise discretion when finding the closure they have so tirelessly sought, for the answered riddle can mean many things.

This tale of a tale precedes the adventures of the historically significant Returners and the flight of their Falcon. It precedes the Light of Judgment as well. It predates the World of Ruin and even the Empire which brought about its genesis, for some nine and a half centuries after the War of the Magi ended, all of these happenings found root in the most unlikeliest of places.

It all began in a field . . .

* * *

It was a very hot and lazy midsummer day. A white sun burned high and bright in the clear blue sky while the occasional ocean breeze whipped across the open meadows below. A lone oak tree, standing silent in the shadow of some nearby foothills, gave a gentle sway in the wind, rustling its leaves until the calm settled back down around it.

For the ones that either worked or traveled, it was the type of afternoon that deserved either half a day of hard labor or a nice downpour to take the edge off. Banon, however, didn't seem to think so. It was the first sunny day any of them had received since the storm had let up just the other day, and the young boy couldn't sit still no matter how hot the sun was.

He sprung up from out of the meadow, hoping to get the jump on his brother.

"Marco--"

"Polo."

Banon spun around in his place, grinning as he saw an indistinct form tunneling through the long ferns and bee-lining for the oak tree in the distance. He gave an excited holler of victory as he ran to catch up with him.

"I gotcha now! There's no getting away from me this time!"

He huffed and puffed his way through the tall grass, half-jumping and half-sprinting into the foliage so as to stay on top of his sibling. Wheezing to a stop after five minutes of pursuit, Banon found that he had lost the chase yet again when a gale wind blew over the trail his brother left behind in the meadow.

But Banon never erred. "Marco--"

"POLO!"

Then he jerked as his brother sprung up from right behind him. He gave his older, longer-haired sibling as defiant a stare as any playful child could manage.

"Gestahl!"

And with a crafty-looking sneer wrapped around his face, he turned tail and continued on closing the gap between himself and the oak tree. Banon quickly fell in step behind him, shouting for Gestahl to stop or even just to slow down a bit. He did neither, and by the time Banon made it to the foot of the tree, his brother was already scuttling his way up through a maze of oak branches. He scratched at his short, blond hair in frustration.

"No fair, brother. You know I'm afraid of heights."

Gestahl's grin had lost none of its integrity, and he kept peering down at him from where he sat upon one of the topmost branches. He let both of his feet swing to and fro, causing some of the nearby limbs to rustle audibly alongside his own.

"Then I guess my plan worked perfectly, didn't it?" He straightened out one of his brown pantlegs. "I suppose this means I win, huh?"

Banon crossed his arms irately, the defiance in his eyes intense enough to completely burn the tree out from under him.

"I swear that if I only just thought of bringing a chocobo out with us, I could just fly on up there to get you down."

Gestahl scoffed. "Chocobos can't fly, dummy."

"They can to." Banon scaled his way up some of the lower hanging branches, paying close attention to how far away the ground was. "Dad even said they can, so there."

His brother reached up and pulled himself on top of the branch directly above him, aware that his brother couldn't possibly get to him but not taking any chances. "You don't really listen to everything dad says, do you?"

Banon stopped trying to pull himself up any further, his determination giving way to disbelief. "He's the king of Vector," he replied, as though that fact alone answered everything.

"That doesn't mean he's always right." He broke eye contact with his brother down below, deciding that there had to have been something more exciting to see from such a high altitude. "Kings can make mistakes too, you know."

"Not dad," Banon insisted, sounding discontent. "Never . . ."

"Yes, dad too." Gestahl reached up for yet another branch. "And I'd really like to know where he got the idea that chocobos could fl--aiiiiiii!"

The branch above him gave way, and Gestahl was taken with it on the trip down. Banon heard it, along with his brother's frantic screaming, but could do nothing other than watch helplessly. Both of Gestahl's outflung arms corkscrewed endlessly as he descended, struggling for something to grab ahold of but falling too quickly to secure any kind of grip. Off on the opposite side of the oak he landed at last, spread-eagled on the ground and yelping in pain.

"Gestahl!"

The older brother grunted in irritation as Banon spun around the base of the tree, pushing through the tall grass to get to his prone sibling.

"Are you okay?!" he cried, kneeling down beside him. "Did you break your back?!"

"It's alright, I'm fine." He sneered away from the help Banon offered and brought himself up on one knee, his face contorting in anguish from the effort. "I just . . . got the wind knocked out of me, that's all."

Banon stayed beside him, studying Gestahl's movements in case he learned abruptly of something that was fractured or broken.

"Now you know why I'm so afraid of heights. Can you stand up?"

"Of course I can," he growled through clenched teeth, then staggered back to his feet just to prove that he could. "Ow! No, it's fine."

"Come on, brother. We need to get you home and looked at by a doctor."

Gestahl sighed defeatedly. "Dad's just going to love that. I know exactly what he's going to say too. 'You were playing around that oak tree again, weren't you'? He'd ground us for a month."

"Brother, you're smoking."

He squinted."I'm what?"

Banon motioned behind him, stuttering. "Y-your clothes, they're smoking."

He jerked and started slapping at his shoulder, as though trying to bat aside some unseen demon. Seething hot pinpricks of fire stabbed at his arms and legs too, and both the brothers realized rather suddenly that the entire north side of the tree was burning! The ground beneath their feet even smoldered black, its ashes swirling and dancing in the afternoon wind.

"What happened here?" Banon put out the last of the flames on his brother's back. "Where did all of this fire come from?"

"Hey Banon, look at that."

He pointed up towards the foothills, where a blackened trail zigzagged up across the rockface. At its end, Gestahl could barely make out the pale white form that was ambling its way along before disappearing inside of a shallow cave.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know, but it might hurt us. We should probably go back home."

"Hold on." Banon seized Gestahl by one of his coat sleeves. "You were the one that found the thing. And besides, it could be the one that's hurt. It might need our help."

"But it's almost lunchtime. Mom'll get angry if we miss lunch twice in a row."

"Lunch?!" Banon let go of his brother's sleeve and started tramping up the hillside. "Alright, fine. You go home and eat. I'll go by myself."

"Banon . . ."

"No, it's fine. Just go."

"Banon, don't--"

But his brother was already halfway up the foothill. Gestahl sighed and went to catch up, wincing and arching his back in pain with every step he took. Nestled in the cool shade of the mountainside, the two of them met up again outside the mouth of the cave. Their hearts raced, neither one being entirely sure of what lay in store for them.

"I'll go in first," Banon said. "After I'm in, count to twenty Kohlingen's and come in after me."

"Hey, why do you always get to do things first?"

"Okay, okay, you can go in first."

"That's more like it," Gestahl replied, his head already too far into the cave opening to see his brother's triumphant grin. "Hey, wait a second . . ."

"Too late, now," Banon told him, pushing Gestahl the rest of the way in. He landed on the dark cavern floor with a thud. He waited for a moment, then another moment. A minute passed. "Hey Gestahl, are you alright down there?"

The dark silence lingered.

"Ges--"

"BOO!"

Banon jumped and hit his head on the roof of the cave, almost tumbling back down the foothill in the process.

"Ow! Gestahl, that really hurt!"

"So now, we're even."

"Well, is there anything down there or not? It only just got down here, so it couldn't have gotten too far."

"Haven't found anything yet. This place is pretty cool though. I bet it'd make a great fort for the summer. Come on down and take a look."

His own childish imagination getting in the way of his better judgment, Banon couldn't scurry down inside the cave entrance fast enough. The dank cavern air felt good against his sunburnt skin, and the rocky stratum below their feet seemed more than solid enough to support the both of them. Beyond the ridge it appeared as though everything curved down into a giant, black abyss, but when Gestahl stepped beyond to test his footing the splash of water welcomed him.

"It's an underground river," he said, awestruck. "Wow. I wonder what else is down--"

A set of sharp claws grabbed him from behind without warning, and the burning sensation he had felt down by the oak tree increased tenfold. Both brothers screamed, one out of sheer agony, the other out of uncomprehending terror. The creature seemed to have all the contours of a thinly shaped male except that it seemed composed entirely out of hellfire. With almost no time to think, Banon stripped off his tunic, dipped it into the groundwater, and lunged for the creature.

Gestahl's arms pinwheeled uselessly as he struggled to disentangle himself from the blazing hellion. Bearing down hard on him, and with its flaming touch searing past his clothes and into his flesh, the eldest of the two brothers strained to push the both of them off balance and into the nearby body of water. Just when it seemed as though his brother's strength was about to fail completely, Banon threw his waterlogged tunic down over the creature's body. Immediately, it went limp and fell to the ground in a naked heap.

"Brother?"

It took Gestahl longer to muster up a reply this time than after falling out of the tree, as most of his back was now covered with ugly, black/red scar tissue. Nonetheless, he grit his teeth.

"We should go home now, Banon."

"But we can't just leave--" They both turned to regard the creature before them, gasping as they realized that anatomically it seemed the same as a human male. They each clamped a hand across their eyes. "But we can't just leave it lying around here for someone else to find. The same thing could happen to a townsman passing by or worse."

Gestahl lingered down near the foot of the river, splashing several handfuls of water across his ravaged back. "What do you suggest we do then?"

Banon bit his lip in thought.

"Let's take it back to the castle."

* * *

"Ba-non! Ges-tahl!" Maria called out in her usual, singsong voice. "Lunch is ready! Boys?"

Since having children, it had become something of a time-honored tradition to have lunch in the arboretum with her sons whenever the weather would permit it. There was nothing she enjoyed more than eating with her family out in the garden, as she felt that it gave life a certain feeling of completion. So, conversely, there was nothing more she couldn't stand than to have such plans unavoidably interrupted.

"Draco, sweetie . . ." She sat down outside at the table, fiddling with her long blond curls in a disappointed fashion. "What's keeping the kids so late?"

Her husband gave their delegate from Albrook a hasty handshake in his study, effectively sealing their trade agreement before joining his wife outside.

"Now then, what were you saying?"

She looked annoyed at having to repeat herself. "The kids, Draco. It's half past noon and they still haven't returned. I'm getting worried."

"I'm sure they're both fine. Thick as thieves, those two are. They've been cooped up inside this castle for three straight days because of that storm, so you can't really blame them for taking advantage of the good weather." He reached across the table for her hand. She took it. "And besides, this could be the first time we've had lunch by ourselves in quite a while."

For a moment, Maria smiled at the prospect. His dark, green eyes and long, chestnut locks made him as every bit captivating as the day he had wrested her from Ralse's grasp on the east side of town. She couldn't ignore the appeal which one more day with him had on her, but then there was no ignoring the motherly intuition that weighed heavily on her mind either.

"No," she said, shaking her head, "No, we can't. If they can't join us for lunch, then I at least have to know where they are. I feel so helpless whenever I don't know."

He grinned and sat back in his chair, not at all upset that she had turned down his invitation. "Well, if I were a young and impressionable child, I'd more than likely go some place which my parents had told me a million times to stay away from."

"Like . . . the oak tree?"

He leaned across the table and kissed her lips. "I tell you what, I'll have one of my squires prepare a chocobo and go out there to pick them up. With any luck, we'll be back to grab a quick bite as a family before the chancellor has some other concern that he wants to address."

She stood as he started to leave, putting her hands around his neck. "Just promise me that you won't be gone too long."

He kissed her again, more deeply this time. "My word is my bond, Maria."

Even as the king retreated through his wife's plantations toward the stable, Gestahl and Banon were already maneuvering their way through their mother's intricately shaped hedges. They plodded along more than they sprinted, straining from the insufferable weight of the man-thing in their grasp. They tied Banon's tunic around its waist, more for the sake of protecting its pride than providing an easier handhold. At last, Gestahl could manage no more and fell back on his haunches. The pain in his shoulders and back had absolutely overwhelmed him.

"Brother?"

He dropped the creature's legs and helped Gestahl sit up against a hedge, careful not to touch his scars. But even his brother's gentle hands did little to end the agony which sought to explode from out his skin.

"Banon, it hurts!" He twitched and kept reaching behind him, as though it were all just a simple matter of tearing something away from his spine. "I can't . . . the pain . . . it's killing me!"

"Help!" Banon clutched at his screaming brother, suddenly forgetting about the creature that was lying unconscious on the grass beside them. "Somebody help us!"

Almost immediately, they heard a set of iron greaves trudging along the sods toward them while their mother gave a scream as though instantly understanding the plight of her two sons. Seconds later, their father appeared down at the edge of the path, both eyebrows arched in horror at the scene unfolding before him.

"Banon!" he cried out, throwing aside the leather saddle he had been carrying. "Look out behind you!"

Before he could even react to his father's warning, a set of razor-sharp teeth tore into his right arm. Banon screamed as his father kept racing towards them, gesturing and yelling out wildly until the thing's attention was finally diverted. It had only enough time to rear its ugly head and snarl before the king of Vector skidded along the grass and threw out one of his silver gauntlets. The creature reeled from the impact, cartwheeling in midair before crumpling on the ground.

"Banon, are you alright?"

He grunted, clutching at the bloody mess on his arm. "It's just a bite," he assured him, motioning to his brother. "Gestahl could use you more than I could."

"You okay, buddy?"

Gestahl's head lolled on his shoulders. "Back . . . hurts."

Maria soon caught up with them, carrying the hem of her chartreuse dress in her hands as she ran. Her own worst fears appeared justified.

"My Goddess," she cried, taking Gestahl into her arms.

"This thing--" Draco kicked at the unconscious half-man. "--attacked them. Where did it come from anyway?"

Gestahl squirmed in his mother's embrace. "Mmm . . . Banon . . ."

"What?"

Tears welled up and poured out of Banon's eyes. "Gestahl and I found it out in the foothills. We though it was lost or injured, so we . . . so I . . . decided to bring it back to the castle."

"But son, this thing is dangerous. You don't even know what it is or where it came from. What possible reason could you have for wanting to bring it here?"

Banon's voice became liquid and he had to struggle to get his words out. "Because I didn't want the same thing happening to someone else. I'm sorry dad, I didn't mean for Gestahl to get hurt."

Draco was taken aback by his son's reply, and Maria reached out to touch his arm. He smiled and threw his arms around him.

"It's okay, son," he replied, even as Banon apologized profusely into his father's shoulder. "It's okay, you did well. I'm so proud of you."

Gestahl turned to look at his father and Banon, the agony in his vertebrae suddenly gone. Unbelievable, he thought bitterly to himself, I almost get paralyzed and burnt to a crisp, and dad is proud of him? He continued to stare a set of acidic daggers towards his brother even after his father started talking again.

"Maria, take the kids inside. I'll send for a doctor just as soon as I'm done taking care of . . . whatever this is."

"You're not going to kill it, are you dad?"

He eyed his youngest son as only a benevolent king and father could have.

"No Banon," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not going to kill it."

Draco waited until he was alone with the quivering pile of near-human muscle before grabbing it by both its arms.

"Not yet, anyway."

* * *

Daylight crept back behind the mountains to the west, its recline beneath a wisp of cumulus staining the dusky sky pink and turquoise. The many cobbled avenues of Vector, which had been teeming with street vendors and their patrons less than an hour earlier, had since grown dark and quiet. Like a recently dammed-up river, only the scattered trickle of activity continued on into the night. It was the idea of their city being overrun by late-night drunkards and streetwalkers that made Maria finally close the shutters for the evening.

"Novel?" she asked her husband, sitting alongside him near the mantelpiece.

"Novella," he corrected, "By a lad named Yohalem. Figured I'd do a little reading for a change, to try and get my mind off of what happened today."

She leaned her head on his shoulder while brushing a hand across his chest. "Is it doing the trick?"

"Not really." She picked her head up momentarily as he clamped the book shut and slid it back into place on one of the shelves. "Bit of a grim tale, to be honest. Does little to soothe the soul."

"Well, if it helps to ease your mind any, the little ones are doing much better now than they had been this morning. Banon's injury wasn't all that serious to begin with, and it doesn't look like Gestahl broke anything in that fall he took."

Draco moved to place an arm around her, which she nestled into soundlessly.

"Still, I'll feel a lot better after that doctor from town shows up and gives them each a clean bill of health. I look forward to putting this day behind us."

They both sat silently for several moments, basking in the glow of their candlelight as well as each other. After some time, Draco felt her sink deeper into his arms and he began to think she was starting to doze off. He, then, saw that her eyes were wide open, apparently staring at the long, dark shadows which their candelabras wrought upon the stone walls.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked.

She gave a shake with her head that sent her golden hair dancing. "You'll think that I'm foolish."

"Never."

So, she turned and looked at him. "I think this city has begun to make me a bit paranoid. It's not the innocent little hamlet it was when we first became king and queen. These people are changing. Everything's changing."

"That is the way the world works, Maria."

"But does it really have to? You . . ." She broke eye contact with him, struggling against mincing words with her husband of all people. "I'm not blind to what it is you're trying to do for them. You lay down a network of trade routes, you keep peace treaties with the hinterlands. You like keeping everybody connected, but control can unite in ways diplomacy can't."

Her last statement in particular seemed to strike a nerve with him. "Are you implying that Vector is a kingdom of undisciplined ruffians?"

"What I'm saying is that fear is as every bit the tool of a kingdom's success as peace. If a nation isn't feared by its enemies, what will stop our enemies from plowing right over us?"

"I think I hear the doctor knocking," he said, more for the sake of ending their conversation than pursuing it any further.

It was unbeknownst to either of them that the entire time his two parents had been talking, Gestahl was resting in a tub of shallow water in the room next door - hanging intently on their every word.

* * *

"Somebody call for a doctor?"

The two silver-clad guards posted at the castle entrance regarded the spectacled little man before them with suspicion. While their king had given them no real detail as to the one that was expected to arrive, the man which entreated entrance before them now looked more the part of a doctor's apprentice than an actual doctor.

"Are you sure you're the one His Majesty sent for?" uttered the leftmost guard in a monotone voice. "We were informed that the one stopping by this evening was closer to middle-aged."

"Yes," said the man before them, pushing the horn-rimmed specs up along the bridge of his nose. "Well, the town physician has requested that I see his patients this evening. I completed my apprenticeship beneath his tutelage just last week."

The second guard stepped forward, more for the purpose of putting his own two cents in than to be thorough with their visitor. "Gonna have to see your stamp collection first, son."

"Ah, yes. Well, I have a better idea." Very discreetly, the man reached into his robe pockets. "How about you take two of these--"

Two tiny vials of glimmering red dust were suddenly airborne, shattering upside each guard's visor. Before either of them could draw a sword, they both went down in discordant heaps - snoring soundly.

"--and call me in the morning?"

He hastily flung aside the phony robe and glasses, reminding himself not to get overconfident while there was still a short-tempered esper running amok. With a quick brushdown of his white-and-scarlet cape, he took in a tired breath and allowed himself in.

* * *

Banon tossed in his sleep, unable to keep visions of their fiery attacker from his mind for more than a few seconds at a time. In the dark, his bed sheets rustled and his voice called out against something that wasn't there - at least, not there in the room with him. From climbing trees to scaling foothills, he thought for sure that all the day's activity would have tired him out too much to take notice of a passing nightmare. But that simply wasn't the case and he finally bolted upright in his bed, sweat clinging to his brow like a shiny cloth.

"Mom, dad . . . ow!" He grimaced as the bandage around his arm twisted against his skin. "I had a bad dream and I can't get back to sleep."

His bare feet made soft patting sounds against cold flagstone as he made his way to the door. He started to reach out for the knob when he heard a loud clatter from somewhere down on the first level. It sounded akin to pots and pans crashing onto the floor and for a moment, Banon got the idea that his mother was making him something in the kitchen. Just as he finally found the doorknob, however, a peek out through the frame told him a much different story.

The large double doors in their foyer hung open, both guards posted at the bridge were now unconscious, and a strange man whom Banon had never laid eyes on before was saundering about as though he owned the place.

Could he be their doctor? Banon wondered silently. And if he was, what reason could he possibly have for knocking out their night watchmen?

Deciding to go with his gut instinct, he huddled down near the door and ever so carefully pried it open. Down below, the stranger lingered near the bannister of their grand staircase. His eyes cased over each of the castle's rooms that were within eyeshot and detected movement. Upstairs, Banon scrambled around a corner and down a hallway before the red-caped man could find him. Heavy boots galloped up the stairway, and Banon disappeared behind the first door his hands found the knob to. Gestahl's door.

"Gestahl? Gestahl, wake up!" He shook at the bed sheets vehemently, waiting for a reaction but not immediately receiving one. "Gestahl!"

His brother finally gave a grunt as Banon's hands found a sore spot along his back. Gestahl turned over, saw that it was his brother, then turned over again. "What do 'you' want?" he murmured, half asleep.

Banon was too panic-stricken to notice the suddenly surly tone to Gestahl's voice. "It's a robber or something. He's going to find us, I think he's already found me! We have to get to mom and dad and get out of here!"

"Relax, would ya? The castle guards will take care of him."

"No!" Banon swung around to the other side of his brother's bed. "He's already knocked them out. He's coming up the stairs right now and he's gonna get us too. Come on, come on!"

"Fine," he growled, very carefully tossing the covers off of him before going to the door. "We'll get mom and dad. That way, they can ground you for spreading around these ridiculous stories and I can finally get some sle--"

The caped stranger stood out in the hallway, apparently waiting for the two boys to show themselves. Banon and Gestahl opened their mouths to scream but no sound came out. The man before them looked amused by their expressions, keeping a finger over his lips as though silencing them of his own free will.

"It's alright," he said to them, with a voice that was as every bit subtle as his Mute spell. "I'm not going to hurt you. All I want is the esper."

"A . . . an . . . an esper . . ." Banon stammered, intrigued at being able to speak again. "What . . . what's an esper?"

He smiled and stooped down. "It's a monster that can make itself a man. They live in a very far-off place."

Banon began to feel more relaxed. "Far off, like . . . Mobliz?"

The caped man chuckled. "Far off, like another world."

Banon's eyes shone with bewilderment.

"Who . . . who are you, mister?" Gestahl demanded, trying to sound brave but totally blowing it.

"Ah yes, my apologies. My name is Strago, and I've been chasing after this creature for five days now. I was able to track it as far as Albrook, but then got sidetracked when a storm slammed the continent."

"The storm!" Banon exclaimed. "Right. We found it in the foothills the day after it ended."

"Where is it now, do you know?"

Gestahl answered before Banon had a chance to. "Dad said he was going to take care of it, but that could mean anything."

"Alright then, I'll take it from here." He took out a small bronze rod from beneath his cape. Its glimmering crystal head earned another gasp of wonder from the younger sibling. "You two go and find your folks, then get to safety."

He began to go back the way he had come when Gestahl snatched up a handful of his cape. "Get to safety? But this is our home! What do you plan to do with our home?"

"Your home is about to become a battleground, son. Leave with your family while you still have the chance."

"But you can't--"

Strago heard no more of it and leapt down over the second-floor railing in pursuit of his prey.

"Banon, what are we going to do? We can't just let that guy do what he wants in our castle."

"Let's at least get mom and dad and tell them what we know."

Gestahl didn't seem satisfied with Banon's reply but realized there was nothing else he could do. Still in their bed clothes, the two of them ran down towards the end of the hallway where the master bedroom was. When they got there, they found their mother sitting next to the mantelpiece. Her face seemed preoccupied as her old-style music box tried in vain to comfort her with the tunes of "Troian Beauty".

"Mom," Banon called out in the doorway. "Put your robe on! We're leaving!"

"We're not going anywhere." Gestahl shoved his way past his brother, concerned for his mother's aloofness. "Mom, what's the matter? Where's dad?"

Maria tilted her head towards her eldest son, giving him a sad-looking smile. "Your father . . . went downstairs. He said he heard the doctor coming."

"But that's just it, he's not a doctor. He's just some whacko who's out to hunt the creature that attacked us."

"Strago's no whacko!" Banon protested. "He's only trying to protect us from the esper!"

"Oh really, the same way your bringing it here was supposed to protect others?" Gestahl gave him an absolutely unreadable look then, unreadable because he had never shown this much hatred towards his brother before. "It obviously didn't do much to protect those two guards that got knocked out."

"He didn't kill--"

"That's enough!" Maria shouted, finding her feet. "Save your bickering for another time, you two. Right now, we have to find your father."

"Sorry, mom," they both said.

She sighed and disappeared into her closet, apparently heedless of the music that continued to play its Troian ballad. As his mother threw on her robe, Banon twiddled his fingers in apprehension. He couldn't help but ask the question which kept gnawing on his mind.

"Mom, what did dad do with the esper?"

Maria tied the loose sash of her robe tight around her waist. "He didn't kill it, if that's what you're asking. He locked it up down in the cellar."

Banon nodded, then exchanged a nervous glance with Gestahl. It had suddenly occurred to the both of them that they had failed to inform either of their parents of the esper's ability to conjure up flames at will.

"What else do we have in the cellar?" Gestahl asked.

"Nothing much. Some family heirlooms, an old carriage, a wine cellar . . ."

The two brother's looked at each other.

"Why?"

An explosion suddenly rocked Vector castle down to its very foundations. Several smaller ones following as bottles from the old vineyard detonated several stories below. All three of them had their feet taken out from under them, but Maria was back up in a heartbeat - running out the door and screaming her husband's name.

"Mom, wait!"

Banon helped Gestahl find his bearings again, though he was too concerned with his mother to mutter so much as a simple thank-you in response. Without another word, the two brothers chased her back out into the corrider, trying their best to ignore the flames lashing up at the latticed windows from outside.

* * *

Several minutes before the first explosion went off, Strago's rod was already prompting him halfway down the spiral stairway into the Vector castle sublevel. His instrument was infallible, being perfectly synchronized with the life energies of any esper within a five-mile radius. Only the quick and the dead stood any chance of falling below the Magi warrior's range, and he used this knowledge to spearhead his search. As he tread deeper and deeper into the musky cellar, the telltale creak from the old wooden steps prompted someone to call out in the darkness.

To Strago's dismay, the voice was human.

"Who goes there?" the voice asked. "Is that you, Maria?"

"Your Majesty, I presume?" Circling around a large motorized carriage to where the voice emanated from, he decided to go ahead and continue where he left off on his role as doctor. "I'm the physician you sent for. For your two children?"

"Ah yes . . ."

On the opposite side of the cellar, Strago could barely make out what appeared to be a large steel cage with its door hanging open. The esper couldn't have been more than a few meters away now, so if the king really was nearby he was taking an awfully big chance by lingering there.

"Neither of your boys have suffered any life-threatening injuries, however I'd like for you and your family to come with me into town. The young ones may still need some antibiotics."

Something around the corner flared into life then, and the voice that had once belonged to Draco suddenly took on a savage overtone.

"The boys, yes. I shall be moving on to them . . . in a moment . . ."

Strago started to question such an unusual statement, when he rounded the last bend and gasped. It was the same emblazoned esper with cherub wings he had been pursuing for the past week, yet it spoke with King Draco's voice - while King Draco's intestines hung down from its mouth.

" . . . right after I'm through with you!"

He sighed and started twirling his rod about in a wide arch, preparing himself for the onslaught he knew was inevitable. As it cascaded through empty space, the rod began to carve a triangular glyph into the air before him. The esper reacted, roaring as though he had fought this battle before. Fire and lightning erupted from its physique, engulfing the cellar with blinding radiance. Something exploded a split second after the glyph started to spin, sheltering the mage from the blast but giving his hunt ample opportunity to escape.

"Those boys . . . their mother . . ." The mage gave a grunt as he heaved a smoldering rafter up off of him. "This hunt cannot continue now. I must help them to escape, while it can still do them any good."

Coughing and burying his nose in his cape, Strago darted for the spiral stairwell while uttering a hasty spell for breathable air in the process. The amber haze of heat and light caused him to stumble more than once on his way up but finally the creaky wooden causeway came to be replaced with a flagstone floor and walls. The pitter-patter of children's footsteps chased after him and before he could call out, Banon, Gestahl, and Maria rounded a corner to his position. The three of them had some very concerned looks on their faces.

"Did you find the esper?" Banon asked him.

"Where's dad?" Gestahl followed up by saying.

"Who are you?" was all Maria said.

Strago pushed his way passed them, heading for the door. "There's no time to explain right now. We have to get out of here before this castle eats itself out from the ground up."

He felt a pair of hands suddenly seize the middle of his cape and learned that it was Draco's eldest son.

"Where's our father? What did you do with him?" Gestahl shook the mage with each question asked of him. "If you don't tell me right now I'll--"

"The esper got to him before I could." Strago took hold of the boy's suddenly still hands. "There was nothing I could do for him. I'm sorry."

The two brothers simply stared, unable to comprehend the loss. Their mother stood a little ways behind them, a hand held up to her quivering lips.

"Oh my hero, no . . ."

The flagstone foyer at the foot of the entrance unexpectedly crumbled in on itself and below, through the dust and rubble, a set of piercing yellow eyes glared up at them. His arms spread-eagled, Strago backed the family away from the opening in the floor. His eyes strained to stare the creature down.

"Is there another way out of here?" The shellshocked brothers and their mother couldn't bring themselves to answer at first. "Stay with me back there! Is there another door out of this place? Come on, think!"

Banon, breaking from his reverie from the force of the mage's question, finally answered. "The back door," he said, unaware that he was sobbing, "Dad's study has a way out to the gazebo."

"Then go." His crystal-tipped rod was back into Strago's hands in a heartbeat. "I'll hold it back for as long as I can."

Gestahl started to protest. "But this is our--"

"Go!"

His voice seemed magically amplified and the family began to obey when a tide of fire erupted from the hole in the floor, turning flagstone into brimstone. The young mage tried to throw up a Shield spell as quick as he could, but he simply couldn't get the cantrip out fast enough. The four of them were thrown back from the force of the killing tide, with the remnants of Strago's protective aura able to slow down some of the stone fragments but not all of them. As the mage struggled to regain his vertical base, his eyes widened on an esper that was now floating above the rift - and drifting towards them!

"You just don't learn, do you?"

But Banon and Gestahl were no longer paying the two foes any mind. The hellish blast of stone and shrapnel had their mother lying prone on the floor - a large wedge of cornerstone embedded into her chest.

"Mom?"

"Don't move, okay? You're going to be fine."

But Maria was barely able to hear them, her conscious thought holding on only by a thread. The lithe and beautiful woman sputtered blood as she reached out a hand to one of her two sons. The one she found was Gestahl.

"Mom, don't go. There'll be no one left to look after us. Mom, please . . ."

Her delicate hand caressed his face as only a loving mother's could. "Take care . . ." she wheezed, ". . . of Vector . . . of yourselves. Be good . . ."

She exhaled one last ragged breath, and the two brothers waited for her to draw in another one. But it never came. Her head lolled, her eyes fluttered, and then the heavy sleep of eternity descended upon her.

All of reality seemed to slow down around them. Neither Gestahl nor Banon heard the fire break its way up from out of the cellar, or even Strago loosing a bolt of elemental magic that brought the ceiling down on top of the war-crazed esper. The next thing they felt was a hand grabbing hold of their shirt collars and shoving them out along the back way. Even that didn't seem quick enough to spare them the horror of it all. The moment stayed with them long after the two brothers fled to the safety of the starry night.

Meanwhile, the esper - buried beneath the burning rubble of Vector castle - smiled.

* * *

The funeral was a simple affair, reserved only for family members, the royal guard, and a handful of foreign dignitaries. Both brothers stood silent throughout the service, paying little or no attention to the condolence speeches given by a Doman sentry or even the chancellor of Figaro. It all passed them by in an instant, until both brothers were alone with their parents' monument on the hillside. The dismal gray overcast only seemed to amplify the sorrow which Banon felt.

Gestahl, on the other hand, was feeling something else entirely.

"I can't believe they're gone." Banon struggled to keep the tears from his eyes, but the obsidian stone in front of them wouldn't let him. "What's going to happen to us without them? Are things ever going to get better for us?"

Gestahl, however, couldn't keep his eyes away from the monument that had been Vector castle - a monument that was now as black as their mother and father's grave marker. "I can't really speak for us," he told him, "I can only speak for myself, and the township of Vector."

Banon sniffled and looked at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Hasn't the chancellor told you?" When it seemed that his only answer would be his brother's dumbfounded face, Gestahl continued. "With both of our parents dead, the throne passes over to the eldest son - me."

"Oh," Banon said, only partially understanding. "But what about me? What do I get?"

Sparks of contempt flashed in Gestahl's eyes, making Banon feel uneasy. It was the same look he had been given the day the two of them brought the esper home.

"The chancellor and I spoke about that, and we both think it would be best if you didn't stay here anymore."

"What? But you can't! We're--"

"We're brothers?" Gestahl finished for him. "No. That excuse won't work anymore, not since you allowed for one of those esper creatures into our home and tear it apart from the inside out."

"But I . . . I put the needs of the many before the needs of the few. Mom and dad understood that. Why can't you?"

"Because it's an attitude that will mark the end of Vector!" Gestahl's voice took on a harsh and explosive life. "Fifty years from now, no one will remember this place, these people, not even mom and dad! I'm pulling out the stops here and now, and the stops start with you!"

Banon staggered a little ways down the grassy slope, feeling smaller and more vulnerable than he actually was. Could the chancellor really be condoning all of this? Where was he supposed to go?

"I can't believe you're doing this to me . . . to us." He turned back to their mother and father's obelisk, wanting to take back so many things he had done that fated day in the meadow but unable to do so. "Just . . . why?"

Gestahl remained indifferent as he spoke. "To watch over the legacy our parents left behind. Mom and dad understood that. Why can't you?"

"Brother . . ."

But Gestahl was through listening to him. With a rose in one hand and a makeshift crutch in the other, the Vector prince lingered a moment longer to pay his last respects and then hobbled his way back into town. Banon stayed, not knowing what to do, where to go, or even what to feel. A stiff breeze finally rustled the grass at his feet, and he realized with no small degree of anguish that his own rose lay ruined in his clenched fist. The crushed pedals tumbled from his tiny fingers, fingers that had gone numb since the esper had attacked him. That was when it hit him.

The wound on his arm had vanished . . .

* * *

Time passed.

Minutes on the hillside in Vector turned to hours, and then into days. The world passed into transition, changing vibrant greenery into an inferno of autumnal colors before the cruel hand of Winter wrung it all from their branches. And so it was that after an entire decade had went by, Father Time held his ragged breath for the two brothers. It was up to them now whether or not they chose to let old rivalries be born anew . . .

"That should just about do it."

Muscles twitching and rippling beneath his faded brown tunic, Banon blew loose wisps of hair from his eyes as he fought with the number-nine pressure valve in the Figaro control room. There was no give to it, moving only a few millimeters in the desired direction. It didn't matter. Banon just needed for it to be enough if the experiment was to be a success. He kicked at a nearby clamp, locking the valve in place before scrambling up a scaffolding to check the pressure gauge. He tapped on the glass casing but the needle remained fixed to its spot.

"More torque," he heard himself say, and then leaned out over the edge of the platform. "Renzo, it needs more torque!"

"It's already at its limit," a gravelly voice called back from down in the corridor.

"Then get your bearded butt up here and help me with this valve!" Banon worked his way back down to the lower landing while Renzo worked his way up. "If there's not enough steam to turn those drills this time, then we've pretty much wasted an entire weekend rebuilding them."

"You don't have to go tellin' me stuff I already - ugh, know!" His last word fractured beneath the strain he put into the valve, bracing it from moving in one direction while Banon kept jerking it the opposite way. "I've pretty much been, uh, working with the king on this for as long as, oof, you've been."

Banon never answered, only grinned as he locked the clamp back into place. Banon had been here since Gestahl (only on the very rarest of occasions did he call him 'brother' anymore) had exiled him a decade earlier. The chancellor of Figaro was the first to hear of the young boy's dilemma, and thus was the first to extend to him the hand of good fellowship as a friend of his late father. Renzo found his way to the kingdom two years after Banon did, not because he particularly enjoyed the company of royalty but because he needed the work. The two of them had been friends ever since.

"Okay. Let's see if we got it this time." Again, Banon scaled the scaffolding, as quickly and gracefully as the last hundred times he had done so, and checked the gauge. This time, he wouldn't be disappointed. "Success! We got it!"

"We do? Hot dog!" Renzo clapped his two hands together, genuinely proud of himself. "I told ya. Didn't I tell ya? All it needed was a bit of elbow grease."

Banon beamed, slapping him on the back. "You did indeed, old friend. So, what do we do now?"

"What the king had been asking us to do all along." He ascended to the upper level of the platform and pulled the clear casing away from a bright red buttom. "Do you want to do the honors or should I?"

"Well, call me a stick-in-the-mud, but don't you think the king would find something amiss when he returns from his hunting trip and discovers the castle missing?"

"Probably, but at least then he'd know we got his Submerge Mode up and running."

"One step at a time, Renzo." Banon stooped down to gather up his tools. "Why don't you go and inform the chancellor of our progress first? If anyone needs to find me, just tell them I'll be in the library - researching something."

Renzo conceded, still unaccustomed to the ways a kingdom worked but glad to have a little assistance. Banon retired to the library then, not wishing to linger within Figaro's many carpeted halls and chambers any longer than he needed to. Their elegance and grace was a painful reminder as to the home he had been banished from - before it had went up in flames.

Everything was as he had left it, and with so many of the kingdom's staff preoccupied with other affairs he was often free to conduct his studies undisturbed. He gave the card catalogue a quick perusing through before finding the book he was looking for, then took his usual spot at the table nearest the back. The book was called "Espers and Outcasts", written by the very same man who had hunted an esper in his home some ten years earlier.

". . . since the War of the Magi, primary source material has become a testament to the chaotic psychology of the esper race. Though not evil by nature, first-hand accounts from Magi Warriors prove conclusively that the atrocities of war have made berserkers out of many a calm and collected esper . . ."

"Shhhh," said a young woman across the way.

"Sorry," he whispered, unaware he had been reading aloud. He gave a quick scan of the open book to find where he had left off.

". . . calm and collected esper. Some Thamasian scholars even hold to the belief that espers were once like us, and that one violent confrontation made them into the creatures they are today. In this light, it has always been assumed that espers in their human form are only capable of curative magic . . ." v "Excuse me, could you please--"

Banon lowered the book this time, and he and the young woman made eye contact. For a moment, they were both at a loss for words. Her beauty struck him dumb, from her lightly tanned skin to her dark sweeping hair, every square millimeter of her fascinated him. Banon fumbled over his words, unsure of whether or not she was hesitating for the same reason he was.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"No, I'm sorry."

"No, I am." She went over to his table. "I had no idea you were the one helping His Majesty with his experiment."

"How did you know that?" he asked, not thinking before speaking.

She touched her forehead. "Well, you have a little bit of . . ."

"Oh," he said, wiping the grease from his brow. "Yes. I'm a mess, aren't I?"

"No." She gave him what Banon thought was the sweetest smile he had ever seen. His heart fluttered in his chest. "I don't suppose you could tell me anything about the experiment, could you? It's been all the buzz since His Majesty started working on it."

"Sorry, it's classified." With a rag in hand, he cleaned away whatever grease was left clinging to his hands and face. "The king wishes for the project to be tested first before anyone else is informed about it."

"Oh. Well, can I ask what your name is? Or is that classified too?"

He laughed. "It's Banon."

They shook each other's hand.

"I'm Gayle."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." She pulled up a chair alongside him. "So, what is it that you're reading anyway? It's something about espers, isn't it?"

"Yeah, there's something I've been trying to understand."

"About magic?"

"In a manner of speaking." He flipped through a few of the pages idly for good measure. "I know I only just met you, but would you be able to keep a secret if I showed you something?"

"Sure, I guess."

He reached down into his toolbox and pulled out one of his utility knives. Before Gayle had a chance to react to the gesture, he drew a slit down slantways across his forearm. Blood ran unchecked from the wound along either side of the tabletop.

"Banon, my Goddess! What are you--"

"Keep watching."

The wound began to sparkle blue, clotting over and then turning to scar tissue. Seconds after the sliver of metal passed through his flesh, the cut disappeared.

"Oh wow," she stammered, "That was just . . . oh wow."

"And this is where the secret comes in." He flipped back to the page he had been reading before Gayle came along. "My brother and I were both attacked by an esper once, and from what I gather from all these texts I've been studying, it's done something to us."

"What--you mean it's given you the ability to heal yourself?"

"Well, apparently. But I can heal other people as well. Here, give me your arm."

She pulled back from him. "Uh, no. That's fine, I'll take your word for it."

"Right, sorry. Well anyway, I think it happened to me because the esper was in its human form when it attacked us. Look at this . . ." He read back the proper passage in verbatim. "'It has always been assumed that espers in their human form are only capable of curative magic'. That would explain it, wouldn't it?"

"Whoa, slow down for a second. Let's just say that what you're saying is true, that somehow this esper gave you the ability to heal. What do you suppose an esper would do to someone if it attacked while it was still in its pure form?"

Almost the second Gayle started to ask the question, Banon's thoughts returned to Gestahl. He had been attacked in a cave, while the creature bled hellfire. Could that have been its true form? What ghastly effect did it now have on the current ruler of Vector? Banon felt his throat lock up.

"I don't know," he finally answered. "I must admit though, I'm suddenly curious."

Gayle was about to say something in response when Renzo burst into the room, waving around a yellow slip of parchment over his head.

"Renzo?" Banon squinted at his bearded comrade. "What's up? Did you tell the chancellor about our progress today?"

"I did," he said, "and he gave me this telegram to give to you. He said it was urgent."

Perplexed as to who could possibly know as to his whereabouts, he snatched the message out of Renzo's callused palm and broke its seal open. Banon glanced at the parchment for only a second before realizing who it was from.

"Banon," Gayle asked. "Who sent it?"

He didn't immediately answer, but instead gave the enclosed oak branch an idle spin between his thumb and forefinger. All too quickly, he was beginning to understand the changes which the esper attack was having on his older sibling.

"It's from Gestahl," he told them. "He's just dissolved the monarchy of Vector."

* * *

Through the blackened vestiges of his former home, Gestahl scavenged for sustenance. The castle had been beyond hope since it had burned down ten years ago, and he never even bothered trying to rebuild it (for fear of reviving some very painful memories). The chancellor would have been the first to step in and insist he make the attempt, and he was no longer part of the picture. He had died of exposure while en route to Maranda on a mission of goodwill - or so Gestahl had told his subordinates.

"Who's there?"

Gestahl jerked upright, reacting to what he believed to be a body going through their burnt-out stairwell. He picked himself up from the soot and went out into the main chamber, finding that their chandelier had finally given way from the ceiling. He sighed and resumed his frantic search.

Dissolving the monarchy had been an understandably moot choice for the entire township. With a center of power no longer in effect, Vector suffered significantly. The five or so years he had spent as king was marked with some bad decision-making that had completely emptied the kingdom's coffers. No wealth meant a decline in trade relations, and Albrook and Nikeah each fell back on their agreements as a result. Suddenly, silks and spices, pelts and perishables, supplies of any kind stopped arriving. Vendors and their patrons became more and more scarce in the streets, and it took everything Gestahl and his men could muster to keep the town from collapsing under the weight of the chaos its king had made for it. On the other hand . . .

Gestahl coughed as a cabinet door came apart in his hand. What other hand was there? he heard himself ask. He did what he did in response to his father's way of doing things, but what did that ultimately get him? A blackened castle? A handful of subjects? A town that could self-destruct at any minute? What did it get him?

"Mother . . ."

His hands kept probing the interior of the cabinet blindly, hoping to happen across some gin or perhaps a flask of whiskey to both fill his stomach and deaden the pain all at once. Instead, his wandering fingers closed around a simple wooden box with no lock on it. Gestahl turned it over in his hand once, and then twice. It had apparently suffered no damage from the fire, and in breaking its simple iron clasp a sea of letters tumbled out. He gave them closer inspection, cycling through each one at a turm. Poems, messages from carrier pigeons, love letters . . .

He knew immediately that they belonged to his parents.

"Oh my hero, so far away now, will I ever see your smile? Love goes away like night into day. It's just a fading dream . . ."

He threw the page to one side and picked up another one, this time a letter:

To My Dearest Draco - through whom all pains are eased.

This is truly a joyous occasion, for both us and our people. I knew you would come and take me away from Ralse, for the spirit of the East holds no sway over the love which you and I both share. Your duel's end has not only brought an end to his reign, but has also united the Vec and Tor kingdoms as one. I have every confidence that through you, our kingdom shall grow to become the strongest and most feared in all of Balance. There is still much to do, but we will prevail. Of this, I am sure. I can hardly wait to know the shelter of your loving arms again. Until then, I will be with you always.

~ Maria

Gestahl read the letter over several more times, his hatred kept fed with each word spoken. The scars on his back twitched and the blood in his veins boiled. How could one stand that man and his blind pursuit of peace? If it weren't for his father's doing, his mother may still be alive with this Ralse person. Vector had lost everything because of--

The letter burst into flames, throwing Gestahl onto his back from the sound alone.

"I hate it . . . when that happens . . ."

He gave a grunt of discomfort as he brought himself up into a sitting position. His back creaked and complained from the effort, and that was when it hit him. That was when he knew what it was he still had in the wake of mounting tension, when he knew precisely what it would take to make Vector powerful again. It was the gift his resident esper had already given unto him, an ability no other human among him had.

The gift of Magic.

* * *

A crack of thunder tore across the sky, leaving a deafening boom hanging in the rainy night air. Gestahl's men had pushed for them to be allowed to accompany him as he ventured over into what was formerly the Tor district of town. But he refused, telling them that they were needed elsewhere. No longer were there any knights in Vector, no retainers to the throne or guardians to the watch towers. They were only men now, consigned to watching after the many town guilds and make sure their numbers didn't dwindle any further.

The former monarch had only to cross a single avenue on the far side of town to understand how bad things had degenerated. What had been a mere eyesore during the reign of his two parents was now the underbelly of society torn wide open. Trash fires were everywhere, smoking and stinking up one street after the next. At the end of the block, a savage dog fight attracted the attention of anyone within earshot. Gestahl began to approach it himself, until a heartrending cry of a canine in anguish split the air. The owner of the winning dog trotted off with his winnings while the loser was cut down by a starving vagrant, who then proceeded to tear the helpless animal apart with his bare hands.

"Hold up, you bastard!"

"Grab 'em! Get 'em! The fuck!"

Backpedaling, Gestahl took cover around a street corner as several of the spectators overtook the winner. Two of them took the man's legs out from under him with cudgels and steel chains, making sure he was beaten into unconsciousness or worse before robbing him blind.

"Hey, get his watch!"

"Hands off his boots! They're mine!"

Push turned to shove, until the assailants were mugging each other for the stolen goods. Gestahl fell back into the shelter of a nearby alley before it got too out of hand. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, he found two others sharing the alleyway with him.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh . . ."

"Yeah, yeah. Ya like that, don't ya?"

He took a step back towards the way he had come, where some harlot was busy offering her services to whatever nobody it was that could still afford her fee. He hastily abandoned his would-be refuge, almost certain that the man in the alley had once been a peddler of fine fabrics before all of this got started.

Things seemed to get foggier and more metaphysical with each unsteady step he took, and he began to yearn for a home that he knew no longer existed. He tried to find some balance by bracing himself against a lamppost, but it only served to increase the nausea he had been feeling since first coming to this place. The bile finally rose up into his throat, and he hadn't the strength left to force it back down again. He leaned over and heaved out whatever was still in his stomach while Vector continued to unravel around him. Despair started to sink in.

Then his thoughts returned to his mother.

I have every confidence that through you, our kingdom shall grow to become the strongest and most feared in all of Balance . . .

He brushed a hand across his stubble-length goatee, and kept walking.

The rain continued to come down in a torrent, starting to build up in the cracks between the cobblestones and course down the roads in rivulets. Gestahl walked with his head bowed low, hidden beneath his deep brown hood so as to ward off any unwanted attention. He had to have been getting closer. This was the heart of Tor territory after all, the heart of the kingdom which had come before his father's. He was here somewhere. He wasn't about to buy into the rumors of him skipping town, even if it was the most viable option for a person at this point.

He soldiered along the verminous paths until a blue-haired woman with a scar on her cheek jumped out in front of him.

"For two hundred gil," she entreated, holding her coat open for him. "How 'bout it, handsome?"

Gestahl kept his eyes averted. "No thanks."

"C'mon, man!" She held her coat open even as he brushed his way past her. "Alright, for one hundred gil. But that's as low as I can go. If he doesn't get his fifty percent before the night's out--"

Gestahl spun around. "He? Who's he?"

"Uh, no one. Nevermind." The streetwalker started to tie up the sash around her waistcoat. "I'm sorry."

"Hey!"

She turned and started to run but slipped in the middle of the street. Grabbing a handful of her hair, Gestahl pulled her back to her feet with a dagger nipped against her abdomen.

"Talk," he warned her, "now."

"If I tell you, he'll kill me!"

"If you don't tell me, I'll kill you!"

She wriggled around in his grasp, trying to break the hold he had on her. Gestahl drew a weak gash with the blade across her belly, not enough to critically wound her but enough to let her know his intentions were sincere. The woman screamed but he held her fast.

"Last chance! Speak!"

"Ralse! His name is Ralse!"

The game was afoot, he thought, and finally let her go.

"Take me to him."

* * *

There was not all that much more remaining of Ralse's castle than there was of Draco's. It didn't appear any taller than the average townhouse, with half of the outer walls and pillars now existing as a patchwork of crumbling stone and mortar. Ragged banners of the old family line hung flaccid in the midnight rain, while wooden ladders and shallow stepping stones took the place of a bridge that had collapsed long ago. Near the entrance, a fat, bearded man in worn leather sat sipping at his ale and looked almost to be enjoying the weather they were having.

"Halt," he called out to the two visitors, belching before saying anything else. "Who goes there at this hour?"

"It's me again," said Gestahl's escort, seeing little point in introducing herself again. "There's one here who wishes to speak with Ralse."

The guard gave the woman a knowing grin, revealing half a dozen black teeth in the process. Her eyes held an indignant look with him for only a few seconds before looking away.

"And who are you, then?" he asked, turning to Gestahl.

"Your former king."

The man's eyebrows arched, genuinely surprised as he looked the youth over to be sure he coincided with whatever information he had relating to the king of Vector. Gestahl nodded, somewhat amused from the reaction he was receiving.

"Well, well, good news for us." He downed what was left of his ale before giving the goblet a pitch into the moat. "You have no idea how much we've been looking forward to meeting you."

The woman with the scar on her cheek wasted no time, scrambling back up across the stones and up over the embankment before disappearing from sight.

"Hmph," said the guard, pulling aside the tapestry hanging down from the entrance. "Don't pay any mind to her. She broke the code for revealing this lair, so her life's forfeit. But who cares, right? I mean, she's just a whore."

Gestahl said nothing, already halfway inside the main foyer. The lair looked like something out of a pirate's tale, with half-full chests, armor, and weapons all casually strewn about within the many chambers surrounding him. He only received fleeting glimpses of the other rooms, obscured as they were by faint lamplight and dozens of overhanging fabrics kept up for the sole purpose of confusing outsiders. The same scheme continued on into the throne room, just on a much larger scale.

And in the very center of the room, perched upon a pewter throne and idly fondling a slave girl, was Ralse himself. He was as every bit clean-shaven as when he was still king of the realm of Tor, and as every bit regal looking as well. A crown of filigree and precious stones still sat atop his now-bald head, as though he knew he were on the cusp of resurrecting his kingdom.

"Sir," said the portly guard, lingering in the door way, "It is him."

"Excellent." He tossed a garment to his slave, then gestured towards both her and his guard. "Leave us. I wish to speak with him in private."

Gestahl started to speak even before Ralse's underlings had completely left the room. "I was right. I knew you'd still be prowling around the slums of town. Eager to take back what was once yours, hmmm?"

Ralse cracked his neck from side to side. It was clear he had waited long for this. "It appears that I, too, was correct. I knew it would only be a matter of time before your duties as king forced you into hiding with the rest of us."

"You would be wrong, then." Gestahl took a few steps towards him, suddenly catching several of the wall hangings twitching out of the corner of his eye. "And that being the case, I've come here tonight to make you a proposition - a proposition for an alliance."

"Oh please, stop pretending to be something that you're not. Do you truly believe you're in control of things around here? What do you think it is that keeps Vector from getting fed to the worms, do you really think your little group of yesmen have anything to do with it? If it weren't for our incentives to the guilds or the raids we had launched against trading ships, this city would have burned itself out years ago."

A moment of silence passed between them, as Gestahl took a few seconds to digest what it was Ralse had to say. Then, as calm and collected as ever, Gestahl repeated, "I propose an alliance."

Ralse sighed. "Go on, then."

"We share a kinship, you and I, and that kinship is hatred towards the same man. To me, the man was so blinded by his own idealism that he failed to realize the fantastic possibilities that could come from Vector. To you, he swept away your one true love and reduced the realm of Tor to a puppet state. You know of whom I speak."

"Draco." Ralse spoke the name allowed as his two hands throttled the arms of his throne. "Indeed. I haven't spoken that name aloud in a very long time. You have your father's eyes, you know. Did he ever tell you that?"

Rage flared inside of Gestahl's eyes, and for half an instant, Ralse thought he could see smoke spewing out from the sleeves of his robe.

"Let us be united in our common interest, then. Let us both work side by side to create the township which Draco could never hope to imagine, much less make a reality. What say you?"

Ralse pursed his lips in thought, then took a swig of his whiskey from a nearby pitcher to help spur along his decision-making process. He pursed his lips again, then straightened in his cushioned seat.

"It's a fine proposal," he said at last, "with considerable merit. It's too bad you didn't decide to become an orator in your early years. You'd have been a shoe-in."

Gestahl smiled, looking pleased with the outcome.

"But you know, on the other hand . . ." Ralse clapped his palms together, and the tapestries fell away to reveal seven heavily armed mercenaries. ". . . the only thing standing between me and a second term as king is you. I think it would be just as easy to remove one obstacle now as opposed to creating several others in the future, don't you think?"

A simple glance around him told Gestahl that these were among Ralse's biggest and strongest foot soldiers, with each one standing close to seven feet tall and employing every manner of weapon from sword to crossbow. He should have run, except that he found the same fat guard standing at the exit, an ear-to-ear smile wrapped around his face as he brought a double-handed battleaxe up to bear.

"Nothing I can do to change your mind?" he asked Ralse.

"I'm rather set in my ways, I'm afraid."

Gestahl grinned, his thoughts turning to anger and then his anger becoming manifest throughout every single pore in his body.

"So am I."

All air in the chamber began to ripple and tremble with intense heat. The smug look upon Ralse's face faded as he began to feel his crown burn through what hair still remained on his head. Violently, he batted the diadem to one side and started swatting wildly at his scalp, his crown of jewels now replaced with a crown of flames!

"Gyah!" The heat around him continued to intensify, bringing the pitcher of whiskey next to him close to boiling. "Get him, stop . . . Ah! AH!"

An explosion of alcohol turned the former king into a human torch, and he began running around his chamber in a futile attempt to put out an inferno that was magically generated. Ralse's mercenaries were equally powerless to do anything about it. They all seemed to cry out at once as the heatwave smelted metallic weapons into the flesh of their hands. Wooden weapons became all the more useless, reduced to kindling before a single one could be made use of.

And all the while, Gestahl merely stood there with his eyes closed, his arms folded, and his unconquerable anger burning everything he projected it towards. But now, he realized, the upper hand was his. And he would be damned if he was going to waste it.

Taking his faithful hunting knife back out of concealment, he pitched it towards the guard in the doorway. It penetrated his skull with a sickening thud, and he moved in quickly to claim the slain man's battleaxe. The weapon came away with a hand and several digits smelted into its hilt, but Gestahl didn't relent. Its double-edged blade danced more than it swung, parting superheated flesh as though passing through water. He impaled one, decapitated another, neatly cleaved a third straight down the middle, and so forth until the slowly smoldering body of Ralse was all that remained.

"Wha . . . what are . . . wha . . ."

He continued to burn as Gestahl approached him, the once and future ruler of Vector seemingly immune to the effects of the unholy fire he had created. He touched the axe upon the scorched forehead of his rival, but did not yet swing it.

"I had a feeling you weren't going to take me up on my offer," he told him. "I just figured I'd give my father's way a try first. Now I realize just how much of a fool the man was for placing his trust into peaceful solutions. Only seems fitting that I now send you to join him."

What remained of Ralse coughed and spluttered, utterly beyond protecting himself. Fortunately for him, there was no seeing Draco's eldest son raising his weapon for the final blow, nor was he able to feel it finally when it cleaved his skull in half.

"Lord Ralse! Lord Ralse!" an attendant cried from out in the corridor. "I heard a ruckus! Are you alright? Lord Ral--"

He stopped a foot short of the doorway and gasped. The throne room was in ruins, with half a dozen corpses lying amidst either pools of blood, severed limbs, or still-squirming entrails.

"Ralse is unavailable at the moment," Gestahl replied, spinning the crown around on his index finger. "Can I help you?"

* * *

For several days, Banon wouldn't leave his room. Any thought, feeling, or responsibility he had to the throne of Figaro was forgotten in the wake of his brother's message, and the chancellor seemed at a loss to help him. On several occasions, Gayle brought him his meals but they would go untouched at the foot of his door. Finally, four days after receiving Gestahl's decree, he decided to rejoin the others. He found them all waiting for him in the king's briefing room. Every one of them found their feet upon laying eyes on his haggard, unshaven face.

Gayle was the first to stand, though not quite quick enough to beat the bearded Renzo into speaking first. "Well bless me, laddie! You're starting to look like me with all that stubble of yers. How could things get so bad for you to tolerate looking like me over here?"

The others in the stone-block room couldn't help but give an appreciative laugh to the engineer's comment. The resemblance which a nearly bearded Banon had to his good friend was uncanny after all. But for all of Renzo's good-natured cheer, it simply wasn't enough to diffuse the tension which the last son of Vector brought with him in his presence. His face gave a grimace, drawing his face tight from the many sleepless nights he had endured.

"I'm sorry, you're right." he took a step back towards the door. "It's inappropriate. I'll go and shave, then."

"Banon?" His and Gayle's eyes met as he started to turn around, and she entwined her arm around his. "Sit and talk to us. What is it the king of Vector can say to you that would make you out to be this way?"

The chancellor, already sitting at the head of the king's table, raised his eyes to Banon. But Banon couldn't keep it a secret anymore. Something terrible was about to happen to the world, and he had the nagging suspicion that his brother was going to be responsible for it.

"Gestahl is my blood brother," he said, loud enough so that everyone could hear him. The chancellor threw his head back and sighed, but Banon kept talking. "I never came to the kingdom of Figaro because I was invited, I came because my brother had me banished. He blames me for the deaths of our mother and father, and I feel that he's going to do something terrible to make sure I regret it for the rest of my life. I'm sorry, I've been wanting to tell you all for such a long time. But the chancellor forbid me from doing so, afraid that it would jeopardize the security of the kingdom."

"And so it has!" The chancellor stood, his regal garments spinning as he did so. "You understand that this breach of oath must be reported to His Majesty immediately. I have no doubt he will react harshly. You may even find yourself banished from this kingdom as well."

"I know," Banon said, giving a brief nod.

The chancellor matched the gesture, his eyes full of disgust but also with a hint of sorrow. He had been such a well behaved and intelligent young man up until this point, he thought. How could he go and do this to himself? His heavy breath and anxious footsteps chased him on his way out of the conference room.

"Everything's going to be okay, friend." Renzo gripped his shirt sleeve and started to jitter, the same way he jittered when he and Banon got to drinking caffeinated ale at the pubs in Narshe. It was a quirk that had never ceased to put Banon into stitches. "O-o-o-o-o-o-kay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay?"

Banon only smiled this time, just enough to not hurt his friend's feelings. "Thanks, Renzo."

"He speaks the truth, you know," Gayle said, when the two of them were finally alone. "We'll request an audience before the king or something and petition on your behalf. His Majesty can't just let you go after doing so much for his kingdom. We'll think of something. Renzotoo. He's your best friend, after all."

"Thank-you," said Banon, unable to look at her. "That won't be necessary, though. I don't plan on sticking around here much longer."

* * *

"My Lord . . ."

The chancellor removed his hood and bowed in the presence of his monarch. King Roni VII kept his back turned to him, his regal form and posture almost scintillating in the afternoon rays. He was still quite young, only a year older than Banon was, yet he took all of his official duties as every bit serious as his father had. And right now, his official duties could mean exile for one of his closest friends.

"Chancellor. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The king's right-hand swallowed hard. "It's over, my lord. Banon has broken his oath and now several of your staff know his secret."

"I sensed as much."

The chancellor took a step closer. "These walls are thin and our subjects are many. In no time, this secret will have gotten out. Before we know it, people will be panicking about esper attacks on their hometowns. It poses too much of a risk for your kingdom, sire."

"Perhaps not."

"Sir?"

"It's come to my attention that Banon and Renzo have succeeded in making the castle's Submerge Mode operational. That would help in stemming the flow of sensitive information, would it not?"

"Except that the operation itself is still in its experimental phase," the chancellor replied, sounding unnerved. "And even if it does work, the people of Figaro cannot stay holed up underground forever. As soon as we resurface, trouble may park itself on our doorstep in some other form."

The king sighed, feeling as though he had exhausted every option that was available to them. "I am merely looking for a solution that would benefit all parties."

The chancellor bowed again reverently. "But of course, Your Majesty. It is one of your finest qualities. It's just, well, such a solution never seems forthcoming when it comes to the Vector brothers. Young Banon tried the very same tactic when it came to stemming an esper outbreak. Both of his parents died as a result."

"I see where you're coming from, friend." The king started to clench and unclench his hands behind his back, a mannerism which many understood to be related to his agonizing over a difficult decision. "I just hope that my children will forgive me for what it is I'm about to do."

* * *

"So you're a maid around here, are you?"

Banon and Gayle were back in his quarters, where he finally got around to trying some of her cuisine. Each night that passed when she brought him an uneaten dish, she always knocked briefly on his door and told him not to let his food get cold. He could have been wrong about her of course, that maybe she was just worried about a friend. Gayle, on the other hand, wasn't about to lie to him just when it seemed as though Figaro was about to let him go.

"Well, the king doesn't usually use titles like maid or servant, as he likes to think that we're all equal. But yes, I suppose I am."

"I see," he said, sticking another forkful of chicken salad into his mouth. "Well, it's delicious. Do you outdo yourself like this for everyone you serve?"

She laughed. "You're too kind."

"Oh, not at all." He straightened on his bed, putting the tray to one side. "You have a real gift. I'm just wondering what it was that drew you to Figaro rather than going into business for yourself."

Her smile started to fade, and she broke their gaze. "It's complicated."

"Try me."

She stood and dusted off her apron. "Maybe it would be better if I showed you. Come with me down to the kitchen for a second?"

Taking up his empty tray, Gayle walked alongside Banon down to the lower level of the castle. Other maids and man-servants whom she worked beside on a regular basis nodded and smiled to her as they passed by. They did the same for Banon, though he noticed that it seemed more of a programmed gesture to someone who was not among their ranks. He couldn't help but wonder whether or not people like the chancellor or even the king were given the same type of synthetic pleasantries.

The aromas of freshly prepared food, coupled with the haze of hot dishwater, struck Banon like a wreaking ball when they finally arrived. Gayle, however, was more than used to the various smells and sensations that were commonplace in these parts, moving right through them and making straight for the reception hall. A young boy sat at one of the chairs, looking depressed as he went about playing with his lunch. But when he saw Gayle enter the room, the child seemed to explode with life again.

"You came! You came!"

"Hi, sweetie!" She laughed as the boy sprang into her arms, grunting from the sudden weight in her lap. "Oh my, you're getting so heavy. I can barely pick you up anymore."

Banon stared, transfixed. "And . . . who's this little guy? Your brother?"

Gayle stared back, trying to keep a smile on her face. "Actually, this is my son. Duncan, say hello to Banon."

"Hi," Banon heard himself say.

Duncan, however, only stared icily back at Banon. "Don't even think about putting your hands on my mommy, mister."

Banon reacted as though he had just been slapped. "What?"

Gayle turned him around in her arms. "Duncan, what did I say about talking to mommy's friends like that?" She kissed him on his blond head and put him back down. "Go and finish your potatoes, okay? Banon and I need to talk."

He did what his mother asked while she and Banon stepped back out into the kitchen.

"So, now you know why I didn't go into business for myself."

Banon appeared to nod, only half comprehending. "And what about his father? Is he nearby, around the castle somewhere?"

"No father," she said, closing the door on the subject before it opened. "No husband. Nothing like that."

He shook his head, a head which was still trying to process all of this new information. "He's gotta be only four or five years old. You must have had him when you were--"

"Young, yes." Her eyelids fluttered in an irritated fashion. "And stupid. It was a mistake, but he's also the light in my life now. I'd do anything for him, because I'm all that he has and he's all that I have."

Banon peered through the crack in the doorframe. Duncan kept eating his foot obediently, though with no small degree of resignation.

"So, what are your plans for him?"

"I'm actually looking for--"

The doors leading out into the kitchen hallway flew open as King Roni himself came through in all of his royal splendor. The curly-haired chancellor trailed just a little ways behind him. Neither of them looked to be in a particularly good mood, but Gayle and Banon bowed their heads reverently all the same.

"It's alright, Banon," said the king. "You no longer need to lower your head to me like that."

"What do you mean?" Gayle asked, though Banon already knew what was to come from their being here.

"Banon, son of Draco, it is with great sadness that I do hereby discharge you of all services rendered to, and from refuge presented by, the kingdom to Figaro. Effective immediately."

* * *

A pall seemed to settle over the denizens of Figaro when Banon's discharge became public. No one could truly put their finger on it, but the lost son of Vector had brought something to their kingdom which simply was not there before, and probably never would be there again. Perhaps it was his sense of ingenuity and pragmatism, or the way he was always able to crack the proper joke whenever a situation called for it. Others believed it to be the ordeal he had suffered as a child that made him so endearing. No one in the castle was able to take the news without feeling some degree of regret. Even the chancellor and King Roni felt a pang of sorrow for the choice they had made.

Banon had to have been the only one amongst them with no regrets at all.

He spent most of the afternoon thereafter packing what effects had become his since arriving ten years ago, for when he had first arrived he had precious little save the clothes on his back. A faithful friend before a monarch any day, the king offered to take care of any provisions that Banon might need on his journey: gold; rations; a chocobo; anything he would require. Banon assured him that so long as he still had the king's friendship when this was all over, that would be more than enough.

The king had nothing to say to that.

"I'm sorry things never worked out differently," he said, meeting up with him in the main foyer.

"You carry the weight of an entire nation on your shoulders, Your Majesty." Over his own shoulder was a duffle given to him from one of the stable boys, and Banon wore it as though he had been a wanderer all his life. "Don't let the weight of one more commoner bog you down even further."

"Roni," said the king.

"What?"

"Banon, Roni. Remember how things were before I became king? Try it on for size."

"A commoner calling a king by his rightful name?" Banon pushed the strap of his duffle higher up his shoulder as he moved for the door. "The world would have to be in an awful lot of trouble for that to start happening."

"There's just one other matter I must speak to you about. If we are to be thorough in covering your tracks, and that Banon of Vector never really set so much as a foot in Figaro sands, who is it to take credit for that submerge contraption you helped build?"

"I'm sure you'll think of someone more deserving of that honor, whether it be yourself or another in your family line. Just make sure you're concise, that's all."

The king--Roni--smiled in earnest. "Indeed."

"Well, I shall be taking my leave of you then." Banon took hold of the latch and pulled the large double doors open. "Fare thee well, Your Majesty."

"Take care, old friend."

The dawn's early light still hid itself behind the mountains in the east as Banon made his exit. He had decided yesterday that he would not bother with any goodbyes as far as Gayle and Renzo were concerned, assuming they would understand that it was for the best. So, needless to say, it shocked him to learn that the two of them were already out front waiting for him.

"No farewells for your best friends?" Gayle inquired, pulling up her hood to stave off the bitter cold of twilight.

"You got some nerve leaving us in the dark, boy!" Renzo growled. "Where do you get off doing something like that?"

Banon seemed stuck for an answer. "I wasn't . . . I was trying to make it as painless an affair as possible." Renzo snorted in contempt but Banon ignored him. "So, how did you two find out about this anyway?"

"News travels quickly in a castle as small as this one." Renzo cast one last, long look at the castle's heavy battlements and high towers. "Doesn't mean I'm not gonna miss this place, though."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means?" Gayle said. "We're going with you."

"Gayle, no." Banon switched his duffle over to his other shoulder, its contents already starting to fatigue him. "I can't ask you to do that. You have a life here, not to mention security for Duncan. What's he supposed to do when you leave?"

"You mean, what's 'this' little guy over here supposed to do?" She gestured towards one of the three nearby chocobos, where a small hooded form lay snoring on the saddle. "Relax. Where he goes, I go."

"He can't come with us. It could be dangerous."

"It would only be as far as South Figaro. King Roni interrupted me the other day when I said that I was looking for any excuse I could get to leave the castle. There's a martial arts dojo due north of Figaro Town that I was going to introduce my son to, to help him get the most out of life."

"What about the things he could learn here, under the tutelage of the chancellor?"

"That's a mediocre life you're talking about, one of servitude." She cast a sidelong towards her sleeping son. "He's capable of so much more than that."

Banon gave a sigh, deciding that it was an uphill battle when trying to win an argument with a woman.

"What about you?" he said, turning to Renzo. "What's your excuse?"

Renzo let out a breath through his nose, which sounded more like a whistle going through his beard. "Our job is done here, after putting together that little submergy doodad. I've more than earned my fee here, so it's time to mosey along somewhere's else."

Banon began to respond, knowing that he at least had a chance at winning an argument with one of his oldest friends. But then Renzo started to speak again.

"You might as well face it, laddie. We're coming with you, whether you like it or not."

Banon gave up after that, having too much on his mind with his brother to try and change their minds. The three of them mounted their chocobos then, taking their reins from the stable hands and drawing tight their traveler's cloaks before starting off towards the eastern mountain range. A minute had not even gone by before the trio picked up on a large mechanical churning sound, and in spurring their mounts to halt they learned that it was coming from their castle home. Sand bubbled and then a cyclone started to suck the desert palace down into the subterranean depths of the earth. Moments later, it was as though there had never been a castle there to begin with.

Renzo twisted his stirrups into the feathery underbelly of his steed. "Well, I'd call that a pretty successful test, wouldn't you?"

Without another word, Banon continued on towards the mountains with Renzo and Gayle trailing close behind him.

* * *

Gestahl shook himself awake.

That dream again. It was the same one that had plagued his sleep since disposing of Ralse and his men a week ago. The one where he was forced to watch his mother die all over again while the world burned in every direction around him. It seemed to get more vivid with each passing night, to the point where the bloodstain on his tunic started to sear at his mind and became as plain as the darkness that veiled his eyes upon waking.

The sheets started to fume up underneath him.

That would do it for rest this unfair night, he thought, lifting himself from the cushion and pushing himself wearily through the empty chasm of his castle home. With a snap of his fingers, every brazier in his palace exploded to life. He was getting better at controlling it, though it drained him each time he used it. He knew that if he was going to replenish the skill, he would have to keep turning to the creature for a recharge. It was a clockwork routine, one he had tired from since the very beginning.

For the esper, however, it was life.

"It's me again . . ."

The cage in the cellar rattled and whined at the sound of his voice, though it couldn't so much as faze Gestahl anymore. He entered with a mace in hand, stripping the shirt away from his wrestler compact body. His hairless torso was a labyrinth of still-healing flesh, the scars winding like a vine around either of his biceps, pouring out onto his contorted back and now starting to creep out along his waist. The sight of it repulsed him, though he knew it was nowhere near how repulsive his mother's town had become.

"So," he said offhandedly when the creature calmed down long enough to listen. "Are you going to break down and tell me your name yet? We've known each other a very long time. I figure you at least owed me that much."

The winged esper flattened against the bars, clawing and hissing at the ruler of Vector. So thin had its patience grown that its assault this time threatened to dislodge several large stones from out of the foundation. Gestahl staggered back, almost tripping over the half-eaten remains of a chocobo in the process.

"I see," he said. "That's alright. I'd've reacted the same way if I were in your position. But you know, we're not all that different you and I. You're a monster that can make itself into a man--" He glanced at the scar tissue around his right arm. "--and I am a man who is very slowly turning into a monster. One way or another, the two of us will know a middle ground before this is over."

The esper never relented to his soft and lilting voice, continuing its vicious volley upon its prison. Cracking his knuckles along the shaft of his mace, Gestahl finally unlocked the door to its cell and let the creature come at him. He was bowled over in a second, its two limbs beating and clawing at his face and hair. He roared in agony as the esper bit down and ripped a small chunk out of his waist. Then, and only then, did Gestahl fight back, smashing his weapon across the right side of the esper's skull and then beating its handle down along the back of its head.

"Thanks for the recharge," he uttered through the pain in his side. Tying his shirt across the free-flowing wound, he picked up the piece of his disembodied flesh and flung it into the cell. "Keep the change. Please."

Pitching the limp esper back into its cage and securing the lock, Gestahl made his weary way back upstairs to rally his men. Feeling both stronger and weaker at the same, he couldn't help but wonder whether or not there was an easier way to carry out this little regimen of his - of theirs.

* * *

His devotees were ready by dawn, a reality which greatly appeased Gestahl. Their task from here was to purge Vector's many dwellings and byways of anything that would bring further unrest and disintegration among the masses. When word spread of Gestahl's single-handedly disposing of Ralse and his minions, the sodomy and crime that ran unchecked in the streets suddenly crashed to a standstill. Their turning from vice alone, however, would not be enough. Gestahl wanted for his people to fear and obey him, so that trust need never be an issue again.

And so it was that by midafternoon on the first day of the proscription, forty of Vector's most wanted stood bound and gagged in the town square. Prostitutes and bootleggers, merchants and cutthroats, any whose name had a checkmark on Gestahl's list were there, waiting in cold dread for whatever end it was they would meet. The clarion call of a trumpet followed when the last wrongdoer had been tied to her stake, and the ruler of Vector noted with no small degree of satisfaction that it was the same blue-haired woman he had met some time earlier.

"My people," Gestahl called out to the growing tide of spectators. "A dark chapter in our city's history is about to draw to a close, and another soon to open. You have doubted your kingdom and your king up until this point. I know it, for that doubt has been at our throats and littered our streets for a very long time. But it will be tolerated no longer. The sacrifices you will witness this afternoon will be a testament to that. It is your duty as future vassals and rulers of this great empire to behold their deaths here today, however those of you with younger children may be excused."

Gestahl had not meant for his last comment to be in jest, for he knew well the kind of a scar a traumatic experience could leave on a young mind. As he addressed the growing masses, his men grudgingly went about dousing the wrongdoers with oil. His audience felt divided as to what they were seeing. Some felt as though Gestahl's approach was a tragic (even barbaric) breach of tradition, even with the monarchy abolished. Others, however, had grown tired of having to hide their families from the squalor and danger that was rampant in the streets.

Regardless of what side a person stood on, everyone in eyeshot had the same problem of not being able to turn from the spectacle.

The listed ones squirmed in their restraints, their expressions a medley of fear, regret, and anger. For some inexplicable reason, Gestahl locked eyes with the blue-haired woman that had exposed herself to him several days back. She looked as though she were trying to keep his stare for as long as possible, somehow hopeful it would be enough for her to be released. She would be disappointed.

"By your deaths," said Gestahl with a ball of flames spinning around in his right fist, "Vector is healed."

The next thing any of the people of Vector knew, all of the town square was consumed in an unholy fire. Even with gags in their mouths, their sounds of anguish cut through the air. The stench of smoldering hair and flesh alone turned many of the citizens of Vector away. Other's simply couldn't, whether it was out of some foolish patriotic pride to their city or just morbid curiosity, nobody could say. After almost a minute of their burning an ethegy, one young woman's gag burned away into nothing.

"HELP ME!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, her face boiling and popping in the magical fire. "PLEASE!"

Faces in the crowd began to betray pity and disgust for the listed ones. Gestahl's own men even had difficulty holding back tears or swallowing the lumps in their throats.

Gestahl's own face betrayed nothing. It was necessary.

* * *

"Of the guilds that remain," said Gestahl, walking with his men through one of the last surviving hallways in his castle, "I'm going to have to decide which ones stay and which ones go. What do we have left?"

Galawain, one his late father's department heads, flipped through a ledger in response. "The Fisherman's guild is among Vector's oldest . . ."

"Abolish it. Next?"

"The Merchant's guild."

"Abolish."

"Bards, Scribes, and Storyweavers?"

"Abolish all of those. There's no room for them in the empire."

"And what of the Alchemist's guild. Abolish that as well?"

"Yes. No, wait."

Gestahl stopped in his place, and the men who marched behind nearly crashed into him. Alchemy, he thought, might be able to open a previously unexplored avenue in terms of assisting him with his 'regimen'. If it were possible to get a recharge down to potion form . . .

"No, keep the Alchemy guild. I may have some use for that one myself."

Galawain scribbled in the necessary adjustment on the paper. "That only leaves Mining, Blacksmithing, and Engineering."

"Well then, those will be our bread and butter. Recruit as many as you can with the qualifications for the job. I'd like to have an update by this evening."

"Concerning Engineering, sir." Galawain momentarily stopped his superior in his tracks. "The qualifications for that guild are rather high. With the Vector population being what it is right now, there's only one whose IQ comes even close. And he's just eight years old."

"What! You mean to say a toddler has been able to succeed with an entrance exam where the older and more experienced have failed?"

"Uh, yes sir."

"What this boy's name?"

Galawain flipped to one page over and indicated the child's name with his stylus.

"Take me to him."

* * *

"There, there. It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."

While he had been the philanthropist and animal lover for all of his eight and a half years alive, Cid knew that it wasn't as much a matter of him hurting the antelope as it was the antelope hurting him. Before losing his life after a savage dog fight, his father was perhaps one of the most well-known geomancers the continent over. Cid had even picked up a thing or two from him about traps and misdirection. It had never been a problem to catch a fox or gazelle while he and his father were away on a hunt.

Of course, trapping a single animal couldn't stop the rest of its kingdom from being erratic and even violent towards other people. Cid knew this all too well, as it was the first (and last) lesson his father had been forced to learn the hard way. Was there a way to make them nicer to everyone? It was through technology that he looked to find an answer to that very question.

"Just . . . keep . . . still . . ." The antelope threw its antlered head about, fighting to loosen itself from its snare as Cid slipped a small, elastic crown around its head. "A little longer and . . . there."

The tight, metallic clamp on the apparatus began to whir until its strap became taut around the animal's head. The antelope stopped trying to free itself and regarded its captor with dark, unblinking eyes, almost as though he were waiting to be told something.

"Okay," Cid said, scuttling back from with his short legs after releasing the snare. "Do a back flip."

"The animal tilted its head to one side, uncomprehending.

"Don't know what a back flip is, huh? Okay, can you sit down?"

It looked down at the mossy floor, as though discovering it for the first time, and then lowered its rump down as Cid had asked of him.

"Good boy!" Cid clapped his hands with delight and reached into his pouch for a piece of gingerbread to give to it. "You get a treat!"

He held the small morsel out for the antelope to take, but it wouldn't take it. It wouldn't sniff at the food or even turn its head away when Cid insisted it upon him. It just sat there unmoving, waiting for Cid to tell him to do something else.

"What's the matter? You like gingerbread. You were eating it out of that snare just five minutes ago. Come on, eat the gingerbread."

And then it did, though the problem was not lost on Cid. The animal only took its treat when it was ordered to do so. This was not what he had set out to do at all. What he had wanted was to make them nicer to other people, not rob them of their free will . . .

"Whatcha got there, soldier?"

Cid spun in his place, taken off guard from the two men that stood beneath the underbrush. One, he observed, was middle-aged in a suit of armor. The other, however, was only a young man in dark clothing. He felt himself go numb upon seeing the flicker of fire in his brown eyes.

"N-n-nothing, sir," Cid stuttered, "J-j-just a project I've b-b-been working on."

The two of them stepped out of the shade, where Cid could make out the outline of a short, dark goatee on the younger man's face. The boy instantly panicked and fell to his knees.

"Your Majesty!" he cried. "F-f-f-forgive me! I didn't know it was you!"

Gestahl gave an amused grin. He instantly like this boy. "You needn't be so formal, son. I'm somewhat between titles of authority at the moment."

Cid replied with his head still turned to the ground. "My father always told me to respect those who hold positions of power over you."

"Your father is a wise man."

He looked up from where he had prostrated himself. "He was a wise man."

The ruler of Vector sighed, his heart immediately going out to him. Gestahl had not been much older than this child was now when his own parents had passed away. Cid began to say something else when he felt himself getting pulled back up to his feet.

"Get back, boy," said Gestahl as he regarded the catatonic animal behind him. "That beast looks like it's fixed to strike."

"What? Oh no, it's okay." Cid help up his two hands, waving both Gestahl and Galawain back from the antelope. "He's not going to move unless one of us tells it to."

Gestahl stayed his sword hand, appearing both confused and amazed all at once. "Unless we tell it to? You mean, that contraption on its head . . ."

Cid nodded excitedly. "Yes, it's controlling him. It'll make it do whatever we want it to do."

Galawain himself almost couldn't wrap his mind around it, having not been privy to the true extent of the boy's intellect until now.

"Go ahead," he added, "Ask it to do anything."

Gestahl decided to humor him. "Do a back flip."

"Er, no," Cid said upon seeing the animal puzzle over the command given to it. "It has to be something it's familiar with."

"Oh. Well, stand on your hind legs."

The antelope lifted itself from a sitting position and reared up on its back limbs, its two fore legs held perfectly upright in the air above it.

"Astounding." For the first time which Gestahl could recall, he actually felt himself become vulnerable in the wake of another's power. "But how, how can one so young build this . . . this . . ."

When it seemed clear that the former king was going to trail off indefinitely, Cid chose to just reply. "It's all in the mind," he said, "Understanding how it works, what sets it off, how certain impulses become triggered. When you've worked the equation out, the engine for control builds itself."

An idea suddenly sparked in the back of Gestahl's mind, one which made him dizzy with possibilities it meant.

"And this equation," he asked, "Is it the same for every animal?"

Cid gestured for the animal to sit back down again. "More or less."

"Even humans?"

The boy started to stare at him. "I guess. Why?"

"Leave us, Galawain. I must speak with the boy in private."

Questioning his superior's intentions was not even an issue. He simply turned back on and returned to the castle, as though he, too, wore one of the boy's crowns. When he was certain the soldier was gone, Gestahl knelt down in the mossy earth before him. Cid started from the gesture, but Gestahl silenced him before he even spoke.

"What are your intentions with this gift of yours?"

"Oh." Cid considered the question carefully, struggling to see beyond his father's smiling face. "Well, I don't know. I kinda wanted to use it to make animals nicer to us."

"You mean, you want to domesticate them."

"Is that the word for it?"

Gestahl nodded and smiled.

"I see. Well yes, I suppose that is what I want to do. I've even considered moving to the Veldt and turn it into a paradi--"

"Don't."

"What?"

"Stay with me, here in Vector. There's at least one other creature nearby that's in need of domestication, not to mention thousands of others that would seek to have me dead otherwise. I need you, Cid. I need you to help me build a future for the Empire. I can't do it without you."

Gestahl brushed a hand through Cid's short, brown hair, looking as benevolent as he could manage while waiting for the million dollar question to be asked.

"The . . . Empire? What's that?"

"A place where no harm will ever come to you, Cid. You'll have your own workshop with your own staff. Resources for your every invention will be ever at your fingertips. You will never hunger, nor thirst, nor be weary again. But more importantly, son, you will never be alone."

Cid felt himself brim over with purpose.

"What must I do?"

"Just tell me that you will pledge yourself to the Empire. There's nothing more to it than that."

Feeling the need to weigh what options were open to him, Cid realized rather suddenly that he had none. He had no immediate family, no relatives from afar, there was nobody. Only the man that knelt before him now, the only one who had ever really appreciated his talent.

"I . . . I pledge myself to the Empire."

"Forever?"

He looked askance at the antelope still sitting motionless behind them.

"Forever."

* * *

Banon's party traveled restlessly for three straight days through the mountains on their way to the dojo. Renzo and Duncan did most of the complaining while en route through the mountain paths, figuring that if they did their whining as one it could bring a few more hours of sleep to them the following night. All it took was a sharp reprimand from Gayle to silence the both of them completely. If Banon was bothered at all from his companions' bellyaching, no one was able to tell. They were still nowhere near his hometown, and yet the closer they were to reaching it the more reticent he became.

"Hey," Gayle said to him one night while they made came in the mountains one cool, cloudless night. "How've you been holding up?"

"Alright," Banon said to her. "He sat close by their fire with his bedroll thrown over his shoulders. "How's the little one?"

"Duncan's fine. He drifted off a few minutes ago."

He smiled. "I was talking about Renzo."

She gave a sweet-sounding laugh. "He's asleep, too."

"Good. It feels as though I've been pushing them too hard."

"You're looking to make peace with your brother." She sat down alongside him, warming her hands near the flame. "From one family person to another, I understand. I'm sure the other two rascals do too."

The two of them looked across the fire to see both Duncan and Renzo all tucked away in their sleeping bags, their heads leaning on each other's shoulders as they slept soundlessly. It was then that Banon realized that Gayle and he were alone, and a strange kind of warmth washed over him - a warmth he knew was not coming from the nearby flames.

"Well, it's late," he told her, abruptly turning over on his side. "We still have a ways to go come tomorrow."

Gayle sat in her place for a moment longer, perplexed as to his suddenly cold shoulder. "She leaned over to touch him, then drew back.

"Banon?"

He shifted underneath his bedroll. "Hmmm?"

"Nothing."

* * *

The way ahead of them became easier to bear when their animals touched down at the base of the Figaro ridge. Practical though chocobos were for traveling across great distances, their one major handicap were traversing the higher, more uneven footings of the world. When that leg of the journey drew to a halt, however, the three of them bolted across the savanna with renewed energy. Their riders were scarcely able to hold onto their saddles tight enough for the ride.

"We really should have taken the caverns back there." said Renzo matter-of-factly, not out of any immediate pain or exhaustion but because he felt somewhat out of place when he had nothing to complain about. "That at least would have been easier on the feet."

Banon, jostling heavily in his saddle, spurred his animal in close to his friends. "Are you kidding? After the fuss you made about all the nasty creatures roaming around down there? Come on, you got a good exercise out of it at any rate."

"Hmph," said the bearded man, trotting on ahead.

As the hours dragged on, and morning passed into afternoon, it occurred to Banon that Gayle had become even more taciturn that he was. Most of their traveling across the vast flatlands of Figaro had been spent with her and Duncan at a distance from them. Each time he tried to swing in close to break the silence, all she'd do is tell him she was fine or comment on the fine weather they were having. He couldn't help but think that it had something to do with the previous night they had 'almost' spent together.

By the time the sun swung directly over their heads, the northern crest of the Figaro range started to rise up over the horizon - and with it came the sounds of young pupils engaging in their various exercises. It began to get louder and more plentiful, until Banon and his company were just a stone's throw away from them. The young men and women of the dojo started to cease their activities and regard the travelers as though they were insects. Upon laying eyes on Gayle, however, smiles of recognition formed on each of their faces.

"My, my," said Banon, dismounting from his animal. "Quite the operation, this dojo."

"To what end does it serve, though?" Renzo, too, stepped down from his chocobo, though having some difficulty disentangling his feet from the stirrups. "Is some enemy afoot that our eyes can't see? Are they going to war?"

"Thin One Self," quoted one of the girls from memory, her training boken held over one shoulder. "The way of the Blitz begins with defeating the enemy on the inside first."

Another of the students stepped forward, continuing where it was she left off. "Knowing that enemy is the first step in taking control of it. After that, physical training becomes secondary."

As they spoke, Banon's eyes wandered over Gayle, noticing that she was whispering their words from heart as they recited them.

"But . . . to what end?" he repeated.

"So as to help the aggressor determine their own enemy."

Stepping out from the large shrine in the center of his pupils, their Blitzmaster was indeed a sight to behold. He seemed almost twice the size of Banon, with muscles rippling beneath his dark, blue gear. A light brown sash hung across his chest, an obvious symbol of the power he held over those beneath him. His dark, sweeping hair swayed to and fro like a silken tapestry as he came down to regard their visitors more closely. He gave Gayle a knowing smile, which she returned, before welcoming the others to his dojo.

"You people have come a long way," he said, "And you have longer yet to go. Is this right?"

Banon was instantly interested in, and suspicious of, this new person. The martial arts master could tell Banon felt this way just from looking into his eyes, though he was wise enough not to speak and give reason to mounting distrust.

"Righteo," Renzo replied, apparently oblivious as to the unspoken hostilities which floated around him. "Sharper than ice water, friend. What's your name?"

The muscled man tilted his head upwards, as though it might be in danger of falling off his neck. "My name isn't important." Banon crossed his arms. Now he really didn't trust him, and the Blitzmaster knew this as well. "Very well, my name is . . . Butz."

Banon and Renzo had to have been the only ones in eyeshot that found this amusing. Butz?

The lost Vector child smiled politely. "Butz, is it?"

"That it is," he said, "Master of the Bum Rush, I am."

Renzo strained against sniggering. "So, it's not just a clever name then."

Both friends turned around and started to titter while the master's students began to worry over what might ensue. The Blitzmaster rolled up his sleeves, about to demonstrate just how unfunny the Bum Rush was, when Gayle took his arm to stop him.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "Don't bother trying to teach them a lesson. They both still have a lot of growing up to do, after all."

He nodded, his sinewy body slackening. "Of course. Ah, and who might this little Onion Kid be?"

So at ease to be back in a place that had been just like a home to her, Gayle forgot all about the child that was clutching at her leg. "Duncan, it's okay. This man's not going to hurt you. He's a friend of your mother's."

"H-hi, mister."

"Hoy there, little man." He knelt down to take a better look at him. "Well, I'll be a moogle's uncle. You look like someone who's just about ready to join our dojo. Does that sound like fun?"

Duncan's eyes brightened, but Gayle pushed him back into the side of her leg. "Oh no you don't. He's not old enough for that yet."

The Blitzmaster threw back his head and laughed. "Ho, ho! You're too much!" He then swept his arm out to address his aides. "That will conclude today's lesson. And everyone is to be on their best behavior while our guests make their stay with us. So long as they are friends belonging to Gayle, they are friends of ours."

As the young men and women nodded their acquiescence and filed into the shrine, Banon went to Gayle's side and took her by the arm.

"You've been here before, haven't you? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Go inside with Renzo and take Duncan with you." Her head and eyes remained fixed in the direction of the Blitzmaster while she spoke. "He and I have things to discuss."

Banon would leave it at that, for now at least.

"Sensei," she said to him when they were both alone. Her hands fidgeted and her lips fumbled for the right words. Words that would set everything right again. Words that just wouldn't come to her. "I've . . . come back for my lesson."

A pained expression took hold of the large man's face before he scooped her up into his arms. "Welcome home, child," he whispered to the sobbing woman, "It's been a long time."

* * *

By dusk, a great feast had been prepared for Banon's company by the Blitzmaster's students, one which they accepted quite eagerly. Gayle observed more than she feasted, reminded of their menial tasks for tending to guests. She had her hands in those duties herself once, for they were also part of the training in the ways of the Blitz. Servitude grounded the pupil to the status they held below their master, while effort and discipline aided them in the transcending of that status. Connecting the two was patience, truly the most important quality when it came to progress.

A quality Gayle knew she lacked in.

"Mmmm," muttered Butz, tearing a portion of meat away from a drumstick. "Right, so your brother . . . Gestahl, was it?"

"That's right," Banon said, taking a sip from his goblet.

" . . . has torn down the foundation of the former kingdom and is building up a new one. Only thing is, you've yet to determine how far he's gotten with it or even if he's really succeeding at all."

"Well . . ." he started to say.

Renzo stuck his head in, grape juice drippling down through his beard. "We get scattered reports here and there as to what's really going on over in Vector. None of it has much to say in terms of how far he's gotten . . . hey!"

Banon pushed his friend back down in his seat. "The bottom line is, I don't think there's much to worry about from down in the south. I've heard how he handled himself as king for the handful of years he held the title. He made a lot of careless mistakes that put Vector in over its head."

"I see." A brief silence followed, marred only from the rattling of pottery as cups of tea were getting poured. The entropy in the room started to take on a heavy weight to it, until the Blitzmaster felt obliged to break it. "So, what are your plans from here, with Gestahl I mean?"

Banon sniffed at the tea in his cup, then set it back down on its saucer. "I'm not sure. I at least have to try and talk with him, catch up with everything that's been going on these past ten years. If for no other reason, than to try and salvage some kind of reputation for Vector."

Butz nodded, looking pensive. Behind him, Gayle scratched at her head and drank her tea. Being here, she thought, seemed to put everyone at a crossroads. No one knew of which path was the right to chose, if indeed there had every been any right path to begin with. Gayle's only peace of mind came from watching her son laughing and playing with some of the older boys and girls as they tried teaching him some sparring drills. He was safe here. Through it all, Renzo only continued to eat and listen, remaining by his friends' side no matter what was decided.

"I don't suppose either you or any of your students have heard word from Vector in these parts, have they?"

The Blitzmaster shook his huge head almost before the question had entirely rolled off of Banon's tongue. "Unfortunately not. This dojo is removed from the rest of the world, so as to help maximize concentration for their training. I would, however, suggest making your way to Figaro Town if it's information you're after. Word of what transpires in the hinterlands reaches their citizens before anywhere else's."

Banon nodded, mulling it over.

"Ya, ya, ya! Thou art so dead! Ya, ya, ya!"

Everyone's head swiveled as they heard another of Butz's own issue a challenge to a terrified Duncan. Gayle shot to her feet, starting to protest, when her sensei pulled her back down.

"Cyan!" he growled. "I've told you a thousand times, you never take up a challenge unless the challenge is first reciprocated. Now, go and sit down!"

The thin, dark-haired boy shied away from his mentor's intensity and removed himself from the shrine.

"Sorry about him. He's the son of a retainer from out of the Doman province. But of a hothead, and the only pupil I've ever had under my tutelage that's been able to stab a decoy with a wooden boken. He won't bother Duncan, I promise."

Gayle nodded, hastily finishing her tea before anxiety could stir her into taking her son back to Figaro castle.

The commotion had apparently went completely over Banon's head. Perhaps Gestahl really was just roughing it out there among the vestiges of Old Vector and there was nothing for the world to be worried about. But then his thoughts returned to what he had learned about espers up until this point. What if the esper attack had done more than just give him some taste of a lost art? What if it had twisted his mind somehow? What if Gestahl wasn't even Gestahl anymore?"

From across the table, Gayle saw the agonized look become born anew on his face. It was the same look she had seen when he first received word from his brother about the end of the old kingdom.

* * *

Night came, as cold and sharp as the training the dojo gave to its students. Renzo was still smiling as he turned in for the evening, from both the meal which filled his belly and the cruel joke which his punchline had facilitated earlier. Butz. He said the name once to himself. Who, in their right mind, would have such low expectations for their child that they would give them such a name as Butz? The former engineer of Vector chuckled quietly, silently wondering as to whether or not his first name was 'Seymour'.

The shrine started to grow dim and still, with its occupants already nestled into their cots. Those who had already given into sleep from the day's activities dreamt of great achievements to come, and even the day when they would assume their master's position. The Blitzmaster himself twitched and whined in his Lethe, dreaming of yet another fair meal accompanied with fine pipeweed to enjoy it with. Both Gayle and Banon, though with some very ponderous thoughts on their minds, also slept. The distraction of either a pleasant dream or even an absolute nightmare might help to allay some of the concerns they were having.

So welcome was the gift of sleep that night, no one was even on their guard for the shadow that slipped unnoticed through their futons. As it slunk through the dojo, sparkling white dust slipped from its hands, further deepending each of their slumber.

"That's right," said the shapeless mass, "Sleep your sleeps and dream your dreams."

When it came across the one it had sought out, the shadow stopped in its silent tracks and bent down beside him. Banon tossed over, stirring from visions of a sultry tryst with Gayle, when it saw the form hover over him.

"Stop," said the shadow.

Eyes wide, Banon moved to jump up and face the assailant. Only he couldn't. Neither his arms nor legs would budge from his cushion. He couldn't even call out for help. Paralysis left him completely at the shade's mercy.

"At first light, meet me at the plantations north of Figaro Town. Come alone."

Banon tried squinting at the sound of the shadow's voice, but even that was beyond his power now. It was familiar somehow, deeper and more gruff than what he remembered, but definitely familiar. The form didn't stay to confirm his suspicions, only lingered in the doorway for a moment longer.

"At first light," he repeated before stealing into the darkness. "Don't keep me waiting."

* * *

Banon did as his visitor commanded, immediately untethering his chocobo from the stable and venturing out into the sleepy night for the Figaro plantations. He had only passed by the way of Figaro Town once in the past and that was back when he first put Vector behind him as a child. He was amazed at how much it unsettled him that now, more than a decade later, he was back along the same route that would take him back to his brother's domain.

The Fates worked in mysterious ways.

"I'm here," he called out when he figured he was somewhere in the middle of the orchards. The pre-dawn air was cold and foggy, making it difficult to navigate through the tall trees that surrounded him. He