Yargh^^;;

Ok, hopefully this works. Stupid NT computer. What retard designed these things?!




*****

[ 15 ]

He sat on the bed in the room they'd given him, with its walls of metal and floors of stone, and contemplated his rebirth. After all, what else could be called? Rescued from the brink of death, granted a new body, a new focus, and a new allegiance; he was now what he once was in name only, and not in spirit.

At least, that's what he'd been telling himself.

It was more difficult than he thought. Not the studies that they'd thrust upon him. He'd devoured these magics -- no, these "sciences" hungrily, surpassing others in the school around his age with ridiculous ease, earning for himself a name to be whispered jealously on the lips of both his colleagues and his superiors. A potential problem, but not nearly as pressing as the one currently before him.

The loss of home.

A responsibility unfulfilled.

Mother. Brother.

They were thousands of miles away, mourning the death that he'd never experienced. Sometimes he'd pick up a quill, set it to parchment, the words of apology and regret beginning to form. Then he'd see the silver glint in the candlelight, a forever reminder of what was not to be, and the words would blur, then dissolve, leaving him to stare at a paper with nothing more than the first upswept beginnings of a letter (perhaps a name, perhaps a greeting). His hands would tremble, and he'd sweep the unfinished thing to the floor, later picked up by one of this place's many unseen workers. It had been a while, though, since he'd tried, and both the Emperor and his teachers were busy thrusting theory after theory at him, testing his mettle, demanding that he draw up some sort of schematic for this or that and the gods be damned if someone else had asked for something else first.

Schematic...

He stood, walked to the desk, and picked up the beginnings of one of the Emperor's requests (which, of course, took precedence over any of the others). A Guymelef, this time, with capabilities unforseen by any Gaean country. There was one thing that was always lacking, he speculated, in the models back home. It was so difficult to see through the protective grates that were allocated in order to protect the pilot, and therefore left him blindsided to attacks from either the far right or the far left. What if there were a way to get around using human sight? Perhaps something else to even enhance it...?

His mind twisted and molded his new learnings into physical possibilities onto the rich parchment. As of yet, he knew not enough of what they called "physics" and "chemistry" to put any of his theories to work, but the basics and his own intuition were enough to start speculating. It was a thankful, if impermanent, distraction from the haunts of his past.

Then there was a small creak, the sound of his door opening carefully. The intruder scrambled for his bed and shuffled underneath. For a moment he attributed it to rats; they had been quite common where the rooms were furnished with stone and wood, but then he realized that with this place's need for sterilization, and the tightly fused metal walls, there were no rodents.

He stood with a great commotion, pounding the mattress with one hand, hoping to startle the unwelcome visitor. "Who's there?" he demanded.

No answer.

Rather than take the chance of being surprised, he grabbed the side of his meager bed with one hand, slamming the furniture vertically against the wall, and grabbed for the intruder with his other. He'd been prepared to yell and fight, but what met his eyes shocked him to silence.

It was a girl. She couldn't have been more than five or six; she still bore some of her baby fat. The face was sweet, a touch of rose on each of the cheeks, framed by silvery blonde locks had been shorn so that the bottom of the curls graced the shoulders of her simple blue gown. She lifted a finger up to her lips.

He shook his head. "No one will hear us. What are you doing here?"

"I'm playing hide and go seek."

He blinked in confusion. Who could possibly be doing such a thing in here? The other residents were either students too young to be thinking of children, or instructors too single-minded to think beyond their work. "From who, little one?"

"From my invisible friend." She spoke candidly, using that berating voice children use when adults ask questions that had such obvious answers. "He can be kind of mean when he wins, so I'm not going to let him this time." Her feet dangled in the air and she began to casually swing them back and forth.

He smiled. The child had no fear at all, even though she had an incredibly close view of his unique disfigurement. "And what is his name?"

She smiled happily at the thought of he who must have been the most wonderful person in the world. The little mouth opened and drew in a large breath of air to appropriately make such an important announcement.




"Dilandau..."

Van regretted the momentary release of precious oxygen the moment it left his mouth. The fingers around his neck were surprisingly nimble, finding painpoints on his neck that he couldn't believe existed. Through the blood roaring in his ears he heard muffled screams and several bellows for the royal guardsmen. Only three sounds were distinct through the din; Allen's desperate pleas, Millerna's shrill commands, and his attacker's triumphant laugh. His pull on Dilandau's wrists yielded no results, serving only to drain what little strength remained. Blackness closed in.

Salvation was, thus, nearly too late, and whoever yielded the blow was curiously unidentifiable. All that could be seen was the flash of a tall figure wrapped in dark blue. A sweet gust of air then swept into his unsuspecting lungs, and a coughing fit ensued. Gentle hands caught him and laid him slowly onto the ground. His eyes became filled with pain induced tears, and thus his second benefactor also became a mystery.

Allen roared over the din - "VAN! CELENA!" - while continuing to shove his way through the fleeing masses. He'd already barked orders to the arriving palace guards to keep the guests calm and demand that they remain where they were. Unfortunately, the gentry had decided that either they had the right to know right now who had let such a diseased individual into their presence or that they had the right to be let loose from the premises with all possible haste. As a result, Allen found himself being pulled left and right by emissaries who had reached the conclusion that the Hero of the Knights had all the answers. Frustrated, both Allen and Millerna began sending them bit by bit back to their guest chambers under armed escort.

"Boss!" Gaddes waved frantically, wedged unfortunately between a few bulky Cesarian knights (who were trying to help calm down their fellows as best they could). "Celena, she's--"

"Gods, no!" Allen cried, tearing through the dignitaries with a renewed vigor towards where he'd last seen his foolish friend. He feared what Gaddes' panicked expression implied, and if Van had a hand in its doing he planned on tearing the King apart. He dove between several fleeing men and women to find the back of a slick armored Zaibach uniform. The soldier had a struggling figure in his grasp, one hand clamped around a pale wrist and the other in what Allen assumed was a binding chokehold. A glimpse of silver hair, and the soldier's victim was quickly identified.

Allen tackled him with more ferocity than he'd originally intended, sending all three of them sprawling onto the floor. The soldier let out a small oomph in surprise, and the high pitched tone immediately branded "he" as a "she." The other sound, a male's grunting curse, stole the last fleeting hope that his sister's situation was not as terrible as he thought. The fight in him fled, replaced by a growing feeling of guilt and misery, and all he was able to do was keep a futile hug on the Zaibach woman.

She was therefore the first to recover. She elbowed him hard in the chest, pushing herself away from him at the same time, and lept to her feet. Almost immediately after was Dilandau, who let out an outraged roar and slammed into her hard enough to send them both back to the ground.

"Bitch, bitch, bitch!" the crazed boy shrieked, punctuating his words by driving his fist towards the woman's unprotected face. She deflected a few, but not all, and his perch on her stomach hindered her ability to defend herself. Then he stiffened, his eyes rolling back into his head, and he slumped forward, resting his head on her shoulder's plate armor. Behind him stood a Sorcerer, a spent hypodermic needle in one hand, a relieved look on his tired face.

"Are you all right, Zhi?" He bent down to lift the boy's unconscious body from hers when a swordpoint met his neck.

"Stand where you are," commanded the Asturian guardsman. They had formed a ring around the group, hands on their swords. Angry, Zhi violently shoved the boy's dead weight off of her, causing a chorus of withdrawn steel, and Allen caught him before he could hit the floor. She stood, and cast the soldiers a baleful glare.

"Celena," Allen whispered, though the sharp, arrogant features on the face before him was not truly the much-loved beauty of his sister. He drew Dilandau to his breast, choking at the lump in his throat and the pain in his heart.

Van rubbed the developing bruises on his neck. He took a step towards Allen, hoping to apologize, but found himself unable to form the right words. A guilt-ridden sigh left his lungs, and he took the brief moment of sanity to examine the Zaibach couple.

The Sorcerer was rather non-descript, only a few inches taller than himself, and though the features were young, his hair was shot through with gray and white. The lines that had started to form around his mouth were more suited for frowns than smiles. Had he told anyone that he'd just greeted his thirty-fifth year it was doubtful that they would have believed him. He stood calmly, a mixture of resolution and pity in his eyes, his form hidden underneath the high collar, floor-length black cloak.

The soldier, though, was outlandish. She stood at a comparable eye level with Allen, which meant that Van had to crane his neck slightly to see all of her. Upswept almond eyes, black and narrowed over high, pale cheekbones, and luxurious, though haphazardly shorn to chin-length, black hair marked her as a Freidian woman, though it was rare to see one outside the home, not to mention her country. Her body was slim, but by her actions earlier probably highly toned, and was encased in the tight, leathery uniform that was characteristic of only Zaibach's elite Guymelef squad, the Dragonslayers. Dark blue covered her from head to toe, peeking out from underneath only slightly lighter thigh high booths, arm coverings, and heavy shoulder armor (each of which sported a single, hand's-height spike). Gold trim lined the collar, the jacket split down her midsection, and the buckles that were wrapped in from her back to meet her chest. A skirt, open wide in both the back and the front, covered her from waist to knees, and an empty sword hilt hung from one side. He'd seen the uniform before and, like her companion's wear, the memories it brought were far from sweet. Fleetingly he wondered what psychotic led the young squad now. Or, perhaps, was she here to claim their treasured captain...?

"My Lord Van," Millerna called, gently making a pathway through her guardsmen, "are you hurt?"

"No."

"And you, sir?" she asked of the Madoushi.

"A little startled, but otherwise fine."

"Your name?"

The calm young man adjusted his glasses. "Strategos Dineer, my lady."

Millerna blinked, realizing that she faced the highest ranked official of the Zaibach empire. She offered him a small bow. "My Lord."

"What did you do to her?"

The harsh question came from Allen, who stared angrily at the Sorcerer while still cradling Celena's -- Dilandau's -- unresponsive form. Dineer looked at him, expressionless. "A strong sedative. It will calm down his -- excuse me," he rectified, noting how the Knight's eyebrows furrowed, "her body and make it more welcome to change back to its original form. I have a bottle in my luggage, enough to last -- "

"You're not feeding her anymore of your... potions!" Allen snarled.

The Dragonslayer sneered. "Let her suffer, then."

"Zhi," the Sorcerer murmured. She rolled her eyes. He looked at the princess. "We will need a room, guards posted at the doors. A comfortable bed is a must, as well as a set of chairs, a small meal, plenty of candles. I'm certain that these three," he swept a hand towards Van, Allen, and Zhi, "would also feel more comfortable with their weaponry."

Millerna frowned, slightly irritated at the man's presumptious demands. "My Lord Strategos--"

"Allow me to be more forward, my dear." Dineer straightened up, suddenly imposing, almost frighteningly authoritative. "Yes, I am the Strategos of Zaibach, second to only the Emperor himself. Though the Emperor is new to his position, I'm certain that my mistreatment will not go over well diplomatically. Furthermore," he gestured at Dilandau, "the notorious nature of this boy's role in the War of Destiny is known far and wide. Alone, he is thought to be responsible for the burning of an entire country, as well as rather numerous accounts of depravity. This recent incident was witnessed by representatives of every known country in Gaea, most of whom have very long memories. I trust, then, that you realize my desire for haste in this matter and my lack of propriety.

"That," he continued, looking meaningfully at the young Fanelian King, "and there are many answers about the man who once held my position that it is time you hear."



[ 16 ]

How invigorating, to be free.

...still STINGS...

And, wouldn't you know, someone had to deliver a to him a welcoming present! If he'd only had more time to enjoy it before they took it away.

Nevertheless, it was thrilling to enjoy the few moments that he'd had with his fingertips against his neck, pressing the tiny nerves here and there, the thick veins and the corrugated windpipe yielding beneath his palms. He wanted to push and push and push until the flesh and bone exploded and his hands met together in a splattery, gore-enhanced clap.

...Prick. Prick. Prick prick prickprickprickPRICK --

-- STOP! Oh, gods, stop...

Then there was the Dragonslayer. The female Dragonslayer. Disgusting, staining the memory of his loyal followers this way. What were those idiot Generals thinking? Maybe he could make over that pretty, pale face with his fists. An ugly woman could be mistaken for a man. Maybe later he could carve off those awful protruding mammaries with the sharpened edge of a Crima claw.

Oh... Oh no... Help me help mehelpme AllenJajukaFolkenhelpmeOHPLEASE--

...Prick.

Silence.




The girl came into his room every two to three days. How she managed to sneak away from whoever and wherever was beyond him. To be honest, he never considered the possibilities.

They noticed that he was a bit more vigorous in his studies, and someone swore they caught him whistling in the hallways. It was just too bad that the private rooms were tightly locked and soundproofed (so that no one could interrupt the other's studies); more than one of the other boys would have liked to find out what sort of whore he'd managed to sneak into the facility. A few ribbed each other about the possible notion that it was one of THEM who was entertaining the stuck-up bastard. In the meantime, while most of the students his age were still muddling about Molecular Biology and Atlantean Mythology, he'd been set up with a private laboratory with unlimited access to both the chemical and organic supply storage. He'd also been deprived of the usual red tape; the only people he answered to were Strategos Kyr or the Emperor himself, though it soon became much more preferable to answer to the ancient, metallic monstrosity that was the Emperor than the sneering, pasty-faced wraith that was the Strategos.

Peaceful enough, the first three years.

It was not a lonely existence, though the other young men shunned him and the instructors loathed him. He was allowed to roam outside freely (though there were sections of the facility itself that were barred), and therefore discovered more about the elusive Zaibach empire than he suspected any foreignor had. He explored a country that was rich in knowledge and technology, and, strangely enough, without a set class system. Both men and women were outspoken regarding the state of the country and its people, and it was delightful to hear their public speeches or (once he'd gained a better grasp of their writing system) read through their weekly publications. It was fascinating to see assembly lines at work, cranking out everything from shoes to Guymelefs in vast, but controlled, amounts. The land itself was rather poor, lacking in the proper nutrients to supplement much in the way of botanics, but through trade the people continued to flourish. The single outpost (located within walking distance of the main entrance) was rich in foreign foods and materials which were traded for either bulk manufactured items, such as crates of leather armor, or exquisite metallic craftmanship that were only capable using Zaibach's advanced tools.

Though the intellectual crowd branded him clearly as an outcast, the soldiers were at least outwardly friendly. They were more used to seeing those maimed or crippled by combat, and therefore were more fascinated than disgusted by his unique situation. They welcomed his presence in the barracks, where he visited at least once every seven days, and often took drinks with them, though he never became senselessly inebriated. They welcomed him as a sparring partner, though he'd been reluctant to do so at first. It was delightful to once again hone his swordsmanship, and he used what he now had to every advantage. The soldiers often clapped him on the back shaking their heads, remarking what a waste it was that he was becoming a Madoushi and not a General.

He even discovered a few "pets" on one of his outings. Though the twin beastgirls Naria and Eriya were distrustful of both him and his frequent companion at first, kindness and time brought out their sweet side, and they often fell asleep curled near his head or his chest, purring happily.

The first few months of apathy and regret seemed like a dream. Fanelia seemed as far away as the Mystic Moon. And it was all because of Celena.

Aside from a haunted look behind her deep blue eyes, the child had a seemingly limitless well of cheer that she could draw on that made the gloomy interior of his simple quarters bright and livable. He now had a set of two rooms to "play" in; one to sleep in, the other to study (his bed, now far more comfortable, had become a trampoline). She loved to watch him work, and her favourite pasttime was to doodle, using rejected diagrams to scratch drawings of people, flowers, and animals. Her second favourite pasttime was to pull Naria or Eriya's tails while they were taking one of their frequent naps... and run. This ended up in a rough wrestling match that often ended with Naria and Eriya sitting on top of Celena's back or front with some part of her (be it hair or dress) gently caught between sets of sharp kitten teeth. Even when she was bruised or cut, it never failed to set her off into peals of giggles.

As for her imaginary friend, he brought himself to fore only when she was alone. Celena talked to the invisible figure in whispers, giggling at unheard jokes, gasping at inappropriate silent comments. She also blamed many of the little mishaps on him. The spilled ink was Dilandau's fault. Dilandau had ripped the blank parchment. Dilandau had toppled the books. It was sometimes frustrating, but she was so apologetic that he couldn't help forgive her. Luckily, though, the "other" friend disappeared nearly completely when Naria and Eriya arrived. Perhaps it was just the lack of similarly aged children that had created the little fiend.

The three girls were in the midst of rumble, tearing through the study room, knocking over books and papers and causing a small ruckus (which he'd learnt to ignore), when someone began to urgently knock on the heavy wooden door.

The four froze, Celena and Eriya in the midst of a wrestling hug with Naria nibbling on Celena's ankles, him at his desk, quill in mid-sweep. The three girls scrambled for the small space underneath his bed while he stood, adjusting his cloak, to answer the door.

A beastman, canine, stood in the doorway, looking fervently left and right, as if expecting an attack.

"Where is she?" he whispered, obviously aware of the presence of the other students.

He pretended ignorance. "I believe you are mistaken. There is no one else here. If you would excuse me..." He began to close the door. The dogman thrust out his paw, forcing himself inside before hastily shutting the door.

"No, I am not. You are Folken, yes?"

He nodded hesitantly. "You have me at a disadvantage."

"I am Jajuka." The beastman bowed. "Celena's keeper."

"Jajuka!" Celena's tiny figure wriggled out from underneath the bed. Eriya and Naria's furry forms remained hidden, although a barely audible hiss floated up after the little girl. She snatched up one of her many sketches before throwing her arms around the dogman's waist.

"Come now, Celena," he said, gently stroking her hair, "we need to go back now."

"Go back?" Folken echoed. "To where?"

"I'd heard you were an intelligent man, Master Folken," scoffed Jajuka.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Master Folken, that perhaps it's time you opened your eyes."

"To what?" he cried.

Jajuka sighed and removed the little girl's arms from about his waist, taking the proffered drawing at the same time. She immediately streaked for the bed, trying to coax the anxious twins out from underneath the mattresses so they could meet her "other bestest friend." The beastman took a glance at the paper, then folded it neatly. "Celena tells me about you all the time. You are kind, she says. You are her friend. I have asked her, 'And what does he say when you tell him where you are from?' She says, 'I do not tell him. He would be angry.'"

The young man's eyes opened wide. "Damnit," he whispered, "will you provide me the answer?"

"She says you are busy all the time," the beastman continued, ignoring the question, "and I have heard your name quite often from the Sorcerers and the soldiers. You are more physically active than most, I have heard. Many students prefer only their studies. Here."

Folken realized the man was babbling, avoiding the answer to his question. He looked down, only seeing his own rejected scribblings. "I have seen her drawings before."

"Celena!" Jajuka called, "It is time to go." He turned back towards the confused boy. "Yes, you have. I have heard from the Sorcerers that you will be appointed and transferred quite soon. When you do, more of the Madoushi's secrets will become open. More of the complex's rooms will be unlocked. You will find Celena then."

Celena came obediently, disappointed that the cat-twins were quite adamant regarding their refusal to meet with the canine. She wrapped her smaller hand into Jajuka's furry paw and they turned to leave. The little girl raised a hand and smiled brightly, cheerfully bidding fairwell.

"Wait!" he cried. He had to know! How could he have been so blissfully ignorant all this time? What could he have been thinking?

The beastman had opened the door, and was now mindful of curious bystanders. "I thank you for finding her, Master," he said, bowing respectfully. "I apologize that she caused you so much inconvenience."

He almost shouted at him. How could he have just barged in here like this and disrupted everything? How could he leave so many burning questions unanswered? Instead, he made an approving grunt, just enough to be polite without giving the others the impression that there'd been anything more than business between the stupid creature and himself, and slammed the door. Once their footsteps had faded away, he sighed and opened the parchment...

...And beheld a child's clumsy drawing of a Madoushi strung by his neck from a scraggly, leafless tree (the trunk merely the downstroke of a hard-pressed quill), whose innards, a conglomerate of ameoba-like organs and a trail of scraggly double lines, had been spilled onto the 2-dimensional earth. Away from the gruesome remains stood a widely grinning stick boy with shoulder-length hair wielding two darkly stained hands. An arrow pointed from his head to a set of ill-written Zaibach words.

"Dilandau iz hapy now!"




"You're a woman."

"And?"

"The Dragonslayers were boys."

"And?"

"What do you mean, 'And?' What are you doing in that uniform?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Yes!"

"Strange concerns coming from the man that slaughtered the first of the Dragonslayer regiments."

"How do you know about that?!"

"I wonder, half-breed beast, did you enjoy hearing them scream?"

Van's fingers clenched over his sword hilt. "You fucking bi--"

"Van!" Eries snapped.

"Good grief," Gaddes said, exasperated.

"Zhi," said Dineer, peering at her through his spectacles over a half-filled glass of vino.

The chaos at the reception had been, eventually, militaristically dispersed, with all the guests sent back to their rooms under a full Asturian guard. No one was to leave without an escort, no one was to go home without identifying an emergency. In essence, the princesses had managed to "take hostage" nearly all of Gaea's prominent diginitaries. Many were outraged but were willing to put it aside in exchange for knowing the fate of the infamous Dragonslayer Commander Dilandau Albatou.

The boy in question was now sleeping quite peacefully in a down-filled bed, his formerly malicious appearance only marred by the clean-cut scar that blemished his right cheek. Allen had hoped that whatever medicine the Strategos had given would have reverted him back to his original form. Instead, he'd remained asleep, and the sight of what had been his sister's body in such a dead-like state made Allen want to scream.

Gaddes, along with the Princess Eries (as the reigning royalty Princess Millerna, though curious and concerned, was forced to deal with the throng of angered guests), had been allowed into the spacious tower suite, and, per Dineer's request, so had an armed Van and Zhi. Allen politely refused his weaponry, fearful at the chance to use it. Other than the wide bed, the stone and wooden room held a dresser and a thick rug, and several modest tapestries. A few padded chairs and a light meal of bread, cheese, and vino had been brought up as well. Two slender windows let in the moonlight, and offered a splendid view of downtown Palas. A long line of guards had been posted on the stairwell to the upper room.

Dineer took a long pull at his glass, sighing appreciatively afterwards. "Delicious!"

"My Lord Strategos," said the Princess, "perhaps it's time you tell us why you have brought us up here?"

"Ah yes," he replied, setting down his drink, "you must forgive me. Our country has been a bit lacking in good vintage these days."

"We'd be happy to send you home with several of our best bottles."

"Excellent! Much appreciated, my dear, thank you."

"Are you going to tell us what my brother has to do with him or not?" Van snarled.

Dineer clasped his hand together, two human hands, Van noted, and paced a bit near the window. His long, black cloak trailed after him, whispering on the cold stone floor. "Yes, well, this will not be easy. You must give me a few moments. I think, perhaps, you may all want to have a seat."

"Why?" Van was leaning against the wall, arms folded. Zhi was standing near the princess, hand comfortably resting on the hilt of her sword. Gaddes was fidgeting, hands in his pockets. Allen was the only one not standing, sitting protectively with Dilandau near the head of the bed.

"Not many have heard what I am about to tell you. Some of it... will not be pleasant. It will be a long telling, too. King Van, please."

After seeing the scathing look Eries hurled his way, Van plopped into a nearby chair. Eries let herself into another one, settling her skirts immediately. Gaddes slid onto the floor. Zhi remained standing, scowling in annoyance.

"Well then," Dineer said, pushing his spectacles back to their appropriate place, "I met Folken Lacour de Fanel about three years after he'd arrived..."



[ 17 ]

"Master Folken?"

No response. Only the gurgling of boiling chemicals answered the young man's query.

"Master Folken?" he asked again, pushing his way carefully into the laboratory. Another young man sat at the desk in front of him, carefully writing something left-handed while using a gloved right hand to peer at a beaker.

"Master Folken, I apologize for interrupting you, but I was told to introduce myself immediately. I am Dineer, your new assistant."

The sky haired man turned slightly, frowning. "Really now? Only you?"

Dineer blinked. What a low voice for such a young person! "Yes, well..."

"Nobody else volunteered."

Dineer grimaced.

Folken peered at the young man, cloakless, wearing the standard Madoushi uniform, whose handsome face was only creased by the stretch of his smile. His spectacles had been pushed onto his head, holding back the top of an unruly mop of hair that was braided and hung over one shoulder. "I see," Folken said at last.

"I-I had heard of your genius, Master Folken!" he stammered. "It really does not matter to me what the others say, though there are a few that think as I do. To think that you perfected the Crima Claw on the Alseides model all on your own! Not to mention discovering the premisces of redirecting Fate particles, creating the telescope system for both Guymelef and tank usage--"

The other man's frown deepened, and he began to turn back around. "I don't need an assistant."

"I'm really sorry you think so sir, but Strategos Kyr gave me this." He held out a scroll, neatly sealed.

Folken unravelled it and peered at Kyr's flourishing and sickeningly precise handwriting. When he was done, he rerolled the scroll and handed it back. "We are to begin working with the Senior Sorcerers on the Fate Experimentation project, beginning tomorrow morning. Specifically, it says, we are to begin the manipulation of Fate particles on organic beings."

"Wonderful!" Dineer cried, taking an eager hold of the other boy's right hand. "It will be wonderful to work... to work..."

The cold metal in his grasp twitched slightly. Pointed fingertips scraped lightly against the back of his hand. Dineer slowly gazed upwards, taking in the twisting wires and cords, gaping at the bolts, screws, and molded plates that were fused together to create a hideous, metallic mockery of the muscles and sinews on a skinless human arm.

That glove had been his hand!

"Yes," Folken replied coldly, a small smile on his lips, "I suppose it will."




Dineer winced and ran his fingers through his hair. He took a long pull at his glass before continuing. "I apologize. Folken kept that thing well hidden from the other students. A lot of the other boys thought that he was deformed in some way, but that was entirely unexpected."

Van's face pinched in nearly the same way. The hairs on his neck rose, remembering the sting of that fingertip needle. His introduction to his brother's alteration had been, if anything, more startling than Dineer's. The others had heard, but never seen firsthand, the replacement arm, and were impatient but respectful in the short lull. Zhi merely looked bored.

The Strategos cleared his throat. "Well� Folken and I worked together for some time before we got any sort of success. It was frustrating work. The Sorcerers had previously attempted experiments on live beings before, all failures, and we were privy to their calculations, but never to details. We found those on our own later, much to our horror.

"In the meantime, I tried to whittle away at his personal defenses." He smiled wistfully, staring at the droplets of red wine that remained at the bottom of his glass. "He'd been so used to being shunned by his fellow classmates and intellectuals that to find someone that actually was trying to like him was strange. I think I must have talked quite a bit, telling him about myself, trying to get something more than scientific information out of him. It took several weeks before I succeeded�"




The boy was an incessant chatterbox.

Against his will, Folken had already learned that Dineer was the son of a struggling metal artisan whose soldier husband had died on some government sanctioned expedition. She was left to fend with a teenage son whose misbehavior eventually sent him to the gallows, and Dineer. Her penny-pinching had eventually saved enough to him to school where it was discovered that the young child was something of a prodigy. The word was spread to the Sorcerer's Academy, and when he was old enough, Dineer made a tearful goodbye to his loving mother to begin boarding at the most elite of Zaibach educational centers. Since then, he'd made a name for himself as one of many respectful, hard-working students. It was then not kindly looked upon that he'd singly volunteered to be the assistant of the cold, friendless foreign boy.  Dineer mentioned this last only once, and then so quietly that Folken hadn't been sure he'd heard it.

So far Folken had escaped answering any of the boy's questions regarding his lineage by pretending he hadn't heard them. Much to his own surprise, however, he found himself acting somewhat polite, encouraging the one-sided conversation by asking questions (though they didn't really go farther than, "Is that so?" and "Really?") and nodding attentively.

Damn it all, he found himself enjoying the boy's company. He'd been trying so hard to keep himself from becoming attached to this place and this place's people; after all, one of these days he would take Celena away to somewhere they would be safe. She'd been mysteriously absent since the discovery of her drawing. Folken made cryptic attempts to locate and discover the whereabouts of his tiny friend to no avail. He'd seen Jajuka often enough now that he was a permanent addition to the Emperor's Fate laboratories; the beastman was apparently the keeper for many of the animals stored for experimentation. Even he had no answers to Celena's disappearance, and Folken's anxiety grew.

"Christ!"

Dineer pounded his fist into the laboratory table, frustrated at another failure. The rat had died. Again. Calm as usual, Folken wrote down the incident as required by the Sorcerer's Committee. Green, 7th Moon: Experiment on Subject 278-A closed due to subject's termination. "Is it as bad as last time?"

"No," responded Dineer. "At least most of his body held together. Can't say too much about his insides." He prodded the dome-shaped, hairy lump with a hypodermic needle. The skin split under the pressure, releasing a smelly, bloody, gooey mass that had once been the animal's organs and bones.

"At least we've finally isolated the proper Fate particles." He peered at the laboratory's chalkboard, seething at having to report another week's worth of dead ends. They were advancing in inches to successfully completing their work, and he abhorred the possibility that this one thing could take a lifetime to achieve.

Dineer sighed and settled despondently onto his stool. "Mother used to tell me that the angels would get me through times like these." He ran his fingers through his hair, which hung loose around his shoulders.

Folken's eyebrows quirked. "Angels?"

"Never heard of an angel?"

"No."

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"I knew it!" Dineer was delighted. He straightened up, a grin broadening on his face. "You really aren't from the capitol! Maybe from the outskirts?"

"The angels?" he asked, hiding his panic under exasperation.

"Messengers of God." He cleared his throat. "For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone."

"What?"

"It's from a Psalm. Always was my favorite." The boy beamed. "Got me through those damn entrance exams. They're supposed to look like human beings with white bird's wings. Mother had a statue she kept near the door. She really took to that religious stuff after father died."

"Winged humans," dully repeated Folken. "You worship Atlanteans."

"Not really, although that first round of mythology classes really hit me. They're more than just humans, I suppose. According to the local priest they're just spirits and beings that exist in Heaven with God, no real link to the cursed Atlanteans."

"Which god?"

"The God." He took on a false, haughty air. "The one and only God; He who vanquishes the false gods and makes them appear as the hollow idols that they are." He rolled his eyes. "There were some fanatics back home that wanted to go out to Freid and Fanelia and make sure that they knew what the true religion was. I hear Fanelia still worships the dragons and the like. Bet they would have gotten a great reception, seeing as how the King supposedly married a Draconian and all. I say, are you feeling all right?"

"Yes," he croaked, swallowing a nervous lump.

Dineer regarded him for a moment or two. "It's strange that you've never heard of any of this."

This was the first time Dineer had vocalized any sort of speculation regarding his lineage. Folken hoped silence would deter his curiousity. It had the opposite effect.

"You know, they're saying that the heir to the Fanelian throne disappeared a few years back. Some say he died on that bloody ritual of theirs, but a body was never found."

"I �"

"� Don't know what I'm talking about. Look Folken," Dineer smiled warmly at him, "I told you that I respected you, so much that wherever you're from and whatever you've done would really not matter to me. I'm thinking that we could make this project a lot easier for ourselves if we supported each other as friends. What do you say?"

The sky haired boy was stunned speechless.

"I used to wet my bed," Dineer said finally.

"What?"

"I used to wet my bed," he repeated. "I figured I could give you a dirty secret and then you could tell me yours."

Folken stared at the grinning Zaibachian for a moment. The sides of his mouth quivered.

"My mother used to hang the sheets out to dry right out the front window. The local kids used to ask if I used yellow ink and whether or not I used my bed for a blotter."

He leaned against the desk for support, roaring with laughter. Dineer merely continued grinning.

"My sides hurt," Folken said finally, wiping the moisture from his eyes.

"I never knew you could do that."

"Do what?"

"Laugh."

The mirth left his face. And, for reasons he couldn't fathom, Folken told him everything. He told him of Fanelia and of his father and brother, skirting the truth regarding his mother. He told him of the botched dragonslaying ritual, and of the intelligence and emotion he saw in the land dragon's eyes. He told of waking upon the operating table, horrified beyond comprehension upon discovering the inhuman appendage that had replaced his severed arm. He even told of being lonely and disheartened, and of the emotional relief that came from a single, happy little girl. He stopped finally after his initial meeting with Jajuka, including the terrifying illustration that had been left behind, realizing that the light that streamed in through the windows had gone from bright to dark.

"I say," Dineer whispered, awestruck, "that was the last thing I ever expected."

"I need to find her," Folken murmured fervently. "There's something wrong here that I can't find. The beastman said that doors would be open to me now that I've been appointed here."

Dineer stood and paced. "The archives, maybe. We can start there. But before they start letting us in, we need to start producing some results." He waved his hand at the botched experiment.

At last, inspiration! Folken's eyes lit up. "Tomorrow, then."

Dineer nodded, smiling. "To future success!" he toasted, lifting a beaker to his newly established friend.

"To success," Folken responded.

Their beakers dinged together. The sound rebounded ominously off of the room's metal walls, and the two boys felt inexplicably chilled.




On the way back to his room, Dineer passed a familiar figure that he couldn't be more delighted to see.

"Jajuka! How are those Daedalian rock lizards doing?"

The beastman bowed respectfully. "Well, my lord. They've taken better now that we've been able to give them a proper amount of lighting."

"Your bandages need replacing. Whatever happened to your head?"

Jajuka touched the wrap, his expression saddening as did so. His voice quivered as he spoke, "An� An accident, my lord."

"I see." Dineer frowned.

The beastman looked around. Then, with tears unabashedly dampening the fur under his eyes, he gazed upon the slightly smaller human teenager. "Tell him that he needs to find her," he said quietly, "before it's too late."

"What has happened?" Dineer whispered.

"They've taken her for the final trials. One way or another, she may be lost to all of us forever."

"Who has?"

Jajuka put a furred hand on the boy's uniformed chest. "Your peers, my lord.

"The Sorcerers have Selected her."


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