SquareSoft: Generations Chapter 14
...It All Comes Together...
By Dawn Wilkins
So, a crowd has gathered around us...I'm pining one last kiss...We were lost inside a wasteland of fools groping for the gold...I wonder if they'll think of us, while they're searching for their souls...But ain't it funny how the fates work, I feel cheated by the turn...And I fade from memory...(These Living Arms; The Tea Party; Triptych)
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
A clock drummed while the gentle wind breezed through the slightly opened window. It rustled the fabric of curtain, tablecloth, and blanket alike. One green-haired figure, with eyes to match, sat hunched on a stool. Her face remained buried in her hands and she glanced up only briefly to observe her charge, a wounded paladin with platinum hair. Then, sighing, Terra spoke.
“Rest easy, Cecil. Don’t tax yourself. God knows what I’ll do if I lose you...too...”
It was mid-afternoon and the sun cast soft mellowly amber. She sighed, her heart aching even more than the injuries she bore. Forking her emerald strands apprehensively, the young woman ran her eyes over Cecil. Ben had assured her that the paladin would survive but the half- esper insisted watching over him anyway. It made enduring the loss that much easier...
Yes, all of the companions had sustained injuries due to the battle and subsequent flight. Aurora received a gash to her shoulder, innumerable burns, and eccentric scars from her unprecedented transformation. The wizard Ben also came out with scorched marks produced by the electricity (in his one-on-one with Nildemar) and intense bed hair. Terra’s wounds–several enormous lumps–had only begun to heal. Cecil seemed fine on the voyage to Avida and then he collapsed shortly after they arrived. Horrified, Ben, Terra, and Aurora labored to revive him.
Mercifully, the knight from Baron did not die. Ben noted that Cecil’s chest wound, from Magus’ powerful raven lightning, was grave and that only adrenaline supported him in the combat. Apparently, due to the severity of the situation, the paladin ignored it in favor of resuming his desparetly-needed offensive–but adrenaline can only preserve you for so long. If neglected, Cecil would have perished.
Just like Edgar.
“...Edgar...” she murmured, tears brimming. Clasping a hand over her mouth, Terra suppressed another sob. No, I will be brave...I will have courage...he would have wanted that...
Would he? How was she to know? After all, the dead don’t speak...
Thank goodness Cecil will be okay...I hope...
Terra winced. As uncomfortable as thinking of both Cecil and Edgar in conjunction was, she often elected to avoid it entirely. Some peculiar emotion would clutch her when the esper woman did, a twisting of her guts as if they were but a dishrag. Feelings were like an exotic land to her, something to be discovered with delighted surprise. Or it should have been. For Terra, however, it brought only bitter grief
As if tasting an innovative concoction, she probed these feelings...Sorrow? Certainly. Anger? Probably. But what of this new sensation? Was it guilt? Of what?
Glancing down at the slumbering paladin, Terra guessed what that might be.
He must never know...Oh, but what if he already does? What’s to happen now? We are divided, dying, with but a simple bladeless hilt as our only hope!
Drowning in an ocean of anguish, she couldn’t help but cry, softly so as not to awake Cecil. Slowly, her face descended in her hands and beneath an nondescript blackness. Still, Terra struggled. She had be strong...She had to be brave...She had be strong...She had be brave...She...
Arms. Around her. His arms.
Terra started, stunned. Opening her eyes, the half-esper noted Cecil’s sturdy arms encircled her shoulders, her head cradled in the crook of his neck and that the knight whispered soothing words. It made her want to weep all that much more. For a moment, both were free of prying eyes, painful losses...The world consisted of Cecil and Terra and no one else.
Reluctantly, as if they feared the beautiful scene might be rent apart, they separated. A creak, and Cecil returned to bed. He sat on the edge, observing her with those charming azure eyes. They radiated sympathy as the paladin muttered, “You miss him, don’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question and her nod seemed unnecessary as she swallowed to retain her composure.
Like gliding through water, his hand lifted to cup her chin. “I’m sorry, Terra. Truly, I am. And just as truly I wish I could be able to take your pain and live it myself. But that path you must walk yourself and I will carry you whenever you need. I know you have the strength.”
“I don’t feel very strong.” Silently, she cursed herself for showing weakness. Not that grief was a weakness, but that in a time of war one did not have the luxury of sorrow. And, yet, the light in his eyes told her a different story: Let me guide you, Terra, and I will never let you fall. Again, the green-haired wizardess fought the waterfalling emotions.
For a moment, Cecil did not answer. Instead, he examined the various wounds, carefully investigating the major one in his chest. A shake of his head detailed the paladin’s own wonder at his survival. Cecil proceeded to make the violet-blanketed bed, close the like-material curtain, and strap the bladeless-hilt to his belt. All the while, his gaze never strayed from Terra’s.
“Oh, but are, dear Terra–who but you could endure the likes of me?”
The comment was so abnormal for his disposition, one of knightly austerity, that she found herself chuckling. Terra hadn’t thought it possible. Indeed, she believed that laughter was a thing she felt color-blind to; a foreign land that she’d visited one time but lost the map of. Now, this wonderful, thoughtful man did carry the half-esper through her grief.
Cecil could but squeal as Terra flung two arms around his torso. His heart thundered in a rhythm well-versed with hers. She melted in his confidence, conviction, composure. And that unpleasant feeling returned...guilt.
Hastily, she jerked away, throwing the paladin off his element and tinting his cheeks a slight rose. Terra forced her mind neutral as she set order to the lavish room. Ben had cleared the chamber for the knight to be attended in. It was Cecil’s original bedroom complete with the grandfather clock, table-and-chairs, and man-sized flower vase that made up his quarters in Baron. His hope had been to arouse Cecil as soon as possible and Ben guessed that this might do the trick.
When, Terra turned around with her dignity now firmly intact, she saw the paladin staring introspectively at his own reflection in the clock. Every tick-tock it sounded only furthered the tension, like a slow burning match. She could stand no more. She must say something. “Ah, Cecil...Would you like some lunch? You must be hungry.”
If the knight felt the slightest ill-ease, he was disciplined enough to conceal it. His words flowed like silk, “Indeed, I am. All this saving the world makes a person hungry.” He offered a gentlemanly arm to guide her out the door, a literal exhibit of his vow to carry her. But, smiling, Terra shook her head and answered.
“Maybe you should dress, first.”
*****
A emotionally-conflicted Terra and fully-dressed Cecil descended the marble stairs arm-in- arm. They passed the common room, where the two, with a somber Magus and a misfortune Ben, had conversed over a week ago. And yet, that week had seemed a year. The fireplace breathed soot after the nighttimes activity. Even the shattered fragments of the pyramid of life still lay like fallen icicles after winter’s harsh wrath.
They entered the dining room. A magnificent chamber, even to judge by the manor’s lavishness. The gold-reversed panels occupied this room as well, with a brilliant chandelier directly heavenward of the wood dining table. Vases inhabited various areas of the room. But the grandeur did not seem heartful. A certain gloom hung as surely as the chandelier.
Cecil promptly seated the esper woman, despite her protest, and then sat at her side. He did not speak, his face dark with thoughts of battle plans and the burdens of the world. Though his very eyes made her soul tremble, Terra found herself comforted by his presence. In a damned land, with a terrible loss, he felt like home.
Servants buzzed around, filling their plates with an array of meats, vegetables, and breads. The paladin chewed on his slowly but steadily, eyes far away as if in another world. Terra sampled hers but found her hunger lacking. It was hard to eat when your friend was about to be buried six feet under...
As if aware of her distress, the knight of Baron laid a hand on her arm reassuringly. It did reassure her but it also stirred the pot that was her emotions. Cecil continued to work out a retaliation design–you could practically trace out the planning on his forehead. At length, he requested a pad of paper and a quill to detail his ideas for the assault on Tarus’ tower. Ever does his hand stroke the delicate manuscript with ink even while his other limb alternates from the bladeless-hilt to her arm.
Resting the quill down, Cecil glanced at her, eyes soft, “Have they had a memorial service for him yet?”
She could but shake her head.
“Then I would like to attend. A braver man I have never known. You don’t meet someone like him very often.”
Such loving concern and kind words gave Terra strength, “We...we waited for you to awaken before laying him...to rest.” Biting the inside of her cheek, her whisper sounded little more than a breath, “I miss him and...and I don’t understand what I’m feeling.”
The embrace resumed.
A period of peaceful time passed in which neither spoke. The servants had all but vanished. All the remnants of their repast lay cold and forgotten. Again, that sweet fleeting moment of freedom.
Then, unconsciously, Cecil muttered, “I wonder what Magus is doing...”
Magus? Magus! Magus!!!
Shattered. The beautiful moment shattered like a pristine mirror beneath a fierce fist.
Wrenching away distastefully, Terra cried, “Magus! MAGUS! Why if it weren’t for him Edgar wouldn’t be...he’d be alive right now!”
The air seemed tightened as if all the oxygen had been swallowed by the near-physical emotion. The paladin’s face distorted, but over what, Terra could only guess. He grunted and gave a sigh, “Even when he isn’t around, Magus can sure cause grief.”
“And more especially when he is around!”she added, clenched fists.
Cecil didn’t answer, face shadowed in distress.
“If there was a lot more listening and a lot less arguing both Edgar and Magus would be with us now.”
Green-haired half-esper and the paladin with a white-gold mane both revolved to stare at the figure that admitted herself into the dining room. It was Aurora, dark circles around haunted eyes. She had discarded the healer’s robe in favor of a dark silver and black traveling outfit. Her own hair, the color of freshly-lit flames, swept over a shoulder in a french braid.
Voice low with heat, Terra could scarcely see beyond her rage, “How dare you! Edgar is barely cold and you toss out absurd accusations!”
Aurora eyes lit with rile but she cooly responded, “If there’s anyone to blame his death on it’s you, Terra. Did you really need to provoke Magus like that!?”
Edgar’s dead. My fault...Outrageous...but, oh, what if it’s true? What if Magus would have not fired had I not used my magic on him? With a heart-wrenched wail, Terra fled the chamber. Blind by tears, rage, and guilt, the esper-woman pounded down the corridor with no direction but away from the emotions she so sought to deny. But like the shadow that is your double, you can run the distance of the world and it’ll always be right there waiting for you.
And so was Cecil.
For the third time that day, the paladin and wizardess clasped in a healing hug. In the background she could also hear Aurora’s voice, soft with regret. Terra forced herself to break the hold and face the crimson-haired healer. Her throat felt like a sword had been shoved down the back of it.
Before she could speak, however, Aurora apologized, “I had no right saying such a cruel thing. Edgar’s death is not your fault. If anyone’s to blame it’s me–I should have saved him somehow...I am just tired and upset and...” Her words crumbled because her voice was no longer sturdy enough to maintain the integrity.
Terra found her fury hallow and all she did was nod in acceptance. His eyes on the esper and healer simultaneously, Cecil laid an arm on each and declared, “United we stand; divided we’ll fall. Justice is not the only right in this world–”
“All right, all right, enough already! You’re a virtual walking bible, you know that Cecil?”
As the paladin flushed, Aurora blinked in surprise and Terra glanced in the direction of the speaker. Of course, it was none other than Ben. His fine ivory mustache trailed the length of his chin and onward while his corresponding hair wafted behind. He attired in an outlandish red-and- violet robe, a pyramid his only adornment. He added, “But you have a point, as usual. We need to join to battle this evil. I have located the blade to the sword and the rest of the wanderers...killed two birds with the same stone, so to speak.”
When his audience failed to prompt him to continue, he heaved an annoyed sigh and proceeded regardless, “Locke Cole still has the blade and currently resides in the fortress of Palamades. Rosa Farrell and Kain Highwind are also there.”
“Locke?” Terra asked, joy rising in her throat, moved closer.
Cecil stepped forward as well. His eyes blazed, “Kain? And Rosa!” Something in his tone as he mentioned Rosa sent a ripple of emotion down the esper woman. It was a negative sensation, she knew, even while she failed to identify the feeling. Was it...no, but it couldn’t be!
I am not jealous!
Nodding vigorously, Ben indicated for them to follow. “Yes, all of that, later. We have a young man’s funeral to attend to and I will not deny him his commemoration.”
Somber, the three came in the sapphire-eyed wizard’s wake. Past the corridor from whence they came, healer, esper, and paladin permitted Ben to lead them into a hidden chamber (located by revolving bookcase, of course!) and down a set of steps. Though it was mid- afternoon, here no dawn did enter and Ben commanded Cecil to light a scone and use it to illuminate the passage. Terra noted the ancient brick and marble intertwined in a most unusual, yet appropriate manner.
Where is taking us? This is certainly not a grave site!
From the looks of the platinum-haired warrior and Aurora, her thoughts mirrored their own. Only Ben looked assure of his purpose.
“Ah, we’re here.”
Terra gasped.
With a certain remise of the chamber in which Edgar received his mortal wound, the esper woman gazed at the innumerable columns and rows of polished marble. Pillars extended at regular intervals, stretching heavenward in a systematic fashion, crowned at the top with amber and sapphires. Portraits also occupied decent wall-space; some of loving couples, others of valiant battles. Thinking of the king of Figaro’s own last hour spent in struggling to protect her, Terra could not suppress a sigh.
I should be attending Edgar’s wedding–not his funeral.
Ben, with a bit a theatrics, yanked a curtain aside and bid them enter. Immediately, both Aurora and Cecil did so, the latter after throwing the esper woman an encouraging smile. Though the wind failed to reach here, Terra found herself shivering as if she had come in from a three-day rain. She might as well have been for the liquid that was streaming her face. Resolute, jaw muscles twitching, Terra entered.
When she saw him, the esper woman felt a blank emotion fill her. It seemed to be on a level of sensations she could never hope to understand. Tears came unbidden and unhidden now as Terra strode to the marble block upon which Edgar Roni Figaro, Monarch of Figaro, lay.
He seemed at peace, a mask of immaculate tranquility traced across the ever good- humored expression. Both hands twined. Both eyes sealed. The navy ribbon that constrained his hair had been removed and Edgar’s lustrous platinum hair spanned over the royal violet cushioning like silent moonbeams. His tailored blue outfit concealed the gruesome wound that ended the royalty’s brief career as king and Terra found she rather liked it that way...better to remember him as he was, the dashing, handsome, dauntless king.
Three walls, each shrouded in silk curtains, spanned around, with the fourth as their arched entrance. Scones also cast light, though soft as if noting the sorrow and not wanting to impose. Ben and Aurora stood in the doorway, conversing briefly. But Cecil, the ever-faithful knight of Baron, came to her side. His eyes displayed the sorrow she felt.
Tentatively, Terra reached out a hand. Driven beyond the comprehensible, torn by the unendurable, the half-esper laced five digits through the beautiful hair. The other hand rested over his, clasping the ribbon. With utmost slowness, Terra lifted both of her hands to her own mane and, with a sigh, unleashed the wild green hair. Memories choked her voice.
“Why me? Because of my abilities?” Terra had asked the blond king of Figaro when she met him at his kingdom. Why did this strange man demand she join them?
His smile was something she had never known before. “For three reasons. First, because your beauty has totally captivated me. Second, because I’m dying to know if you’re my type. Your abilities would be a distant...third.”
Despite the memories that seemed like waves that crashed over her, the shoreline, Terra forced her thoughts to form words. “I never knew love, Edgar. I asked myself a hundred times what it was and found myself lacking each time. Then the children of Mobliz me taught much of it. Still, it was not sufficient. Shouldn’t I have the love a man gives a woman, I asked?” Her voice caught and the green-haired woman noted Cecil stepping to the foreground–oddly enough that pleased her.
I need some time to be alone with Edgar and my grief. This is something no white knight can carry me through...my footprints are my own, however bitter they are.
She continued, “I see now that I was selfish. In my quest to find love, I banished love. Can you forgive me? Do you understand? I learnt my lesson, though I feel cheated somehow.” Again, her voice broke and she murmured, “Wait in heaven for me–then we’ll have that date.” Closing both emerald eyes, Terra lightly kissed him on the forehead.
A rustle of linen roused her. Cecil, she observed dully, as she curled her ribbon in the dead monarch’s fingers. Terra refused his offer of an embrace–too long she’d been running into the paladin’s arms. Edgar’s sacrifice demonstrated courage that the half-esper was determined to imitate. Edgar wait for me in the realm where time itself dies...
“One to born from a dragon...”
Terra started at hearing Cecil solemnly quote a benediction. Her eyes sought and caught his image, crescendoed in an off-white cape. He was on a knee at the marble’s feet, gloved hands folded in prayer, unworldly azure eyes shut. The words that spilled from his lips seemed to ripple in the air with a sacredness that was both benefitting and appropriate.
“...Hoisting the light and the dark...”
Ben and Aurora stood, as well, transfixed. The half-esper, herself, could scarcely breathe.
“...Arises up high in the sky, to the still land...”
To this, the paladin climbed to his feet, eyes yet shut, arms reaching heavenward.
“...Veiling the moon with the light of eternity...”
A pristine column of light, similar to the one that Cecil had summoned against their adversaries back at the frozen fortress, spanned from his body to that of Edgar’s. Like living threads, they encircled both king and knight. The paladin appeared utterly absorbed.
“...It brings another promise...to mother earth with a bounty and mercy.”
The light vanished and Cecil collapsed.
As if the illumination had held the three spellbound and now, by its disappearance, they were released, half-esper, healer, and wizard all raced to the paladin’s side. Terra arrived first, holding the whitegold-haired warrior in her arms. Then, Aurora placed her hands to his temples, hoping to rouse the paladin of whatever he’d done to drain himself. Only Ben remained aloof. Something in eyes told of a reluctant admiration and a deep sorrow.
“That’ll do no good, Cecil. Nothing may sway the hand of Genesis.”
Unfazed, the paladin gazed up with clear eyes. “I had to try.”
“Yes, well, that’s commendable on your part–willing to give your life-force in exchange for his–but as I said he is dead and nothing you do will ever change that.”
Still, the answer. “I had to try.”
.
Shaking his head at the incorrigible knight, Ben brushed aside his snow-white mustache. His sapphire-hued eyes trailed to the motionless form of Edgar. With a nod of his head and the wizard bowed reverently. Aurora did likewise. Then, the garishly-dressed man bid the flame- haired woman over. The two conversed again.
Meanwhile, Terra seized the opportunity to help Cecil to his feet. He grunted a thank-you. Before the esper woman could return to mourning Edgar’s fall, Ben ushered them over, his face flushed with anticipation. Her sea-green eyes met with the paladin’s azure eyes briefly in question. He shrugged helplessly. He was as much in the dark as she.
When the wizardess and warrior obeyed, the white-maned man promptly circled the chamber. One by one he stripped the curtains off the three walls with expert ease. Each drape fell soundlessly like descending rain. After Ben completed his round he came to the head of Edgar’s burial block and flung his arms out wide.
“Open sesame!” he cried.
Like the heavens themselves ruptured, the trio of stone exploded into a mass of light. Terra found herself yelping in surprise as she flung a hand over her eyes. From what she could determine, Cecil stiffened in shock as well while Aurora shielded her visage with an arm. After the savage light faded, Terra glanced around.
And saw Setzer’s face.
Air refused to inflate her lungs as the half-esper struggled to speak. At the wall to her right stood a massive mirror which exhibited not the room’s occupants but that of distant Figaro’s. Setzer, his ivory mane and ebony cape contrasting sharply, sat on Edgar’s throne. Shadow inhabited one wall while Mog did the other.
It was at that moment in which Terra heard Cecil gasp thinly. Her eyes followed his ashened gaze and saw an attractive couple, one of a green-gold hair and the other of a dark brown, reflected in another mirror to their left. The environment seemed to be a hundred mirrors. Two kindred children flanked them. As far as the esper could note, the paladin recognized them.
Lastly, the center wall that Ben partially eclipsed with his frame, was yet another mirror. And, like the others, it revealed not the hallowed chamber’s image. Instead, a boy with outlandish red hair and a girl with an odd helmet appeared there. Some distance beyond also was an eccentric humanoid entity and a primitive blond woman present all within some mist-ridden forest.
For a moment, all everyone could do was stare.
Except Ben, who, smiling quite proudly, announced, “I loved to stay and chat–believe me I know this is going to get interesting–but duty calls. That hilt needs a blade and I intend to retrieve it.” Swifter than a breath, he vanished up the stairs.
.
Going to get interesting? Understatement to perfection.
Setzer spoke first, rising from his seat. His tone was of mingled joy and grief. “I don’t know whether to cry from happiness or anguish...It’s so good to see you Terra but is Edgar...well, is he?” Mog looked on concerned while Shadow remained silent.
Willing courage into her words, Terra responded, “I’m afraid so.”
“He must have done something not conducive to long life. Most unfortunate,” the gambler sighed, shaking his silver-haired head.
“Yeah, you don’t get much more unfortunate than that, eh?”
All heads spun in the direction of the impertinent voice. It belonged to the brown-haired man in the mirror to Terra’s left. His attire was of a most curious fashion–a silk lavender bandana wrapped around his mouth while a cape of like material spilled down his back. His grin came carefree in a manner only rivaled by Edgar.
“Edge!” barked Cecil sharply, eyes narrowing in disapproval.
“What?” Edge asked as his female companion rapped him on the skull. “Rydia! I didn’t mean anything by it! Shesseh!”
Setzer added, as if uninterrupted, “I’m gonna hate telling Sabin...He’d been worried about his brother all this week and obviously the worst of his fears has been realized.” He sighed again, passing a hand over his eyes. “What about Celes, Locke, and Cyan?”
Discourse immediately immersed the area as Cecil communicated with his realm and Aurora did also with the third universe. Like a silent guardian the scones cast their protective light over the three and the trio of mirrors. Edgar’s serene figure lay in the shadow with a doleful quiet. Though she rejoiced at finally connecting with her world, the tidings she bore caused much grief.
“Cyan died,” the half-esper explained with a hint of sorrow. “And I have no idea where Celes is. But my friends here have discovered Locke’s location. We hope to...” But her words died just as surely as Edgar’s life faded when Terra detected another form enter Figaro’s audience chamber.
That figure, as muscular as a wrestler with navy eyes, turned to see the mirror. His expression, briefly of delight, instantly evaporated. The tanned flesh paled visibly. He lifted a hand to the mirror, aghast. It was as if someone had plunged a spear right through him and the man hadn’t acknowledged his death yet. But he acknowledged that of his twin’s...
“Sabin...” whispered Terra brokenly. But he did not seem to hear. Those eyes, identical to the King of Figaro, brimmed with tears appearing as a rain-streaked window. His words came out so softly that everyone had to strain to hear.
“Oh, god, brother, what have you done? It wasn’t suppose to end like this! You’re too young to die! What did you have to die?” Without another word, Edgar’s twin brother, Sabin fled the throne chamber of Figaro.
For long moments everyone was mute again. Terra swallowed, seeing Mog shaking his head (his one strand of hair fell into his face and temporarily blinded him) and the gambler’s ill- ease as he stroked a chin. The conversation between her companions and their respective worlds proceeded, albeit with a trace of hesitation.
“Edge, Rydia,” came Cecil’s declaration, “Evil as I’ve never known threatens us. Kain and Rosa are here with me. I want you to prepare the United Kingdoms for war. If I should fail on my mission you might be our only hope.”
Nodding, Rydia replied, “Keep in contact–and take care of yourself.”
With a flourishing grin, Edge added, “Yeah, watch out. I don’t want to find out you don’t have eyes at the back of your head, after all.”
Meanwhile, the flame-haired healer whirled to face the center mirror. Unlike the other two worlds, those gathered stared at her, not recognizing Aurora. To this, the healer offered a reassuring smile and said, “My name is Aurora. You are Crono, Lucca, Robo, and Ayla, correct?”
“You know your people, Aurora,” answered Crono in the right shade between friendliness and caution. His own glittering green eyes squinted, “So, you must know what going on. And that would be?”
“Remember Lavos? Well, he’s kitty litter in comparison to what we’re going to face...” She hedged, then erupted in words, “I need to know you guys are ready for whatever happens. It’s true we’re strangers, but desperation makes friends out of anyone.”
Crono whispered something to Lucca. She muttered another assent and the red-haired boy proclaimed, “If Glen and Magus could stand each other, I could make friends with the devil himself, Aurora. Plus, I’m getting awfully good at this save-the-world thing.”
Terra quickly absorbed the discussions, feeling a sense of inspiration warm her heart. Finally, after sighing, the green-haired woman continued. Her words were soft, “Setzer, the situation is serious. A man named Tarus intends to do great harm–maybe greater than Kefka. I’m staying here to fight.”
You taught me love, children of Mobliz. You taught me courage, Edgar. Now let me show you what I have learned. My footprints are my own...
“And right you should,” Setzer agreed, lips set straight. “I only wish I could help.”
“Oh, but you can!” cried an optimistic voice. Immediately, all heads turned to the direction of the voice. Their eyes met a wizard with lengthy white hair. Behind him lurked a young man with brown hair and of like eyes and an ivory-robed female carrying a staff.
Ben had returned...and, with him, Locke Cole and Rosa Farrell.
After a squeal of elation, Terra engulfed the treasure hunter in a glorious hug. His return embrace was of no less affection. Her action and his subsequent reaction resulted in an explosion of questions on both sides–the companions and their complimentary worlds. Just as surely as the flamelight blazed in the scones on the wall, so, too, did the inquires flood the once-quiet burial chamber.
“Quiet!” hollered Ben. Though it required a few more shouts of requested silence, the wizard found the attention he so sought. Straightening his moustache, he announced, “There’s much to discuss as you’re all aware. But the most serious matter at hand is the salvation of the world. Right?”
To that, none could argue.
Eyes alight, he lifted both of his hands. One held an ancient dragonhilt; the other, its supplementary blade. Each expelled an eerie bluish gleam, mirroring the glimmer in Ben’s own pupils. This glow extended the length of him, the mirrors, the companions–indeed, the entire chamber. It seemed to have a force that impressed itself physically and metaphysically.
“My friends, though the road has been grave and the losses high, I now hold in my hand the key to our victory. As well, the four worlds of the pyramid of life have been united. The scale of balance that has tipped to darkness now has returned to light...Hope has been reborn and...” In the zenith of the glow, he attached the blade to the hilt, melted each to one another.
All heartbeats thudded as one. The destiny blade was born again.
“...it all comes together...”
.