FFOG3 Chapter 3

Kyson infiltrates the Truvian palace disguised as Civan. Before he can get to the dungeons, Worthengraut arrives to question Franz about the queen's disappearance. Franz tricks Zimon and Worthengraut into fighting, though he then runs into Kyson. Kyson is distracted by the fighting, allowing for Franz's escape; he tasks the other two with covering the damage they've caused while he runs to the gondola that provides transportation to and from the palace. Instead of Franz, he runs into Luth, who orders Kyson to leave and sets out himself for Auberon with Talia.

Kyson runs back into the palace to collect Zimon and Worthengraut, who have gotten into a fight with the guards. The latter two fight over who will punish Franz, leaving the former behind. While gathering his composure, Kyson taps into a mysterious power that allows him to see the locations of those within the palace. He finds Franz climbing down the cliff that the building rests on and inadvertently draws Hal'amek's attention by spotting him as well. Worthengraut and Zimon come back, grab Kyson, and make their way for the cliff.

After discussing his intentions with Imam Sallik, Hal'amek teleports to the group and attacks. He throws Zimon and Worthengraut over the cliff and attempts to do the same to Kyson with a lightning bolt, but Kyson exploits his hidden power again to grab the bolt, forming a tether between the two of them. They are both dragged off the cliff by Kyson's momentum. While falling, Zimon catches Franz and threatens to kill him, but Franz convinces him to go after Hal'amek. While the other three keep him busy, Franz stabs Hal'amek and severs his spine, paralyzing him. They all then land on an airship passing through at high speeds and fall unconscious.

Kyson awakens later in a cell just in time to see a Moogle neutralize Hal'amek's magical ability with a bracer, freeing him from the tether. He learns from Biggs, the airship's engineer, that the queen had been kidnapped by his organization and taken to Carselo, a land ruled by mages. He also gathers the truth behind Hal'amek's actions--that the gods of this universe are inspecting the planet and intend to destroy it if its populace does not display sufficient evolutionary advancement; Hal'amek's solution to this being to bring magical potential to new levels. Though not in favor of the vizier's methods, Kyson shows him compassion as well and provides him with floating bracelets to make up for his paralysis and the bone of his severed arm as a weapon.

Nearing the border of Carselo, the airship is attacked by an invisible force determined to be another airship cloaked by Phantom. Along with Wedge and Cidra, Biggs performs a complicated maneuver to escape without fighting. It is only slightly successful as a handful of Mage Knights teleport onto the ship, though the crew takes care of them. With only one left standing, Hal'amek, having been let free by Franz, steps forward and finishes the final knight off despite his lack of magic. None of the crew are impressed and Hal'amek is taken into stricter custody.

The airship arrives in Carselo the next day, setting down before a fort hidden away within a forest. The group comes to realize that they're trapped within the fort, as only members of the organization can open and close the door. Cidra proposes that they assist the organization and reveals that she has been watching them by connecting Imajin to Kyson.

Chapter 3: Victims of Chance

Chapters in Final Fantasy OG III archive

1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Director

Worthengraut had become sober. He wondered to himself what had happened to the Queen Empress the he remembered. She had been attacked by someone in the band. Surely he had been locked in the dungeon, he thought to himself. Worthengraut headed to the dungeon and requested that he see the prisoner.

"Why do you want to see him?", asked the night guard who was intimidated by Worthengraut's sheer size.

"I WANT TO SEE THE FOOL THAT ATTACKED THE QUEEN, HE SHALL SUFFER MY WRATH!" Worthengraut bellowed, his voice shaking the halls.

"Y-yes sir."

The guard led Worthengraut to the prisoner. Worthengraut could be quite unnerving when he wanted to be, thus earning him the title of the Unnerving. He stared into the cell. He saw a young blonde man sleeping on the floor. In the next cell over, a desheveled man was pounding on the walls. Worthengraut grabbed Franz's neck and lifted him up through the cell bars. He shook him awake.

"Whats going on?", asked Franz, clearly dazed as he had been abruptly woke.

"You tried to kill the Queen, a great and wise ruler", Worthengraut said with a demanding tone "Vhy."

Franz looked away

"She had.. my family killed"

These words hit Worthengraut like iron bullets to the gut. He didn't believe him, of course, but it was such a startling accusation. He dropped Franz on the floor of the cell. He mulled the thought over for a few moments, then spoke.

"The queen vould never do such a thing... I mean... how could she."

"She did.... you have to believe me..."

"Voo vill explain to me in full."

".... how?"

Upon hearing this Worthengraut broke the cell door down and grabbed Franz by his neck. He lifted him up and knocked him out by pinching his nerves. The man in the cell next door pleaded for Worthengraut to take him too. Worthengraut knocked his cell door down as well, but instead of helping him he looked into his eyes and spoke

"Escape yourself!"

Masamune

Franz struggled in the grasp of Worthengraut's iron-tight grip. It was no use... so Franz switched tactics and produced a smile. "That's some grip you have. But do you think we could talk with my feet on terra firma?"

Wothengraut paused as he put two and two together. Eventually he realized what Franz was saying and released his grip, but not without keeping his eyes off him. "Don't try anyving stupid. I vould pound you into morsels if you do so."

"I believe you," Franz said with just the right level of awe. These big lugs were always easy to manipulate. Just had to keep him going.... "How did you knock that door off?"

"Zose are simple hook-and-ring hinges," Worthengraut explained with a touch of pride. "People of my land learn from early on how to move ze earth up and down ven ve are needing to. Zat is why we make our prison cells much more secure." He bellowed out a laugh at that.

The other man, who had not yet escaped, stared at Worthengraut and his prisoner. "That bard is mine."

Worthengraut glared in fury. "You vant I should put you back in zat cell?"

Zimon sized up the northerner... he was bigger than he was, sure. But he was too big. A man that big was strong and sturdy, but he couldn't move too fast. This wouldn't take but a few minutes... "He's mine. I'll give you what's left."

Worthengraut shook his head and shrugged with his hands out. "You're funeral zen."

Neither foe was armed. Worthengraut had checked in his spear at the palace gates and Zimon had his confiscated once he was arrested. When Zimon felt the northerner's fist connect, it suddenly occurred to him that this might not have been the best idea.

Franz, once he was content that he wasn't noticed anymore, quietly slipped out. The jailer who had come to see what the commotion was found himself with a foot in the face and tumbling down a flight of stairs. Once Franz had reached the bottom, he procured the jailer's key and knife, gave a slight nod as thanks, and continued on. He was about to put the key into the door leading out of the dungeons when suddenly the door opened by itself.

Standing on the other side of the door was Civan.

"You look like hell," Franz replied, in response to Civan's 'broken' arm. "Did you have a tussle with beastie boy up there?"

Civan's eyes widened. "How did you get out?"

"I's too improbable for me to go into," Franz replied. "Unfortunately... you're in my way... and you're injured."

The soldier gritted his teeth. "Don't even think about trying to get past me."

Franz grinned and tried to sidestep Civan, but the soldier adjusted his stance to block him. The bard smiled weakly and stepped the other way. Blocked again. With an extremely insincere nod of apology, Franz positioned a punch into the face of the soldier. What he got instead was a sudden kick to the head. When he regained his bearings, Civan was standing normally.

"Ow!" Franz cried as he rubbed his face. "That really hurt."

"I think you should be heading to your cell," Civan replied. "And then we'll talk."

"Sorry. But I don't plan to hang for attempted assassination," Franz replied as he produced the jailer's knife from his pocket. It wasn't his weapon of choice, but he'd make do. This was an injured man, after all. He jabbed at Civan with the knife, but the soldier dodged. He tried a few more jabs, all of them missed.

There was no way a normal soldier, even someone like Civan, could move that fast... He tried something else.

He tried another jab, but when Civan dodged he grabbed at the broken arm. He pulled out a empty sleeve. The two exchanged bewildered glances.

"Kyson! I thought you would've forgotten all about me!" Franz greeted. "I hope you didn't kill Civan for the clothes. He has a family, you know."

There was suddenly a crash and Worthengraut came rolling down the stairs. The jailer cushioned his fall. Zimon appeared rounding down the stairs moments later. He had a chair leg in his hand that he was using for a club and he seemed completely oblivious to the fact Kyson and Franz were at the bottom of the stairs.

"You ready for another Goblin Punch!?" Zimon asked.

Worthengraut barely looked phase as he stood up. Kyson was temporarily taken aback by the man's height. The man was practically a giant compared to him...

"Is there any prisoners still in their prison cells?" Kyson demanded. This wasn't working out how he intended at all. Three unruly companions... maybe he should have stayed with the zombie merchant and crazy engineer.

Zimon finally noticed that Kyson was in the room again. "Come to do your headology on me some more?"

"Do you idiots realize the commotion you've caused?" Kyson shouted. "They're probably sending a platoon up here to take care of you!" He pointed at Worthengraut. "And you too, whoever you are."

"I am Worthengraut," the man barked back. "On behalf of my home country and my kaiser.And vot do you vant?"

"To get out of here," Kyson replied. "With Zimon."

"Yeah, and who is going to make me?" Zimon scoffed.

"Worthy here," Kyson replied.

"I am?" the northerner replied in shock.

"If the guards find out what you did here... you'll be arrested, causing an international incident and possibly inciting war against your home country," Kyson explained. "If you want to get out unnoticed, you'll be needing to come with me-" He carefully fixed his fake sling for his missing arm. - "A high ranking Truvian soldier."

Worthengraut scratched his head for a moment in thought. "I am not vanting war for my home country. Kaiser would be most displeased... so I vill bring beastman vith me."

"Good, now we just need-" he tuned around and looked.

Franz was gone.

"Shrack," Kyson swore. He made a mental note that he had been around Stubbs for too long and started quickly trying to figure out where Franz would have went. He wouldn't be crazy enough to try and attack the Queen-Empress again, would he?

Would he...?

"Zimon. Put that jailer's uniform on and deposit him in one of the cells. I'm going on ahead to find Franz. You two meet me before the palace gate." Kyson quickly ordered. "Got it?"

Worthy nodded. Zimon just seethed as he glanced up at the northerner. He finally nodded his consent after a moment's thought.

The one-armed monk wasted no time turning around in pursuit of that spoony bard. Worthengraut and Zimon were faced with the more immediate concern of how they would put the cell doors back up once they got the jailer back upstairs.

Lupus

Kyson crossed the marbled entrance of the hall swiftly towards the gondola station, racking his brain. Where would he have gone? If he had left to look for the Queen-Empress, he could be safely assured that he would not find her; for awhile at least, anyway. No one knew her location, much less a young bard from Auberon, but simply having him out there put her life at risk.

But then Kyson remembered. Her life already was at risk, being kidnapped and all. But he had promised to deliver Franz, and he wasn't going to let him escape that easily.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't even realize when the gondola arrived from the city and a figure clad in red stepped out of it.

"Civan," the figure began. "I haven't seen you in..."

He stopped, and his hand instantly went for his rapier's hilt. Kyson leapt out of the way, but the rapier caught his slung arm and tore through it, sending the feathers from the pillow used to stuff it flying.

"This is ridiculous," the man said, poising himself with rapier at the ready. "Is there no security in the palace anymore?"

Kyson attempted a tricky maneuver that involved sidestepping the blade and disarming the man. It failed when the man unleashed a lightning bolt from his other hand that the monk only narrowly avoided.

"I don't think Civan would want you to kill me," Kyson quickly said, realizing he stood no chance.

The man nodded. "And so the question becomes, where is Civan?"

"He left," the monk replied, keeping his eyes on the tip of the sword.

"That much I gathered. Where to?"

Kyson blinked. The tip of the rapier looked incredibly sharp, and if he was incapacitated then their whole plan would be compromised. Then again, telling this man would probably result in a similar end, but at least he'd have his life.

"Auberon. Look, Civan has a plan..."

A flash of frustration flew across the man's face. "Yes, I think I know what he's thinking. And that's why I've got to stop him."

The man sheathed his sword and ran past Kyson to the hallway. He suddenly stopped and turned. "In about ten minutes the guards will know what has happened. Whatever you were doing here is canceled. Leave and don't come back."

"The bard escaped," Kyson replied before he could stop himself. "I... Civan needs him..."

"Yes... that makes sense," the man replied. "I have to go." He tipped his hat and turned away down the hall.

Kyson grit his teeth. Everything was going as bad as it possibly could. If this man was telling the truth, it'd be too much of a risk to leave Worthengraut and Zimon behind, let alone return himself. He looked for an instant at the gondola, waiting with its door open, then back towards the hallway leading to the prisons.

"Damn it."

He ran back down the hallway.

***

Hal'amek grimaced, lowering the goblet from his lips. The foreign wine was too sweet, too tangy; far too different from what he was used to. He pondered for a second whether it had been poisoned - he knew that none of the people charged with delivering his meal to him approved of his stay. But no; poison would be too obvious. That, and attempting to poison the Vizier would be utterly futile. People had tried before, and subsequently paid for it with their lives once he had promptly cured himself with his own magic.

His guest room at the palace was beautiful. Any normal being would've been awed to spend even a minute inside, with its extravagant furnishing and expensive decorations. But Hal'amek merely scoffed; he cared not for Truvian taste and longed to be back in Osyllia, where such an exaggerated display of wealth was laughable. Money wasted on decorations was money squandered, for it was power that was a true show of superiority.

And that's the precise reason he decided not to up and leave back across the ocean. A simple bout of homesickness would not sway him from what he was here for.

The monk and his companions were here, of course. Where else would they have gone? And that knight, the one that had been conversing with the Sultan so often. He had seen him with his own eyes at the banquet. A little panic would do him good, Hal'amek thought. Maybe jolt him into going off and do something stupid, like crossing through Barren. Of course. The Vizier grinned.

As much as he'd like to take all the credit for the success of his plan, however, he had to concede other events had just as much to do with it. The Queen being kidnapped was not part of his plan at all, but rather a sheer stroke of luck that had served only to reinforce it. Certainly, there had been the downside that a coincidence on such a large scale pointed all fingers squarely at Osyllia. But such an act would be a ludicrous strategic move, he had reminded these naysayers, being careful to not raise his voice and be as civil as he could muster. He would win them over yet.

But the terrible wine made it so much harder.

There was a knock on his room's door. He sighed, and pushed his uneaten meal away. "Yes?"

An elderly maid entered. "Vizier Ameknemin. They're ready for you."

Hal'amek nodded and stood up. "About time. I was getting bored." He crossed the room to the door in several large strides, passing through the door the woman held open. "And that meal was terrible. I'd suggest firing whoever made it."

The woman went bright red. Hal'amek ignored it and instead left her, heading to the large door at the end of the hall. This had better be worth it.

Inside, several figures sat around a large conference table. At the head sat a balding man with tiny eyes. He squinted up at the newly entered figure.

"Ah yes, Vizier Halazeem Ameknemin. Please, take a seat." He motioned to a seat at the opposite end of the table, which the Vizier took. The people on either side of him promptly slid their chairs to be as far away from his possible. He noticed, but said nothing.

"You are, of course, aware of the matter that took place the night of the Queen's arrival," the balding man continued. "A horrible event that has left the entire country - nay! - two entire countries traumatized."

The Vizier made a sound that resembled an affirmative.

"A terrible event that has left the people anxious. Worried."

Hal'amek immediately suspected an interrogation. "I can assure you, Chancellor, Osyllia had nothing to do with this terrible incident."

"We do not suspect you, Halazeem. Nor do we expect to get far by blindly flinging blame. Instead, we are carrying out an investigation as quickly as possible..."

A woman a few seats to the left of the Vizier spoke up. "A difficult job when the only lead we have is a lead-less dead body."

The Chancellor nodded. "Alas, Talia tells the truth. We do not have much to go on, for now. But you can be safely assured, Halazeem, that at the very least the man did not appear to be Osyllian."

"Nor should he be," Hal'amek replied. "We have just announced our alliance. Why break such a valuable bond with such a reckless act?"

"I still do not approve of this alliance," said one of the men across from him.

"You do not approve of peace?" the Vizier quickly retorted, as calmly as he could.

"Peace? You Osyllians offer peace? Hal'amek offers peace? Even after everything you've done. Even after Ralstrom..."

Hal'amek shrugged. "Times change. People change. Is that not what our alliance is about?"

"I don't believe the word of the Vizier!"

"Enough," the Chancellor ordered. "The Queen has decided that we shall be at peace, and that we shall be. If you have a problem, Eustace, you may leave."

The man got to his feet immediately. "Gladly." He marched out of the room.

"It is people like he that hold our world back," Hal'amek commented.

The Chancellor sighed. "We should get to the cusp of the matter. The Queen has gone, that much is sure. When, or if, she is ever returned is unknown at this moment. But the people grow uneasy at the seeming influence of Osyllia at the palace..."

"And it is what the Queen wanted, have I not said a thousand times before? She invited me here to help her, to advise her! I promised her that, Chancellor, and I stay true to my word."

"It is just a tricky matter, Halazeem. The Queen trusted you, so most of us can learn to do the same. But the people..."

"The people will soon realize that Loccelia sought me. She realized the benefits of having Osyllia as an ally, and the benefits of having me in her palace."

Talia gave a bitter laugh. "I don't believe it. I think the Queen is smarter than that, I think she wanted the exact opposite. Auberon didn't even..."

"Auberon is irrelevant!" the Vizier interrupted. "Auberon's government can figure their own problems out. Truvians care only for Truvia's future. And I shall guide them."

"Just try, Hal'amek," Talia said. "Just know I have no authority to eject you until the Queen returns. But as soon as she does..."

"Then let us hope it is soon! She can tell you exactly what she thinks herself, and I may return home!"

"For now," the Chancellor spoke gently, desperate to stop the fighting, "I advise we don't exactly promote the Vizier's residence in the palace. As much as I regret to say it, Halazeem, but it will cause nothing but unrest."

Hal'amek nodded. "Yes... yes, that is the best plan..."

The door flew open again, and the red clad figure of Luth stood, heaving gently.

"Lord Belzecue!" the Chancellor cried, clutching his chest.

"I'm leaving for Auberon," he said quickly. "Just... thought you should know."

The Chancellor shook his head. "Why? We need you here!"

"It's..." Luth stopped himself, seeing the Vizier sitting, listening, at one of the chairs. "Never mind. I'll be back in a few days, hopefully. I'll explain then."

"Let him leave," Hal'amek said, smiling. "The worst to this city has been done already. All that's left for now is for the exits to be watched, certainly a job far below Lord Belzecue's position...?"

Luth gave him a repulsed look, not enjoying being agreed with by such an unlikeable figure, but thankful nonetheless. "Farewell." He turned and left.

"Luth!" Talia stood up so quickly her chair fell over, and she sprinted after him.

Hal'amek smiled to himself. He didn't even need to try anymore.

***

"Luth!"

"Forget it Talia, I'm leaving."

Luth began to climb the ladder leading up to the airship's deck. The outright ban on airship flight wasn't applied to him, but the vehicle had to be thoroughly searched for stowaways before he was allowed through. By the time they had searched every deck, every room, Talia had almost persuaded him to rethink his plan three times.

"What's so important about finding Civan, anyway?"

Luth reached the top of the ladder, and looked back down at the woman. "He's been tricked by the bard. He's getting his friends to Auberon, temporarily I assume. I need to stop him before this spirals out of control."

"Civan is smarter than you think," Talia desperately said.

"I know, Talia. And that's why it's such a problem."

Luth made to pull up the ladder but Talia grabbed it.

"Then I come along with you."

"Do what you want, but I advise against it," Luth replied. "You're needed here..."

"And so are you. What's the difference? I trust you about as much as I trust the Vizier, right now."

"Good, then you won't be surprised by my methods if I'm forced to bring him back."

She pulled herself up the ladder and stood defiantly on the deck. "So."

Luth simply shrugged and turned for the cabin.

GORE-ILLA

"What kind of fool job is this?" Gorenicusto asked impatiently after he and Worthengraut deposited the guard in the cell. "How do we fix this door?"

"I am what you call a Geomancer. I can prop ze door up." Worthengraut concentrated and caused a rock protrusion to rise behind where the cell door should have been. They then placed the door against the rock.

"That won't fool them for more than a minute!"

"Vell it's not like ve have some kind of tool kit!"

"Hey! What's going on over here?" said a guard as he approached.

"Um, hello," Gorenicusto said awkwardly, remembering he was wearing the jailer uniform. "This is nothing to worry about. I am calming down the commotion caused by this drunken fellow here."

"Hey!" said Worthengraut. After a swift elbow, Worthengraut followed, "I thought this was the restroom!"

"Alright, just escort this fellow upstairs. I'll take over your shift."

Gorenicusto reluctantly sputtered the word, "T-thanks."

They were about halfway to the staircase when they heard the guard say, "Hey, this cell's missing a door!" Gorenicusto and Worthengraut winced as they realize they forgot to do something about the other door. "Come back here, you're no real jailer!" He began to shout out, "INTRUDERS, INTRUDERS IN THE DUNGEONS-"

That's where he stopped, as Gorenicusto had his arms clasped around the guard's throat. Gorenicusto was ready to give the pull and end the poor sap's life, but suddenly Worthengraut slammed his fist down over the guard's head, causing him to pass out.

"Hey hey, let's not get crazy here buddy," said Worthengraut as he slapped Gorenicusto on the back. Gorenicusto merely glared at Worthengraut in anger. They suddenly remembered the guard's loud shouts for help, and they darted up the staircase as fast as they could.

They found themselves surrounded by a group of soldiers. Zimon said, "No, let's get crazy!" He gave out a feral cry and leaped into the soldiers. Worthengraut then gave his own cry of his home country and entered the fray.

Kyson arrived on the scene at that time and looked on in disapproval. "And I honestly thought this couldn't get worse." Then he joined in on the combat, his feet whipping around from target to target as if possessed. He also kept Gorenicusto in check, tossing in an extra kick to Zimon's head whenever he was about to perform a killing blow on a soldier.

"Alright, I think ve have taken down enough! You two, stand back!" Zimon and Kyson did as told, and Worthengraut concentrated further. The ground began to shake wildly beneath the shoulders and eventually trembled enough to send them flying into the air. The soldiers were knocked against walls or endured falls to the floor, which knocked them out. One soldier feebly attempted to rise onto his feet, only to be kicked down by Kyson.

"Quick, follow me!" shouted Kyson as he headed for the exit.

Fred_Of_The_Bed

The Vizier Hal'amek smiled to himself in his lavish room. Everything had fallen into his hands. However, the matter of controlling the people of the town required the queen again-not to mention he'd look like quite the savior if his forces returned with her. To that end, he'd need to take care of Civan and his motley crew-a task that they'd certainly aided him in, riding into such dangerous territory. While he couldn't cry for them, there were many contacts he had on any route they chose to take, and capable of intercepting the Queen's captor, as well.

Either way, Hal'amek, in the back of his mind, held a tinge of unrest. Things had gone much too smoothly, things playing into his hands in ways he never expected. The Queen had been working with him for a long time, but she was the one that initiated the partnership. There was no coaxing involved, no intrigue, just clear-cut and simple co-operation. Such simplicity brought a shiver to his spine. As well, who would even attempt to capture the queen? What was there to gain? What was there to prevent, beyond the solidification of the alliance between them?

It mattered not, however. Once he found the summoners and drained them of their power, the world entire would be helpless together against him. He would crush anyone foolish enough to attach strings to him and force him to dance. This inner monologue finished, he turned to his glistening silver travel case and brought forth his translucent crystal ball. Calling upon simple call magics, he sent forth a message to his two operators within the two areas-those who paid for his mercenary and assassin services.

The barrens was an especially easy place to look for such tough mercenaries, as vicious monsters and harsh conditions held many crypts and tombs of ancient times containing fabulous riches of dead Lords or ancient Royals. The men and women asked no questions, had no morals of any sort, and most importantly of all, desired quick, cold cash. They were strong-access to ancient magic weapons, spells and artifacts had outfitted them very well.

Possibly too well for any would-be heroes to deal with...

One such mercenary mobilized as soon as she was offered the job. She pulled down her dusty goggles over her cold, black eyes, adjusted her spiked pilot's helm so her hair wasn't caught in the hole, grabbed her emergency medium-sized axe, and used on hand to support herself and brought her legs over the rim of the entrance in a jump as she was used to doing, falling about two meters into the cockpit of an old machine. Her hair was graying, but in places still youthful and as dark as night. Her slender features were worn with age, but she'd become only more fearsome over the times - experience is more vital than vigor when you are the pilot of a tank.

Cire Tyul was a mercenary now mostly to feed her children. She did, however, still enjoy the hunt. She quickly said the word to start the tank: "Grace," she uttered as the rusting thing came to life. The wear and tear washed away from it as shining gold lines of light zipped across the controls and insides of the tank-this was no ordinary tank, but one she had procured from the shrine of the ancient Toppaman civilization. She clutched the controls on the ceiling, and undid the braking mechanism. The tank, Tempest Eternal quickly blazed towards the remains of the Sanctuary of the Damned at breakneck speed.

Luiigii of the Pipes

"Vere is ze bard?" Worthengraut shouted as they ran. "You have not already killed him, vyes?"

"None of us is killing Franz," Kyson called back. "It was only an attempted assassination; even Truvia isn't giving him a death sentence."

"They would have when I was in the aristocracy," Zimon said. "Hell, my head would be on a pike by now."

"He is still deserving off punishment," Worthengraut continued. "I vill show him vhat ve do to street pervormers and murderers in ze homeland."

"But not if I get to him first."

"Oh? Ze murderer protects ze murderer?"

"Hardly. That little bastard must have turned my herd against me with his music. And then he gets me arrested. No, protect is rather the opposite of what I'm going for..."

There was silence for a moment, and then both men bolted past Kyson, Zimon taking a moment to kick the monk's legs out. Kyson landed on his back, then sat up and put his face in his hand. "What have I done...?" The fact that guards might be pursuing asserted itself and Kyson started to get up, but first he paused and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. There was no sense in losing his grip at a time like th--

Kyson froze. Images were painting themselves on the backs of his eyelids. Moving images. A moment of comprehension led him to see that they were people, each a monotone shade of white and carrying out their own business. Dozens of men in armor marched through his light-less vision, turning at odd angles as if enclosed by an invisible barrier. The hue of the people shifted pink as he noticed one guard running around, fighting several others as he went. Behind him slightly was a massive man with an antlered helmet...

He resisted the urge to open his eyes. He was both hopeful and afraid that the illusion would be gone if he did. Watching Zimon and Worthengraut was rather interesting; they weren't fighting with the guards so much as fighting with each other, while the unlucky guards were used as shields, weapons, or just distractions.

Kyson forced his gaze to wander, his priorities asserting themselves. The gondola had been unused, and it would have been foolhardy for Franz to go rushing to it at the risk of being detained by guards. Which meant that Franz had to be...there. As the figures darkened to red, Kyson spotted the musician moving vertically downward, his hands grasping at the nothing that was most likely the cliff upon which the palace rested.

The next target of Kyson's search was Hal'amek, who the monk found sitting on thin air and holding a crystal ball, apart from the others. The tiny Hal'amek seemed to stiffen and dropped the ball to the ground, then turned to gaze in a particular direction. Kyson followed the gaze as a red haze filled his vision and saw himself sitting on the floor, eyes open wide and void of iris or pupil, blood streaming from nose and ears and mouth...

Kyson cried out and forced the scene away. His eyes refocused on Zimon and Worthengraut, paused in their fighting to stare down at him. "What?"

"You're, ah, bleeding..." Zimon said.

"Ve can't go zat vay," Worthengraut added, indicating the hall they had just come from.

"Fine. Franz is that way." Kyson pointed a shaking finger toward a wall in the other direction.

"How do you know?"

Kyson pushed himself up. "There's no time for that. Hal'amek saw me. We need to m--" He fell forward and just managed to catch himself. Wincing, he turned over and sat back down.

"Hal'amek?" Zimon asked. He hadn't heard many names outside of Truvia of late.

Worthengraut hushed him. "Ve don't have time, he said. Vas ze bard outside ze palace, vun-arm?"

"I think so."

"He's heading tovard my ship." Worthengraut cracked his knuckles and pointed to Zimon. "Carry him. I vill get us zere." He turned and swung his fist through the wall. "Hopevully ze qveen von't mind."

Zimon glared down at Kyson as Worthengraut stepped through the hole and over to the next wall, picking plaster off his clothes. For a brief moment he considered snapping the man in half and showing him how wrong he really was. The ape-man surprised himself by pulling a corner of the tattered pelt out from under his stolen jacket and wiping the blood off Kyson's face with it before throwing the monk over his shoulders and following.

They continued to the sound of Worthengraut's brick-shattering blows for a time before Kyson spoke up. Here he goes, Zimon thought. He's going to be grateful, and I'll be so moved that the sky will just split open and shine a light on me and, oh now now I'll be a good upstanding servant of the people. Ha! Not on my watch!

"Zimon?"

"What?"

"Could you not wipe that thing's butt on my face anymore?"

Zimon choked. "S-sure..."

***

Hal'amek jumped to his feet, stepping on the crystal ball and shattering it. He hardly cared. That monk...that damn monk! He hadn't left with the others, and now here he was playing some kind of game! The Vizier was just about to teleport to the other's position when the door creaked open. An Osyllian man stepped in, but after a moment the illusion poured from him like dust, revealing a face with three red eyes. Hal'amek forced himself to relax. "Sallik," he said, motioning the man in. "Where have you been? You were supposed to bring the scarab last night."

"It was picked up by another man. I hunted him down to get it back, but he had already cut himself on it. I spent all day trying to purify it Amek, but it would not be purged of his blood."

"It matters not, then. The Queen has been kidnapped anyway, so there is hardly any reason or method by which to give it to her now." Sallik glanced away; Hal'amek ignored the gesture. "Truvia wants me to leave the palace at least until the Queen has been found, most likely longer. You must stay here in my place and ensure that things continue as Jezerek requested. Now, if you will excuse me..."

"Why are we doing this, Vizier?" Sallik interrupted.

"My dear Imam, I believe we have already explained it."

"I understand that we must unite the world under the Age of Magic. The medical advances alone..."

"We would not need hospitals. With some creativity, we could find ways to make the necessities of food and water and sleep go away; there would be no more famine or thirst. Places such as Barren could be populated again. And then, Sallik, the gods will not rule against us. Only by our personal advancement through magic will they stop debating whether or not our planet is still worthy of existence. Only then will we be safe."

"But why are we doing this in the public's eye? Could we not continue in the shadows as we did with Eijopi?"

"This is what Jezerek requested. He is still our sultana, and I mean no offense to your position, but the only one the gods deemed fitting to consort with. I care not for the politics any more than you, but it must be done." Sallik nodded silently. "Now excuse me, please. There is something that I must catch up with." Hal'amek snapped his fingers and was gone.

He reappeared in the hall where the monk had been. The floor was wet with blood in one area, while a series of holes in the walls made his escape trajectory painfully apparent. There was no time to delay, so Hal'amek simply teleported straight out of the palace.

A storm gathered above as the Vizier found himself balancing on the edge of a cliff. He took a hasty step backwards and peered down the decline. A massive ship from the north sat in the waters below, steam curling around it from the still melting ice on its hull. Large, hairy men in thick coats prowled the deck, even growling amongst themselves like ill-fed wolves. Lost among the rocks of the cliff was a smaller man, creeping downward at a surprisingly quick pace.

Hal'amek turned to the palace and saw its walls intact. Either he had passed the monk or the monk had turned away at some point. He placed his hands together at the palms and waited, considering again the sensation that had struck him moments ago. An untrained man wouldn't have felt it, but the Vizier himself was apt to scrying. He could feel every aspect of himself being mapped out across the mind of another, and it was only through this that he could follow the action back to its source. It wasn't magic, that much he knew, even if scrying was similar. Now he was tempted with the desire to find out what...

It turned out that both predictions were right. The wall at Hal'amek's right splintered outward as a massive fist drove through it. His recollection of the palace blueprints implied that the monk had turned slightly to stop at a Potion Vault first. Something else unneeded when the Age of Magic emerged.

Two large men stepped out before his target, momentarily throwing Hal'amek's composure. He gathered himself and started forward, casting Stop on the largest. The man, whom he recognized from the banquet last night, froze and caused the other two to bounce off him. "My boy," the Vizier called. "I never did get your name."

The monk somersaulted off his back and into Hal'amek's legs, throwing him down. The other man, draped in a ratty white pelt, leapt over the monk and perched himself on top of Hal'amek's chest, knocking the air out of him. "This the guy you mentioned earlier?" he grunted to the other.

"Yes! We need to grab Worthengraut and go!"

"Hold on, I think I have a spell to reverse this." The man in fur stepped off Hal'amek and over to his companion.

Hal'amek rolled onto his side, clutching his chest in pain. He fought through the sizzling white of asphyxiation to the realization that this man was a mage. He pushed himself up and teleported away as the monk turned to attack. He reappeared between the mage and the Worthengraut one. "Tell me," he wheezed. "What is your...specialty?"

"Geomancy," a voice behind him said. Vines shot from the cliff below and wrapped themselves around Hal'amek's wrists. "I met you at ze party, vyes?" Worthengraut continued. "You levt bevore ze Qveen vas kidnapped." Worthengraut's expression turned accusing. "Did you do it?"

"Your very question is an insult, you simple drunkard. As is your attempt at restraint." The Vizier curled his fists and burned the vines away with a few Fire spells. And here came the monk again... "Geomancy is a pathetic art. Watch." Hal'amek pointed a hand at the monk without turning to face him. A wall of stone burst up between the two, which the latter dashed himself against. "If you would focus your true potential, you would be able to rotate the very earth we stand on. You are not even worth my time..." He flicked his hand toward Worthengraut; the ground cracked open beneath him and swallowed him whole.

"What about blue magic?" the pelt man asked, intrigued.

"Almost forgivable. Your potential is not held back by yourself, but by the monsters you imitate. What is your name?"

"Zimon."

"Ah, Zimon. If I were to advise a blue mage, I would tell him to switch to a different study." Hal'amek spun away from Zimon; a whirlwind formed around the ape man and whipped him over the cliff before he could fight free.

From the corner of his eye, Hal'amek saw the monk leap on top of the rock he had struck. A Stop spell was more than adequate to deal with him, however. The Vizier drew the stone back into the ground until the monk was eye level with him. "Which leaves you. I want to know how you sensed me in the palace."

"No."

Hal'amek placed a hand on Kyson's neck. "If you will not tell me, I see no need for you to continue possessing a functional throat." The hand burst into flames, then doused itself a moment later. "Do you understand?"

"I don't...know how."

"Very convenient." The hand repeated its previous activity. "There was blood, so it might have been painful. Did you notice?"

"Didn't..."

"So you are just as wasteful of your talents as the other two. A pity, really."

Hal'amek released the monk, then threw a continuous bolt of lightning into his chest, propelling him to the cliff's edge.

At that same moment, the Stop spell wore off.

And all Hell broke loose.

Zimon scrabbled for purchase on the rock wall, but he was moving too fast and the stones broke loose, all but disintegrating at his touch. What he wouldn't give for one of his black Chocobos now... Though this wish was not granted, another solution presented itself in the form of Worthengraut's arm, which burst through the stone just below him. Zimon caught it and held tight.

"Ah, it seems I have caught you, vriend," the viking called from inside the cliff.

"Clearly. But I thought you hated murderers."

"Is now a good time to be making me qvestion my opinion ov you?"

"Right, right." Zimon glanced down, reaching for the nearest foothold. While doing so, he caught sight of Franz only a few hundred meters down. The bard glanced up, eyes going wide and a curse rising from his lips. Zimon attached himself to the wall, then slapped Worthengraut's arm. "See you at the bottom. I've got a bard to kill."

"Vait!"

Zimon clambered down the cliff, exploiting his bestial nature to fly past Franz, grabbing the young man by the coat on the way down. Zimon caught the wall with his free hand and held the bard out at arm's length.

"Hey, cell mate," Franz stuttered.

"Answer me truthfully, boy. You won't get a second chance."

"Yeah, I got that..."

"How did you turn my Chocobos against me?"

"Sir... You might not have noticed, but I didn't ride up until after they were already trying to kill you."

Zimon scowled. "Of course. Good bye, then."

"Whoa whoa whoa! Think, man! I knew you were going to take that as a lie and drop me! So why would I tell you anyway unless it was the absolute truth?!"

"So you could use that pathetic excuse, perhaps?"

"I didn't do that to your damn Chocobos! It's your own fault for raising a pack of ravenous birds! God, don't kill me!"

"Like I said, good bye."

Zimon went to cast Franz away, but before he could an explosion of stone above grabbed his attention. Worthengraut burst from the side of the cliff and dived toward Zimon, but then he too was distracted as both Kyson and the Vizier went flying over the edge, connected by some kind of electrical tether. Franz gasped.

"My God... Zimon! Take me up there, please!"

"Are you serious?! I'm dropping you now!"

"Zimon, no! You don't understand! That man up there...I need to see him! Please!"

Zimon hesitated, and cursed himself for doing so. Whether or not this kid had turned the Chocobos against him, did it really matter? He would have ended up on death row some day anyway. At least in this case he ended up on death row while some sucker like Kyson was available to save him. Cursing again, he pulled Franz onto his back and started climbing.

Hal'amek flew off the cliff, baffled by what had just passed. The monk's eyes had flashed white a moment, and then he had reached down and grabbed the lightning bolt. As he flew away from solid ground, Hal'amek himself was dragged forward and away, impossibly attached to his own bolt by his left wrist. He quickly cast a Float spell on himself, but the monk was still attached, and the added weight broke the spell. "What are you doing?!" he shouted down. "Release me!"

"I thought you were doing this!" the monk called back, wiping blood from his nose.

"Idiot!" Hal'amek reached down, considering the tether for a moment, then grabbed it with his other hand and swung. The monk whirled in a circle around him, colliding with the geomancer as the latter burst free of the cliff. "I shall have to remove you by force, then!" He pointed at the wall behind them with his free hand, freeing boulders to rain down at them. Worthengraut motioned to them in turn, making a few explode into sand. The monk kicked off Worthengraut's shoulders toward the rocks and destroyed the rest with kicks.

So much for killing them with their own magic. Worthengraut pulled his spear and kicked off the wall toward the Vizier. Hal'amek responded by swinging the monk around again, this time wrapping the viking with the tether. The monk went to unwrap his comrade; Hal'amek took the opportunity to hit both with a Blizzaga, freezing them solid. He pulled another boulder from the cliff, hoping to shatter them into pieces with a single hit, but Zimon lunged at him from below and threw his concentration. The mage grabbed the front of Hal'amek's robe and pulled him to eye level, then punched him across the face. Hal'amek returned with a Goblin Punch that rocketed Zimon into the cliff. The ape man hit the wall hard, but it was much more solid at this height and he did not indent it, but slid down the side unconscious after a moment.

As Zimon flew back, a blur leapt from his back moving so fast that Hal'amek barely caught sight of it. His first assumption was that it was just the man's pelt, which was then confirmed when he glanced behind himself and saw it falling as well. He turned back to his frozen quarry, then realized too late that the cloak should have been above him for all the wind resistance. Before he could turn back around, one hand grabbed his mouth while another slammed a stiletto into his back. He tried to scream, but the hand muffling him was accompanied by a menacing voice, which said, "That's for my family."

Hal'amek felt himself kicked away, and cried out more loudly this time. He was overwhelmed with pain...but only from the waist up. "What did you do...by the gods, what did you do?!"

"You're just lucky to be alive." The boy who had stabbed him leaned toward Hal'amek, then kicked him in the face a few times. And then he was out.

Franz wiped his brow and slid the stiletto back into his sleeve. He felt a brief shower of water as Kyson and Worthengraut broke from their ice shells, then smiled nervously at them. "No hard feelings at the moment?"

Kyson watched Franz silently, unwinding Worthengraut from the tether. Worthengraut, meanwhile, seemed to be fuming at the sight of the bard. When the monk had finished, the viking tried to make his way over to Franz, but found himself rather ungraceful in midair. After a few failed attempts, he crossed his arms and settled with, "For ze moment."

Kyson pulled Hal'amek to himself with the tether, testing the strength of the electrical bond. The other two watched him until they were bored, after which Franz asked, "So...what's our plan for not dying here?"

"Ve'll be vine," Worthengraut snarled. "Ze vater vill break our vall."

"And most of our bones too, yes."

"Vater is sovt."

"Not at one hundred kilometers per hour, no."

"Zen ze ship vill break our vall."

Franz shook his head. There was no sense in going on... "Maybe we can--"

Before he could continue, they crashed into the ship. It was not, in fact, Worthengraut's ship, the most notable difference being that it was airborne. It didn't bear the marks of any Truvian or Auberonian airship, and was moving somewhat quickly to get out of Battant's airspace with the Transportation Ban in effect.

Only Worthengraut was still able to pull himself up after their harsh landing. He glanced down at the other four, then up as a black-skinned man with enormous hair approached with an iron bar. Then he too saw no more.

Lupus

The smell of wood and alcohol filled Kyson's nostrils, as he opened his groggy eyes at last. He was face down on the floor of what seemed to be a dimly lit cellar; certainly, the barrels of liquor stacked around him added much to the illusion. But the way the floorboards gently hummed with the sounds of an engine, and the last memories he could remember before blacking out told him he was airborne.

He lifted himself to his feet, slapping his hand against the wall to maintain his balance. The gold tether still hung from his wrist, he noticed at that moment, and he spun around to see where it lead.

"Hey," said a bored voice to his side, and Kyson momentarily stopped his following of the tether to find its source. A few feet away, on the other side of a set of metal bars, a short, scruffy man with a pole arm leaning against his right shoulder. His feet were crossed on top of a makeshift footrest made out of a barrel, and he nonchalantly puffed on a pipe while scanning the monk with only half-interested eyes.

"Who are you?"

The man smirked, removing the pipe from his mouth. "My name is Biggs, and it's about time one of you woke up. Kumo isn't much company."

Biggs nodded his head towards the cell next to Kyson's, where the monk noticed for the first time the unconscious figure of the Vizier lying on a table. Above the motionless body, Kyson could see the two large ears of an otherwise obscured creature. The moogle finally jumped onto a barrel next the table, bandage in hand.

"You're healing him?" Kyson asked. "I don't think that's such a good idea. You don't know who he is..."

"We know perfectly well who he is."

Kyson felt a sudden wave of panic overtake him. If these people were allied with the Vizier and they managed to cure him, then he was dead. He glanced around for any ideas of how to escape, but saw naught but barrels and bars. There was only one thing he could try. The monk braced himself, wrapped his hand around the binding connected to his wrist several times for good measure, and pulled as hard as he could.

"Kupo!"

If his intention was to cause a ruckus rather than break the bond, then he succeeded admirably. The Vizier's limp body flew off the table and collided with the bars with a huge clang; the table he was rested upon had turned over, throwing the moogle to the floor, as well as his collection of medical supplies.

"What are you trying to do? Pull out your other arm?" Biggs said, with a tone of amusement in his normally bored-sounding voice.

Kyson grunted, and again tugged the tether as hard as he could. Apart from his left arm being jolted upwards through the bars, Hal'amek laid entirely still, the bars and tether refusing to break.

"Okay, that's enough," Biggs said, trading his amusement at the situation for procedure. "If you want that thing gone so much, you should've just asked. Kumo, you can put the armlet on now."

The moogle scurried over to the figure pressed against the bars, and raising the Vizier's left arm, slapped a glowing black arm ring around his biceps. The tether immediately changed colour from gold to black, and then vanished.

Kyson shook his newly freed hand, as the tight grip of the magic spell had caused most of his arm to tense up. In the cell next to him, he watched as the moogle used a strength that betrayed his small and fragile looks to lift Hal'amek safely back onto the table.

"What is that thing?" Kyson asked, trying to get a better look at the armlet.

"It cancels out magic, of course. We don't want the Vizier blowing our ship out of the sky when he wakes up and realizes where he is."

"So, you're not allied with him, then?"

Biggs grimaced at the thought. "Of course not. What gave you that idea?"

"Perhaps the fact you were trying to revive him."

The shorter man shrugged. "We are not barbarians. The only other option is to let him potentially die, and while it's probably nothing more than he deserves..." A funny look crossed his face for an instant, as if he fleetingly flirted with the idea of actually letting his prisoner die. "Well, to be honest, he just makes a really good bargaining chip..."

"So I guess by this point you've figured that I also am not allied with him, and that you could probably let me out."

Biggs nodded. "I figured that out awhile ago. Why else would he have cast a lightning spell at you?"

"So you know what this was?" Kyson asked, desperate for answers.

The other shook his head. "No. In fact, almost anything related to magic goes over our heads. Except how to stop it." Biggs stood up and crossed to Kyson's cell door. "And that's another reason why we need Hal'amek alive. Things are happening lately... too many coincidences, too many unlikely events."

"You mean the Queen being kidnapped only moments after announcing an alliance with the enemy?"

Biggs scratched his ear sheepishly. "Well, not entirely. That isn't so much a coincidence as it is a strategic move." He lifted his pipe to his lips again. "But perhaps I've said too much."

"You've said just enough. So, you've got her?"

The other merely smiled and sat back in his chair.

Kyson tried to think fast. "You've got the Queen. You're against the Vizier. ...that makes sense, I think... but..."

"Let me ask you something," Biggs said quietly. "If you, and everyone you knew and loved, were under threat of being wiped out, what would you do? Stand back and let it happen, or fight, even if it meant the other side being wiped out instead."

"What do you mean by the other side?" Kyson replied immediately. "Things aren't black and white. Give me some context here."

"No," said Biggs, simply. "I want an unbiased opinion."

"Then I'd do neither, until I understood the other side's views."

"And if, after hearing them out and realizing their motives were good and righteous, you'd just let them kill you and everyone you've loved? Just like that?"

Kyson shook his head, wondering where this was going. "But surely there is no righteous motive that requires the death of an entire opposing faction?"

"But if there was?"

"If there was, then, I guess I would let it happen."

A sad smile formed at Biggs' lips. "Very noble of you, friend. You passed. But I don't believe you."

Biggs pressed a key into the lock on Kyson's door and turned it, letting the door swing open. He then turned to the cells at the opposite side of the room, where Kyson's unconscious friends lay.

"These are your friends I assume. Shall I let them out, too?"

The monk nodded.

"It's a long trip to Carselo," Biggs said, pressing the key into another lock. "Go stretch your legs."

"Carselo? You mean Ban Venica? Why are we heading there?"

"Ban Venica is what they call it. And we're heading there because it's where we live, of course." Biggs went to the next cell's door.

"It's up north, isn't it? The country of no laws, no cities. It's mostly forest."

"Mostly, but not all. And there's a city. A rather large one, in fact. We're just not allowed there."

"Who's we?"

"Us without magic. We - or what's left of us - live in a fort hidden in the forest. Something that surely wouldn't exist if they ever found it..."

"Why don't you just leave then?"

"It's not that easy." Biggs sighed. "I don't know where you're headed friend..."

"Call me Kyson," the monk interrupted.

"Very well. I don't know where you're headed, Kyson, but we can't afford to land again in Truvia. We need to make it back home as soon as possible. Then, after this mess has settled down, we could probably risk taking you back."

Biggs finished unlocking the last cell door - that of Zimon's - and turned back to Kyson. "So where was it that you were headed?"

"Is the Queen in Carselo?"

Biggs dropped his eyes to the wood floor. "I guess I can tell you. Perhaps, in due time, you'll even understand why we did it. But yes, she is there. Or she should be arriving there very soon."

"Then we're headed to Carselo."

The other sighed. "Don't think you're going to be a hero and rescue her or anything. This was all her idea, she wants to be there. It's just a temporary measure to stop the advance of the Osyllian regime, but..."

Biggs realized he was mumbling and promptly shut up.

"It's fine, I think I'm starting to get it. I just need to speak with her, that's all."

"Maybe we could arrange that," Biggs said. "But like I said, stretch your legs. We have plenty of time before we arrive. I'll send your friends up when they wake."

Luiigii of the Pipes

Hal'amek opened his eyes. He was lying on a table he gathered immediately, above him a polished wood ceiling with a piercingly bright lamp; the thing must have been enchanted to give off a stronger glow. No magic was a match for his own, however. He snapped his fingers at the lantern and sent a darkening spell into its bowels.

It didn't work.

Odd. But then, there was a shadow off in the corner of his vision that might have gotten dimmer. He hoped. He must have just missed. He snapped his fingers again. This time neither the light nor the shadow had fallen to blackness. He snapped again. Nothing. Again. Nothing. Again! Nothing?!

Something was wrong, that much was obvious. His right arm seemed to be sparkling beneath the sleeve of his robe. He reached over with the other, only dimly noticing that there was no tether on it anymore, and pulled back the sleeve to reveal the armlet further up, spraying and hissing sparks like some technicolour feline. Hal'amek snatched at it, but it repelled his hand; the harder he tried to get at it, the harder it pushed him away. He pulled down his sleeve furiously and snapped his fingers at the light again. Nothing!

"Need s'thing?" a small voice said. Hal'amek turned to the sound and saw a Moogle standing at the door to what was apparently a cell, the creature wearing some fancy medical practicioning tools that the vizier himself would never bother with. Who needed medicine when you had magic? "I help you if do," the Moogle continued. "New to lang'ge, sorry."

"I need you to take this abominable thing off me..." Hal'amek breathed at the creature, too tired to force his usual commanding presence into the words.

"No do. Cidra say no. Biggs say no. Wedge say no. Even Minsy say no. Koltu, well, he get outvote, you know? And then Patlons--"

"Take it off!" Hal'amek spat. He lunged from the table toward the Moogle--

And found himself hanging from its edge, his bare scalp scraping the waxy floor. He tried to pull his torso back up, but he was getting no help from the rest of his body. The memory shot a hole through his brain. He reached to his back, shirt having rolled up in his previous failed maneuver, and felt a warm, sticky patch of bandages there. The stab had been perfectly aligned, slicing through flesh and into his spine... The boy would die. But for now there were other priorities.

"Take it off! Now! I need to heal myself before the damage becomes irreparable!"

"Sorry sir. No hear with head down there." Hal'amek felt a soft hand grab his shoulder and lift him effortlessly back onto his back. "What say?"

"I can cure myself! But if I wait too long, even I cannot! You need to take it off! It is not just myself that is at stake here, you stupid rat! The entire world is!"

"Name Kumo. Like say, no do. Cidra say you earn it, but we make you chair anyway. Rolley chair."

"Dammit, no! Listen. To. Me! If I show...even a hint of weakness...the world is doomed! The avatar of this planet cannot go around in a godsdamn rolley chair!"

Kumo shrugged. "Nice rolley chair, if counts." The Moogle started humming to himself and then strolled out the barred door.

Hal'amek cursed. He threw back his sleeve and reached for the armlet again.

"Don't bother," Kyson said, sitting in a chair opposite the cell door.

Hal'amek started. "My gods what could you possibly still want with me!? How long have you been there!?"

"Since before you woke up. You're not very perceptive without magic, are you?"

"You take it off, now!"

"No. I agree with Cidra. You've earned back a little of the pain you've inflicted. Besides..." Kyson held up his arm. "I'm enjoying my freedom at the moment."

Hal'amek bit his tongue. He wouldn't get anywhere with this man shouting, he had learned that much. He tried to relax, to speak to the monk on his own terms. "If you have heard everything that I just spoke of, and I should hope you are not as dense as that vermin out there, then you know that you must take the armlet off. Now. I will give you the entire story if I must."

"I know the entire story. Based on what these people have said and what you just added, I've got it figured."

"Then why are you doing nothing!?"

"I also think you're wrong, just like they do. Look at all the people you've left dead in your wake just to come this far. Do you really think the gods would be impressed with that? Is that a good enough reason to spare this planet, because one man cut down the population and can now use Blizzama, or whatever you would call it?"

"Impress the gods? Idiot. You still do not understand. If you insist upon wasting my time, then I insist that you leave. Send someone who will take this armlet off. Someone who will be a hero for this planet."

Kyson shook his head and stood. "The kid who stabbed you is an assassin, it seems. He knows the difference between death and pain, which is why you're still breathing. He may think he's done worse to you than death, but I don't. Like Zimon, even you have a chance for redemption now. I suggest you not waste it." Kyson reached into his belt and pulled out a pair of bracelets and a polished, skeletal arm. He set them on a barrel within Hal'amek's reach. "The bone will make a good club. You might want to learn to use it, now that your magic is gone." He turned and left, letting the cell door slam shut.

When the monk had disappeared down a corridor, Hal'amek grabbed the arm and swung it down on the barrel, hoping to shatter it. He barely jostled the keg, sending the bracelets tumbling toward the ground. They had only started to fall when they suddenly stopped, caught in the air. Hal'amek watched them for a bit to see what would follow, then conceded that they wouldn't move and reached out to grab them. They did not gain sudden weight at his touch; whatever charm had been placed on them was unaffected by the armlet. He tried slipping them around his ankles, but found it too difficult to bend down to reach them. The only other place they would fit was his wrists, so he tried that.

A few minutes went by in disorientation as the vizier tried to will his hands to the levels he intended. When he had gathered that, he sat up and twisted until his legs hung limply off the side of the table. He twisted his palms away from his front and slid forward, clean off the table and to a hard stop on the floor. He brought his hands down and in the process lifted himself up until he was standing straight, feet grazing the surface below. He lifted himself to just above the ground so that friction wouldn't slow him, then levitated himself toward the door. Taking a moment to divide his concentration, he raised his arms and grabbed the bars without letting himself drop, then shook them. The door was locked. As he rushed into anger, his concentration slipped and he fell into a tangled mess.

It took him a few minutes to sort out the parts he could move and the parts he couldn't, a few minutes more to rebuild his confidence, and then he drifted back to the barrel and grabbed the arm.

Over the years, Hal'amek had met many a mage; some worthy, most not. He loathed them. They were pigs, fat little beasts that had no concept of the wonderous gift they had been given, no intention of developing beyond their norm, beyond humanity itself's norm. Wasteful and undeserving. Those Hal'amek did not capture for his projects, he made sure to kill with their own magic. Their own greatest weapon. It was, to his mind, poetic.

He swung the club, imagining the skull that would be shattered with it in due time.

Their own greatest weapon.

Poetic.

Lupus

Without things to do, time passed very slowly on board the Viltgance. As it peacefully drifted through the sky towards the border in the slowly setting sunlight, the reality of the lack of entertainment a primarily military vessel provided began to sink in. Kyson had volunteered for the role of watching the sky for anything hostile, but as the sky was thick with mist and the best view he could get was a load of puffy clouds, he had shifted his gaze instead to the inhabitants of his own ship. Franz, used to airing out his boredom through his music and not acclimatized to being without his lute, had resigned himself to the supplied sleeping quarters below deck to sleep off the rest of the trip. Zimon sat in silent meditation at the furthest tip of the ship that he was allowed access to, and refused to speak to anybody who got near. Even Worthengraut's attempts to sneak into the kitchen were abandoned after the half hour, and he resorted to going around the deck, futilely trying to start conversations about his northern home's customs with the work crew.

Apparently, the giant man was too much for the most of them, and Kyson watched them slowly decide sleep was the better option and thin out, one by one. Though the allure of a soft pillow was hard to deny, Cidra had assured him that they would arrive at their destination by nightfall, and the sooner he had talked to the Queen and got out of there the better.

And even though it was the end of a long day, Kyson sat diligently aware. He had requested the job, and didn't want to be responsible in the unlikely case they got attacked by a Truvian border ambuscade and consequently shot down. Though that latter part was even more unlikely, Kyson reminded himself, as the Truvians would hardly aim to destroy an airship that potentially held their Queen aboard.

"Thirsty?" said a drawling voice, interrupting him from his thoughts. Biggs approached with a mug of something in his hand; hot, by the looks of the waves of steam that ascended slowly from the rim.

Kyson waved his hand. "No, just tired."

"Good, I've already drunk half this one." He took a seat on an opposite wooden bench, and took a sip from the cup. "Seen anything?"

"No," said Kyson, not entirely in the mood for small talk. "I'm starting to get suspicious."

"Don't be. They can't patrol the whole border, no matter how hard they try. The mages won't let them."

"They haven't attacked us at all."

Biggs laughed. "You're lucky, you slept through it. We're lucky too; this is an airship made in Auberon. It outpaces anything Truvia has. They gave up the pursuit about midway over the Delitan fields."

Kyson raised his eyebrows. "Then they know where we're heading?"

"Probably, but they'd be lucky to get any sort of sympathy out of the mages. They wouldn't care for another country's royalty unless she has some sort of magical ability."

"I hope you know what you're doing," said Kyson. "If these mages are after you so desperately then getting one airship in and out of your country would be a miracle. But two..." He shook his head. "It just seems to me like you're tempting death."

"You know, you're right. But things accelerated far quicker than we expected. We had to act now or act never." Biggs took a final sip from his mug and stood up. "Believe me, Kyson, Loccelia is just one small piece of the puzzle. We took her for her benefit, not our own. This ship is the important one, not the ship that took the Queen. The Viltgance is the one that will save us." He gave a final nod to Kyson, and left.

The monk opened his mouth to call him back, but stopped himself. It was obvious Cidra and her crew didn't deem their visitors important enough to know about their plans. And, besides natural curiosity, Kyson himself didn't much care. The Queen may have been a small piece of the puzzle for them, but for Kyson it was a fairly big one. A piece big enough to risk going into such dangerous territory to retrieve.

I hope they know what they're doing, he thought again.

Luiigii of the Pipes

The airship sailed on through the fog, the spinning of the rotors providing a back drop of sound that would sooner be drowned out itself than listened to for as long as the crew had. The mist, caught within the propellers, swirled down onto the deck and coiled away from the masts that housed the turning mechanisms. The effect was all together displeasing, especially to one such as Worthengraut, who had only seen fog as the frost that covered the earth or his own breath formed into tiny clouds. He could no longer distract himself by talking to the crew, and with every passing hour he became more aware of how completely lost he was as to what was going on. He had been swept into this mess with hardly a thought, though he did have to admit that it was a willing intervention on his part. That didn't excuse his companions (or, well, the monk anyway) from treating him like some mindless barbarian when they determined their plans and whether or not he should be a part of them...

Unnerved by both this and the weather, Worthengraut found himself fervently wishing the fog away. Almost instantly, he got his wish. The clouds peeled away from the ship and dissipated outward in ripples that were unnatural. Worthengraut, however, was distracted and overjoyed at the sight of a majestic sunset straight ahead. As he watched it, eyes becoming accustomed to the light, he spotted a slight shimmer in the air just to the side of the blazing star...

The rest of the ship was not likewise distracted, thrown into a sudden frenzy at the mystical occurence. Biggs bellowed orders into the hold, enraged that the crew would slack off this close to the border no matter how dull they found their visitors. Kyson prowled the deck with renewed interest in his watch, though his search still came up empty.

Worthengraut's did not. He watched with some shock as the sun itself fired a bolt of fire toward the ship's prow where Zimon still sat. Worthengraut shoved through the rushing crew and grabbed Zimon's shoulders, then with a mighty throw pitched him across the deck. The fire blasted the prow a moment later, shattering it and knocking Worthengraut and a few shipmates away. The viking rolled to his feet and pointed forward. "That's vun angry zun!"

Amidst shouts for accelerated preparations and hull repair, the dark-skinned man that had knocked Worthengraut unconscious upon first arrival on the Viltgance strode up to Kyson and shoved his bar against the monk's neck. "Where were you even watchin', bloke?!" he shouted. "Gonta get us killed!"

"It is not his vault!" Worthengraut said. He grabbed the man's arm and turned him to face the prow. "The zun did it! Who vould have zuspected?!"

"Wedge!" Biggs called before the other could strike Worthengraut for his incompetence. "Whoever it is, they're using Phantom! Get down to Cidra's room, have her summon him away, and then seal her in!" As ordered, Wedge slapped Worthengraut away and ran for the hold. At the same time, Biggs ran up to the group. "Kyson, go get the bard. The hold gets closed down until we've crossed the border, and the last thing I need is him down there going crazy on Cidra like he did to the queen." He held up a stained stiletto. "He can have his knife back for now. Plenty of the vizier's blood to lick off if that's his thing."

"He'll be pleased, I'm sure..." Kyson sighed. He took the knife and followed after Wedge.

Zimon caught Biggs by the shoulder before he too could run off. "If there's a fight coming, I need some axes."

"Not big on those, sorry." Biggs gave Zimon a quick glare. "Just rip off someone's arm and use that, eh?"

Worthengraut roared with laughter, then proceeded to point out the obvious. "Zey don't like you much here!"

"Nothing gets by you..." Zimon darted after Biggs and caught him again. "Why are we fighting anyway? If it's just a Truvian border guard, they won't be able to board unless we land. Are you assuming failure so quickly?"

"It's not Truvia, it's Carselo. Somewhat deep in Truvian territory, to be sure... The first shot was a warning. In a few minutes they'll teleport the Mage Knights over."

"But...isn't Carselo where you come from?"

"If you're not a mage, you're not from Carselo...even if you were born there. No exceptions." After a moment's thought, he took a polearm from his back and handed it to the beast man. "I want it back when we're done. And if I find it stuck in any of my crew, self included, you'll experience the joy of a seven thousand meter drop. Got it?"

Hal'amek raised himself from the floor, cursing. He had been trying to rest on the table when the ship was struck by the fire blast, throwing him across the cell. Somewhat agitated, he made his way to the cell door and looked out into the hall. The monk and one of the shipmates were heading for the door back up to the deck. At the other end of the hall, the boy who had stabbed him casually strolled after. He seemed to spy Hal'amek watching between the bars and turned a giant grin on him.

"How's doing, Baldy? Got a leg to stand on still?"

Hal'amek bit his tongue, sending malice through his eyes rather than his mouth.

"I heard you talking to Kyson earlier. You know, he lied. I would have killed you in a heartbeat. But we were falling pretty fast, and I'm ashamed to say that...I missed. Then my knife got stuck in your spine, so I couldn't even pull it out to do you in proper. Sorry about that."

"Why?"

"Ha, yeah. You probably don't even recognize me. But that's okay because I've got my stiletto back now, so you can have fun mulling it over in the last five seconds of your life."

The boy began to pick the lock with his knife, but before he could get far the shipmate was behind him. The other man slammed him face-first into the door, then pulled him away. "The prisoner lives for now, chum. Upstairs with you."

"Fine! Take it easy! Man are you--"

With that they were upstairs. Hal'amek sighed, cursing these fools with their vendettas against him. They denied themselves the idea of a bigger picture, wishing only to skip through life without a care and maybe exact vengeance for what they perceived as a bad thing. It was rather tiring dealing with them all... This one at least had proved himself useful in the last few seconds. Careful not to get his hopes up, he pushed the door and almost laughed as it creaked open. He took a moment to float back and collect his club, then drifted out the door and toward the deck.

"Cidra says we're using the Phantom maneuver," Wedge called over to Biggs as he dragged Franz onto the deck. "Since they was kind enough to call him up already."

Biggs nodded. "You've both got your parts synced, then?"

Wedge tossed him a stopwatch. "All up to you, Cap."

Biggs waved for Worthengraut to follow him, then pointed over one end of the deck. "I suspect you've got large lungs. Pretty soon you're going to see a black figure floating here. As soon as you do, shout to me."

"How does this work, exactly?" Kyson asked, following Biggs as he made his way to the engine room. Zimon and Franz exchanged awkward glances, then the former walked over to Worthengraut to see if he could convince him to trade weapons, while the latter followed Kyson.

"The Phantom maneuver," Biggs said in what would best be considered a tutoring tone. "It's a three-step procedure. Wedge was a tactical adviser for Carselo's army before they started going crazy and killing non-mages. They don't know that he's working with us, so they're still using his tactics. Thus, he has determined that in exactly thirty-six seconds, the Mage Knights will be teleported onto our ship. Or at least, where they think our ship is.

"Teleportation at this distance will take roughly four seconds. In that four seconds, Cidra, our renegade summoner, swipes Phantom from them and has him cast Vanish on our ship. At that same time, I, as engineer of this ship, push the engines all out. The mages don't realize that we've moved and thus don't adjust where they're teleporting to, end up in open air and hopefully fall to their dooms. And by the time the mages still on the ship can recall Phantom and locate us to send a second wave, we're gone."

"That's...kinda complex," Franz said. "Have you actually pulled it off before?"

"Never tried." The stopwatch clicked as thirty-six seconds passed. "First for everything, right?"

Worthengraut's bellow shook the boards, though even it couldn't match the all-out roar of the Viltgance's engines. The act now done, Biggs waved for Kyson and Franz to leave while he prevented the mechanics from overheating. They had only just passed through the door when a man in heavy red armor appeared before them. He looked around in mild confusion, then drew his sword and set it ablaze. He started toward the two, but turned at the pounding footsteps of Zimon and Worthengraut as they ran up behind him. Suddenly feeling outnumbered, he swung his sword in a wide arc that left a wall of fire around himself. Zimon used a White Wind spell to extinguish the flames, then the other three jumped him, Franz delivering the final blow with a slash to the exposed throat.

As they set about cleaning up the body, Wedge ran past and peered into the engine room. "We got some stragglers!"

"Whose fault?" Biggs shouted back over the engines.

"Too soon to tell."

"Mine again?"

"Too soon to tell."

"Damn."

Wedge turned and ran back the other way, waving for the group to follow. Back on the main deck, they watched for a moment as the crew fended off a dozen or so men armored the same as the one behind them, though some wore yellow or blue. They leapt into the fray, whittling down the Mage Knights further until only one was left, this one unique in that he was in silver armor and making quick work of anyone that approached. Having watched from the door for some time, Hal'amek chose then to come forward and stopped just before the man. Everyone froze at his presence.

"Who the hell gave him the floating bracelets?!" Wedge shouted against the silence.

Hal'amek ignored the comment and watched the armored man. Said person's eyes flickered underneath his helmet as recognition picked up. "You're Halazeem Ameknemin. Practically a god in Ban Venica. Well, you would be, if your actions weren't so confused."

"My actions?" Hal'amek asked.

"Killing other mages. Wrong targets, we say."

"You deserve it. You wallow in your gifts, rather than mold them. You know nothing of the gift of magic."

The man slammed his sword into the deck and placed both hands on its hilt. "Show me, then. I've always been a non-believer."

Hal'amek seemed to falter at this, though none of the crew revealed his weakness. He drifted toward the man, bearing the skeletal arm with the hand pointed ahead. Less than a meter from his opponent, he offered the club to the other. The man took it carefully and held it up for examination. As he did so, Hal'amek slapped the back of the club so that the fingers jabbed through the slit in the man's helmet and into his eyes. He backed away and raised his other hand to his face, and in that moment Hal'amek grabbed the now un-possessed sword and lopped the man's head off.

Hal'amek backed away, staring at the sword, then dropped it and stared at his own hands in wonderment. "That," he said, casting a glance to the assembled crew, "was quite a bit of magic right there." He kicked the decapitated body, then lowered himself to take back his club. "Ye gods, what an imbecile." He lifted himself back up, then raised himself higher until he seemed to tower over everyone. "So, where exactly are we going, hmm?"

Director

Everyone on the ship began to stare at Hal'amek's menacing, but crippled figure.

"How did you get out of the cell?" Biggs asked, baffled. "We had your magic-"

"Ah, you have that insane bard to thank for that." The room's already awkward aura delved even deeper into the realms of awkwardness. From the left side of the room, two extremely overpowering auras shone. Zimon and Worthengraut were staring directly at Franz, with murder in their eyes.

"H-hey guys, it wasn't all my fault, heh..."

"Five second head start?" asked Zimon curiously.

"That zounds like a vair amount of time, yes?" Hearing these relatively discouraging words, Franz darted down the ships corridors. Soon enough Zimon and Worthengraut came bounding after him, like bats out of hell.

"STOP! FRANZ WILL NOT BE HURT! GET B- dang it,” Kyson said as he smacked himself across the forehead with his good (and only) arm.

Meanwhile Hal’amek drifted slowly to the side of the deck, while Kyson and Biggs were talking, in an attempt to stay hidden so he could escape once they reached the ground.

"Excuse their actions,” Kyson said, visibly embarrassed. "My cohorts are a tad…”

"Don’t worry about it,” Biggs replied coolly. "We’re almost at our base, and those guys need some exercise.”

The ship flew over green valleys and mountains that reached to the heavens. It soared whizzing past several forests, then came to an abrupt halt. It lowered like the sun at twilight onto the forest top.

"What was-" Kyson asked slowly and a bit fearfully. Another attack, he thought.

"We have to duck down low at this point, for fear of renegade mages prowling in our forest.”

"What wastes,” spoke up Hal’amek from the corner of the deck. "These mages should be spending their time honing their craft-"

"You're still here!?! KUMO!” Kumo emerged from a break room door, loud music resonating from within. He was carrying a cup of Osyllian Cactus tea, coloured red, like the cactus it was leeched from.

"Boss, in middle of dart game!”

"Restrain the prisoner please.” Upon hearing this, Kupo sighed and grabbed Hal’amek. Instead of dragging him to his cell, however, Kupo dragged him into the break room.

The ship slowly moved across the forest sky, like a sparrow searching for his meal. In a matter of ten minutes, the ship slowly dropped onto the green, misty forest bottom, sending dirt aloft, and causing several trees to breeze in the generated wind.

"Ah, we’re here,” Biggs bellowed cheerfully.

Biggs, Wedge, Cidra, Kupo, and Kyson escorted the esteemed vizier from the ship slowly, as to assure he wouldn’t attempt an escape.

"Where are Worthengraut, Franz and Zim-" As if on cue, Franz burst out of the airship, visibly shaken, and wheezing to boot. He approached Kyson and hid behind him.

"GET THESE TALL FREAKS AWAY FROM ME!"

"Show some dignity, I will call em off.” Worthengraut and Zimon barged out of the ship, Worthengraut frothing at the mouth, Zimon pounding his chest.

"ZE BARD HAS CAUSED ENOUGH TROUBLE, VE MUST-"

"He is under my watch at the moment. You so much as break a finger, I will take action.” Worthengraut and Zimon frowned.

The group slowly approached the entrance of the crumbling citadel, a giant stone door, embroidered with a shining sun emblem. As they began to open the door, two stone statues began to shake, as they slowly began to move.

"Halt.” The rumbling voice of the stone statues rang simultaneously. "Only the brave may enter our tomb.” Biggs shut his eyes wide, and lifted up his hand. Tattooed upon it was a crest, matching the one on the door. Suddenly, the door began to shimmer, and it lit up to a neon orange. Pulsing through the trees, a glaring sunbeam struck the door, and with that, the door creaked open.

"May the brave warriors have longevity on their side,” spoke both quartz statues unanimously, as they froze back into place.

"A little grandeur, but it gets the job done,” said Biggs heartily. Past the gate lay many knights similar to the ones outside, except they were not stone. Troops of the cause, preparing for a battle of some sort.

"Ah Mrs. Cidra, she has been waiting for your return.” Kyson nodded his head, and Zimon and Worthengraut looked a tad confused, as the party entered the main castle hall. Apparently time had taken its toll on the place.

Masamune

Kyson took a moment to take in the old castle. It certainly was built in a time long removed. There was a certain oldness to the place that Kyson had not felt in a long, long time. Even the stone guards were something he had never before seen. Indeed, even the Vizier, who was being closely guarded by some of the men from the airship, seemed awed by the castle. Such amazement was apparently lost on the others, especially on Worthengraut whose only comment was that it was colder inside than out.

"She's a bit worse for wear... but she's home," Wedge explained.

Cidra seemed relieved of this as well. She was certainly an odd woman, from what Kyson had gathered. Although Kyson had seen her fleetingly throughout the journey, he had yet to speak to her or - indeed, even see her face. She dressed in robes and wore her hood low to conceal her face. Even when Biggs and Wedge spoke to her, she seemed to only reply with a mutter.

"An unusual hiding place," Hal’amek said suddenly. "The architecture... is quite unlike any I've seen."

"It is an ancient place," Biggs explained. "Built long, long before any of the modern countries."

The vizier smiled thinly at this, "Indeed. To think such a place existed..."

"Now that your short parole is over," Biggs said as he made a gesture to his men, "you can get a closer look in one of the cells."

The vizier scowled, but made no motion to escape. "I see that your courtesies here are as ancient as the stone here." With a click of his heel on the ground, he turned to follow the guards.

"Is it alright to keep him here?" Kyson asked. "It's easy to keep him confined in the air, but on the ground..."

Biggs held up his palm, showing the tattoo he used to open the door. "Even if he escaped his cell, nobody can leave this castle without this emblem."

Zimon glanced at the stone doors, which were now closed. "So we're as good as prisoners too."

"Guests, would be more appropriate."

They all turned and were surprised to see it was Cidra who spoke.

She pulled back the hood of her robe, then discarded her robe. Like Biggs and Wedge, she was wearing a pair of black shades to cover her eyes. Her face was youthful and Kyson placed her as being in her 20s. Her blonde hair was unusual in that it was spiked up in the front in one large spike, with the rest of it running to the back at shoulder length. She was dressed similarly to Biggs and Wedge and some of the others, given her black jacket and slacks.

Biggs and Wedge stood behind her on either side, placing their arms behind their backs and striking a rather impressive figure of the three.

"Gentlemen," Cidra continued. "Welcome to Carselo."

Worthengraut simply grunted. "But vy are ve here?"

"Obviously we couldn't leave you in Battant, watching as we took off with the Queen-Empress," Biggs replied.

"More importantly," Cidra interjected. "You're on the same side as we are. We think you could help."

Kyson glanced back at his three 'companions'. "I'm not even sure we have a side at the moment. We're more victims of fate and circumstances."

"Aren't we all," Cidra said. "And yet here you are."

"I'm only here for the Vizier," Franz replied. "All of this... whatever this is. It has nothing to do with me."

"Indeed. I am just ze ambassador for my country. Eet ees... unfortunate I am here," Worthengraut tried to explain. "My country vill think I too have been kidnapped."

"Well you're even more of a pain then I thought," Franz retorted. "Do you regularly go sticking your nose in other people's business?"

"If that is way you want to speak to me, zen I vill-"

"Enough," Cidra interrupted. "Whether you want to help us or not, it doesn't matter. You're going to have to stay here until we send out another airship, which may be some time."

"And why is that?" Franz asked.

"Because they're looking for us," Zimon grunted.

"Mage knights or no, both Truvia and Osyllia has a lot at stake here," Biggs explained. "And if your large friend is right, then Svensung may be looking for us as well."

"Right now I want to know one thing though," Cidra said as she faced Kyson

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"Where are your friends? The Osyllian that you left Eijopi with?"