[ 11 ]

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 unforeseen 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 learning 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 Eries 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 leapt 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 were 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 presumptuous 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 who 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."

[ 12 ]

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 that 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 foreigner 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 craftsmanship 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 pastime was to doodle, using rejected diagrams to scratch drawings of people, flowers, and animals. Her second favourite pastime 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. "Damn it all," 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, quite commendable. 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 farewell.

"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 dignitaries. 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..."

[ 13 ]

"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 premises of redirecting Fate particles, creating the periscope 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 unraveled 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'stermination. "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. To reveal his past would mean once again facing his failure, and the possibility that he'd left behind a shattered family and country. He'd planned so long just to begin life anew with Celena, Naria, and Eriya, and to one day leave Zaibach's cold, scientific ways behind him. Dineer's question presented another possibility; that perhaps Zaibach's embrace would welcome him; that this was where Fate had meant for him to be.

"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. She thought that might encourage me to stop."

The other boy 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 how he'd hesitated, fatally, upon seeing the intelligence and emotion in the land dragon's eyes. He told of waking upon the operating table, horrified beyond comprehensionupon 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 told of finding Naria and Eriya, and how he began to dream of a new life, with a new purpose. 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 dimmed considerably.

"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," Dineer said, concerned over the blood-soak wraps around the beastman's head. "Whatever happened?"

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."

[ 14 ]

Dineer sighed, lifted his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. "I resisted telling Folken right away, only because I knew how much his heart depended on that girl. Should he have known she was in any sort of danger I knew his mind would be distracted and we'd see just another line of failures."

"Your project mattered more?" Eries remarked, disappointment coloring her tone.

"Ah, no my lady!" Dineer exclaimed defensively. "At least I hope not. I was quite motivated back then to succeed in the Academy, a lot for my poor mother's sake. I admit, regretfully, that some of this ambition may have clouded my judgement. In any case, I kept the secret from him for a good four years. They flew by quickly, mostly because we were so busy. Apparently our 'intact rat' was the most successful anyone had gotten utilizing the particular Fate particles that we'd been working with. The Sorcerers were therefore rather persistent that we continue. I can count the number of days that we were allowed off per year on one hand.

"Needless to say, it was mostly Folken's doing. His foreign approach to traditional Zaibach scientific experimentation gave our research what it needed to succeed where others had failed. All of it sort of stopped rather abruptly once we found out what they were using it for --" the Strategos glanced over at the prone ex-Dragonslayer Commander and shook his head.

"I spent much of my free time trying to find out what it meant to be Selected. Many of my colleagues were completely clueless. Others... well, the question frightened them. Jajuka feigned ignorance, which, although frustrating, was essential to prolong his very existence. I found very, very little, other than it had something to do with an experiment that the Emperor himself was involved in.

"Folken, in the meantime, spent most of his free time in the nearby soldier's barracks honing his swordsmanship. It was strange to see a fully uniformed Madoushi student exchanging trained blows with the best of the General's trainees, but it was obvious he held his own and more.

"And then, the same day I finally convinced a fellow to allow us access into the Library, Folken met Dilandau for the first time."

The progress that they'd made even impressed Kyr. Though the praise was never directly spoken, but it was a good sign that his daily tirades and insults regarding their workmanship habits had stopped.

Dineer commented that many of his fellows were envious of their success. A great many had stopped talking to him altogether, which did little to damper his optimism. It was clear, though, that something or other had shortened his smile, and Folken attributed it to the stress.

Since they'd managed to isolate working Fate articles, their subsequent experiments produced breakthrough results. What excited the Senior Sorcerers the most was how they'd managed to reverse an organism's habits, color, and even its sex. An excitable, cheese-loving male mouse became a sluggish, meat-eating hermaphrodite after being injected with one of their later mixtures. The two most recurring failures were the impermanence of the transformation, and the bizarre habits that began to appear after only a few months of therapy. One bashed its own head against the cage bars so that the skull split, and even then continued until its brains had been dashed against the metal. Another turned upon her babies, viciously ripping apart the tiny, pink bodies and then spreading them about her cage.

Despite these setbacks, Folken found a few extra moments to begin work on what he called a "Destiny-Prognostication Device," something he felt could virtually predict the future. The Emperor was more than pleased upon seeing the initial schematics, and even considered letting him a few months respite from the Fate Experimentation project to complete the mechanism. Instead, the young man handed over the project to another and returned to the laboratories, shrugging off the Emperor's rare, monstrously ancient vocal praise as insignificant.

The twin cat-girls adored him more and more as they grew, but even they could not erase the troublesome worry that sometimes interfered with his concentration; he'd found nothing of Celena for at least four years. Jajuka's jaws were clamped shut, and Dineer had heard nothing from his fellows. He'd learned to blockade such thoughts when working on experiments, or when sparring with the soldiers. Whenever possible, he pushed the limits of both his mental and physical stamina until his one remaining thought was to return to his chambers and fall asleep, blessedly free of his miserable thoughts.

One such day the sun shone brightly, and while Dineer ran off to pursue an errand, he took advantage of the fine, spring's day to join his friends in the barracks.

"Damnit," cursed the latest fallen soldier, "I've had enough already! Left-handed cripple, my fucking ass."

Folken gave him a small smile and reached down to help the young man up. He took it graciously, adding his laughter to those of his fellows. "I swear, when is it that you'll finally hang up the skirts and put on some armour like a proper man?"

It would be an anomaly if someone didn't ask him that question, and always he'd smile and shake his head. He did so now, and the soldier clapped him on the back. "Ever to have your hands in some rat's guts, eh Ken?"

"Master Folken is a genius!" cried the ever present Naria.

"Do not treat him with such disrespect!" added the golden Eriya.

Another round of guffaws colored the sunlit, dusty courtyard. "Careful Nisset!" shouted one errant fellow. "They'll tear your eyes out with those pretty claws!"

Folken cast a withering look at the twins, whose presence in both the Academy and in the barracks was treated as if he'd took upon himself two companionable puppies. It pained him to think that there were few in the world who would treat beastpeople such as themselves as they would any other human being, despite the fact that they thought, fought, and loved just the same. Bright, adoring smiles decorated the young girls, whom he was certain were approaching their seventeenth year. Their figures had blossomed beautifully, and they'd taken to wearing the tight-fitting uniform of a Guymelef pilot, making him the object of even more gossipy sexual speculation among the Madoushi students and had gained him the obvious envy of his soldier fellows.

The two girls were inseparable from themselves and from their dear "Master." He'd objected highly at first to their almost god-like worship, but when they were unrelenting he wearily let it happen. Without Celena, they were the only two could truly bring out a joyful feeling in his heart, and their sisterly devotion reminded him without pain of the brother he'd left behind. While he toiled in the laboratories, they'd taken it upon themselves to visit the soldiers that Folken often sparred against. Their charm and their relationship with their Madoushi companion helped them convince the young men and boys to train them to be fighters and pilots. The initial reluctance and jeering disappeared once the trainees realized how their natural feline agility and weaponry placed the simple human boys at an incredible disadvantage. Though women were rarely allowed to train in either academy, the novelty of their skill and enthusiasm caught the eye of a Guymelef drill sergeant who took it upon himself to allow the girls to become part of his company.

After all, Eriya and Naria told themselves, what good were they if they couldn't protect their beloved savior?

Nisset, a clean shaven raven-haired man who loved battle, women, and his food in exactly that order, walked over to the stone wall that the girls were sitting upon. He kissed the hand of the silver haired Naria. "My lady, I apologize for my crude remark."

Naria smiled coyly while her sister rolled her eyes. "Sir Nisset," she said, smiling promisingly, though the young man knew that her body and heart would belong to one man only.

Nisset looked disparagingly at the tall Madoushi apprentice. "It's a shame you have two of these and I have none."

Folken smiled, sheathing his sword. He began to reply, for exchanging banter with these men, both crude and colorful in their insults and commentary, was a respite from the jargon that he had to use with most of the Sorcerers, when a slithering, cool young voice interrupted him.

"It's more a shame he wastes time on such trash. And that you waste time with him."

The courtyard's noises dimmed considerably, aside from the chirping of birds and the distant metallic crash of a pair of Guymelefs in training. The group's once cheerful demeanor changed abruptly, as the men looked up on the newcomer with a mixture of loathing and respect.

The surprise on Folken's face was evident as he turned to confront what turned out to be a young boy, no more than fourteen, followed by six boys of similar age. Silvery-white, straight hair spread from a simple, straight part in the middle of his forehead creating a pale frame to a pretty face. His lips were curled in a scornful smirk and eyes that were an unnatural shade of red were narrowed in a critical gaze at Folken's Madoushi uniform. He wore the standard, undecorated uniform of the Military Academy's students; a simple, collared white tunic and a set of dark breeches tucked into high, hard leather boots. A simple chain necklace hung at his neck, bearing some sort of odd-colored pendant. The boy was tall for his age, reaching as far as Folken's mid-chest, and the muscles on his arms and legs were small, but defined.

Folken blatantly stared, his mouth hanging slightly agape. Something about the boy rang infernally false...

"Is there a problem, Skirt?"

The boy's insult jarred him out of his thoughts. He stared the boy down, using his height at its fullest advantage. "I trust, young sir, you have a reason for insulting a man you don't even know."

The sneer widened into an amused grin. "Oh but I do know you, Skirt. You keep filthy beastgirls in your quarters and you fiddle with your assistant when you're done throwing chemicals into rats. Any one of these men can attest to the rumours, although only you can prove them true. Perhaps you'd like to show me if there truly IS a man underneath those robes and cloaks?"

"Be silent, brat! How dare you say such things!" Naria shrieked, jumping down from her perch. Eriya shouted her sister's name and followed.

Six swords slid from their sheathes. A malevolent laugh burst from the boy's mouth.

"Commander?" requested one of the other boys.

A seventh sword appeared. The silver-haired boy walked over to Naria, the smile gone. He stood a few feet away from her, looking up at the slightly taller young girl. Though her face was contorted in rage, and her slightly pointed teeth were bared in an animalistic snarl, he was undaunted. They circled each other, measuring each other up, attempting to intimidate the other into feeling just enough fright to swing the impending fight in their favour. Only the distant, grinding echoes of the sparring Guymelefs and the chirps of some errant birds impeded the courtyard as all eyes focused on the two steely combatants. On the boy's face was an easy, arrogant grin. A faint, feral growl rumbled from beneath his opponent's lips.

"Let's see you burn me, bitch!" shouted the boy, rushing forward and descending his sword in a long, swift arc.

Naria had never liked the sword, and never tried to excel at fighting with one. She had, however, managed to hone what was naturally hers to defend and counterattack against the weapon, especially since the ability was necessary for proper Guymelef combat. Natural feline reflexes saved her from a blow that would have split her skull in two. Easily she tumbled and lifted back onto her feet, only to find the boy had followed her. A heavy leather boot smacked into the side of her head, sending her back into the dirt. She rolled, and the sword bit into the ground inches away from her torso.

Her sister took a hesitant step forward. "No, Eriya!" she said, springing to her feet while the boy looked on, a smile playing on his lips. "I will do this on my own!"

"Then you'll be crushed on your own!" laughed her opponent. He leapt forward, swinging the flat side of his blade at her face. Though the distraction was momentary, the mistake was fatal. Skin and metal slapped together, and the girl fell to the floor a second time. Insulted and enraged, she turned to attack and was forced to stop, halted by the pointed end of a well-crafted blade.

"Well," gloated the boy, "I'd say that was quick and pointless." He pushed the sword in towards Naria's chest, scraping the point back and forth lightly against her breasts. She glared up at him, grasping clumps of tannish brown dirt to keep herself in check. It would take but a small stab to slide the blade between her ribs and into the flesh beneath. As it was, the hard woven cloth of her prized uniform had broken and frayed underneath the boy's ministrations.

"Enough."

The deep tone and the shuffle of his body length uniform marked the distinct owner of the voice. The boy cast a dark, promising look in Folken's direction, but the sword did not move. Eriya was behind him, worry playing on her patterned face. "I said, enough," repeated Folken. "You've insulted and harassed us enough for today. Perhaps it's time you rejoined your fellows in the barracks."

"Back away, skirt!" called one of the boy's six followers.

"Shut up, Guimel," the boy snapped. "If the Sorcerer wishes to stop me, than let him stop me." He grinned, an expression that seemed to stretch the skin on his face and twist the features into a gruesomely handsome mask. The bright metal moved steadily from Naria's chest to Folken's, pressing lightly on the thinner cloth. "What are you going to do? Challenge me?"

A hard clang answered the boy. He pulled at his sword, his smile dissipating. "Let go!"

Folken loathed exposing the artifice that had replaced his appendage as anything other than a normal arm. At the Academy he was careful to conceal it totally, though in the labs with Dineer, who would not gape and stare, he used it as if it had always been a part of him. During sparring sessions he sometimes used it as a shield, although since the straps to a normal shield would not comfortably fit on either arm such usage was rather necessary. However, he'd never really used it in such an inhuman way before, grasping the killing edge of the boy's sword between fingers that should have split and yielded blood. He was angry, and more than that he was confused, for there was still something about him that made his stomach and his heart react in both fear and loathing.

One sharp tug wrenched the blade out of the boy's hands. Folken dropped it to the dirt and stared down the impudent soldier. The boy looked up and saw within those reddish globes a rage and a will to overpower his own. For the first time since he'd stood on the courtyard, he backed away.

"B-But, Commander-" stammered one of his companions.

A swift, cheek-cracking backhand silenced him. The young man stumbled, but remained standing, clutching his face.

The boy left the courtyard without retrieving his sword. His cohorts followed silently, throwing meaningless, threatening glances at the tall Madoushi Apprentice. Eriya helped her sister up from the ground, and then helped her to brush away clouds of dust and dirt. Naria looked worriedly at her master, whose teeth and fists were clenched in an unusual display of black emotion. The remaining soldiers began to leave, muttering among themselves. As he approached the aggravated trio, Nisset sighed.

"That there's Dilandau Albatou. Popped in several years ago, passed all the intelligence tests with flying colors, got up to an officer position before anyone knew it. Acts like an ass, but all those fuckers following him treat him like he's some goddamn royalty." He looked up and beheld his companion's ashen face. "Something wrong?"

"Master Folken?" Naria whispered, putting one hand gently on his trembling shoulder.

...Dilandau...

...Dilandau... Dilandau iz hapy...

"I think it's time to go," he said finally. He directed a small smile at Nisset before turning to leave. "I'm fine."

"Are you now? Too many muckety muck chemicals messing up the noggin?"

"Not at all, I assure you."

"Mind filling me in?"

"It's just," he replied, patting his charge's furry paw, "I believe I've met this young one before."

"Astounding!" Dineer exclaimed, upon hearing his friend's tale. "What do you suppose it means?"

"I'm not sure." And he really didn't. The picture that Celena had drawn had long ago been both ripped apart and burned, but he remembered well the bloodstained hands and grinning character that had owned them. Between a child's inarticulate scribbling and the appearance of a flesh and blood boy it was difficult to make a comparison. Yet it was not a common name, either in Zaibach or otherwise. Maybe his little friend had heard of the boy before and attributed both the fame and skill to her mischievous invisible friend. Only...

Only the timing was wrong. Celena talked of Dilandau before Nisset said he'd arrived. Or at least, it was too close for him to have established himself.

Altering the Fates of organic materials... beings... wasn't that what they were trying to perfect?

What if...

What if they were already using their research? What if they'd moved on to animals of far better intellect and functionality than mere rats?

Human beings...?

Impossible. The corpses would be infamous.

Unless the security on the project was high, where waggling tongues meant swift execution. It was possible, and it had been done.

Celena. Was Celena there?

"Well, I have some good news for you anyways. I finally got Wen to open up the damn research library to us. Told him that it was imperative to our project, and told him I'd get him a case of Asturian wine." Dineer grinned.

The merriment was infectious. Folken managed at least a half a smile, turning up one corner. "Very well. Let's go now."

"Now?" his friend echoed, startled. "Folken, it's nearly midnight!"

His incomplete expression melted into a deep, disturbed frown. "Now."

Dineer threw up his arms. "All right, all right. I'm going to owe him two cases after this."

"My lady," said Dineer, suddenly interrupting the narrative to address Eries alone. "if you would, please, find out for me how the rest of my delegation fares? My absence is sure to be suspect."

The elder princess sighed and stood. "Very well. My sister should be up here shortly as well." She left, glancing backwards once suspiciously only to find a worn, innocent smile on the Strategos' face. When the door closed, he sighed deeply and sadly, running one hand down his face. When he looked up again, there were tears brimming his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, swallowing to gain his composure, "but I needed her out. What I will say next is not for ears of ladies such as she."

The remaining listeners shifted slightly, affected by Dineer's growing uneasiness. He drew in a shaking breath. "No one really knows of what we found. The Emperor probably did, as well as some of the former Senior Sorcerers. God forgive me for what I've done," he finished, breaking his final word with closed eyes.

Allen's hands clenched, and Zhi's hand moved to the hilt of her sword. On the bed, as if reliving the past with the same vivid misery, Dilandau Albatou / Celena Schezar sighed.

[ 15 ]

"Black, 5th Moon, Female, Egzardian, 6 years of age. Referenced by experiment A-67."

"Deceased. Failed testing 9b."

"Green, 19th Moon, Female, Daedalian, 5 years of age. Referenced by experiment B-301."

"Deceased. Failed initial inoculations."

"Hell," sighed Dineer, falling back into his chair, "there's just too many of them!"

They sat across from each other at a table illuminated with over a dozen energist-powered lanterns. It was two hours past midnight, and at such an ungodly hour Dineer's friend's attitude fell far below cordial. The unfortunate boy was now indebted to pay two cases of Asturian wine and a bottle of good Basramlic vodka. However, what the rather uptight, antisocial young man planned to do with such a quantity of alcohol was something that eluded the both of them.

The library's architecture had been designed to be primarily functional rather than decorative, and so the long lengths of stone and metal bookshelves were cold and uninviting. During the day, students were often hunched over peering through scrolls or leather-bound archives of past experiments, hoping that somewhere in the ancient writings was a clue to their predecessors' mistakes (subsequently their success). At the late hour, though, the library was silent, the students gone. The Senior Sorcerers were fanatic, though remarkably careless, in the safeguarding of the school's research. Most of them were under the superbly confident belief that there was no one who would even bother with thievery; after all, to be discovered meant public prosecution, and public prosecution meant that you were barred from furthering entry into any Zaibach school. A student would go from prestigious to impoverished in a matter of days.

Folken and Dineer had agreed early on to minimize their time in the library. Just looking at the three, room-length, cramped shelves of books that were dedicated to past failed Fate Experiments tended to fuel discouragement. Since their own research and new techniques had birthed results, they only resorted to the books when all other resources had been exhausted.

One particular section of the library had been specifically cordoned off for only the Emperor and the Senior Sorcerers. A key was kept in the hands of a single, honored student librarian (who they were unaware had a weakness for cases of fine beverages) under the possibility of an emergency. Dineer had befriended the man during their series of Bio-Chemistry courses, though Folken speculated that the other boy had merely crumbled under Dineer's unrelenting merry charms. When he was appointed keeper of the key, their mutual cheerful friend had delivered to him a bottle of his beloved vodka, which he'd drained in less than an hour.

The boy, Urn, had eyed Folken suspiciously, knowing the rumours as well as any other student. It took the promise of the extra case and extra bottle, as well as a hard reassurance that if they were caught they were to under no circumstances place even an iota of blame on him, to get him to open that door in this late hour. Dineer was forced to sign a slip of paper sealing the agreement, which Urn stuffed greedily into his uniform.

A long flight of stairs led down. When they got there, they discovered a smaller room with similar decor, with two lines of books and a set of tables in between. There were also doors on all walls at regular intervals labeled carefully with a series of numbers and letters. Dineer pulled a book off the shelf to behold a detailed listing of names, dates, and locations referencing specific experiments that correlated with the numbers on the locked doors. They'd walked up to the first one mentioned and pulled hard on the handles.

Dineer had peered at the lock. "No good, and I know that wino doesn't have the keys to these."

Folken had the answer to their problem. He lifted the index and middle fingers of his metal arm. After a sharp click two small, thin needles appeared through the fingertips. It took what seemed like forever to pick the lock, since neither had any experience doing so, but they were eventually rewarded. Both boys pulled hard at the heavy steel door.

"Good God."

The room reeked of a horrid combination of chemicals, making their nostrils flare in response. Three rows of different sized glass cylindrical tanks were neatly kept in the dimly illuminated room. An eerie, bluish light emanated from the bottom of each tank, awkwardly clashing with the flickering yellows and oranges of four enclosed torches. The top of the tanks were capped by a metal dome that was riveted shut. At the bottoms were panels that held a series of buttons and levers. Attached to the front of each cylinder was supposedly a description of its contents, but both of them were too far away to read the tiny handwriting. They were, however, close as they ever wanted to be to the things that were floating inside.

Failed experiments.

Some of them were whole, some of them not. Boys, girls, all under the age of 10, and animals of all sorts.

The closest to them was a young human male, put into five similar containers. The middle contained his head and torso, eyes and mouth stretched forever in a horrific scream. Whether it was in defiance or terror they couldn't tell. He was tied to a pole that ran from the floor to the ceiling, puncturing through the dome at the top. His arms and legs were floating in the remaining four, secured to poles that were half the height of the container. Thigh bone could be seen, the edges jagged and split. Bits of skin and sinew floated around them, slowly and aimlessly waving in the thick liquid. More disturbing was the boy's groin where the area was inverted, leaving deep, dark hole. Webs of red, angry lines burst out to form a macabe decor on the surrounding area.

The next was a girl, pale hair flowing angelically around her body. From the belly up she was a peacefully sleeping child, eyes closed in dreams, lips slightly open, hands lazily waving against the glass. From the belly down she simply ceased to exist. Her liver and stomach had been given an unnatural view of the world, peeking out from the torn flesh of her abdomen. Her intestines were completely missing, and so was anything below that. A long, ragged, snake-like figure waving in unison to her hands turned out to be the remains of her spine.

The figures beyond bore various similar forms of evisceration, castration, and separation. Dineer had turned and gagged violently, clutching his stomach and clenching his teeth to prevent himself from retching. Folken paled and quickly slammed closed the door that had taken the both of them to open.

After that, they concentrated on the books, fearing what might lay behind the other doors. It turned out that one book on the first shelf correlated with a numbered book on the other shelf. The only rhyme or reason in the order of the books turned out to be the time that the specimen had been originally acquired. Estimating Celena to be at about fourteen years of age, they started near end, where the relatively more recent experiments were catalogued.

Dineer leaned forward and began flipping through the book, having encountered a series of male-only specimens. "Basramlic male, Asturian male, Basramlic male, Egzardian male, Basramlic..." he looked up at his friend. "Not too keen on competitive scientists." He resumed looking at the book. "Basramlic, Basramlic, Freidian, Asturian, Basramlic, Fanelian --"

"-- Fanelian?"

"Yes, though what they were doing so far out there I couldn't imagine. Wait." He peered closer. "This is an old child. Fifteen."

Folken's breath caught in his throat. "Experiment number?"

"F-19. Folken, you don't suppose --"

Folken dove for the the appropriate log, tumbling a stack of books in the process. "F-19, Subject: Male, purportedly one-half human, one-half Atlantean."

"Hold on one second," Dineer interrupted. "One-half Atlantean? What sort of fictional --"

"Appropriation incomplete," continued Folken. "Initial subject unattainable, secondary subject detained. Missing appendage reconstructed (referenced exp. F-19Y). Hereditary supposition confirmed. Fate experimentation on subject delayed, per Emperor's order." He flipped a few pages. "F-19Y, Subject: Male, one-half human, one-half Atlantean. Reattachment of missing right arm. Organics subsituted by complex neurologically infused artificial appendage (referenced exp. E-398)."

"It makes sense," murmured Dineer, eyebrows raised from this new revelation regarding his mysterious companion. "I mean, it's one thing to be here trying to control Fate particles, it's another to be a being that's virtually one with them. Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged in response.

"Folken," Dineer said carefully, "who were they initially after?"

His sharp, metal fingers scraped deeply into the leather outer covering. A forgotten anger resurfaced.

"My brother."

"What?"

Van's soft, horrified inquiry drew everyone's attention away from the Strategos. Dineer took the momentary lapse to wipe his brow and down another gulp of vino. "As I'd said to him, even the possibilty that a living Atlantean, a thing that was practically composed of Fate particles, was alive and available was probably too sweet a prize for the scientists to pass up. Most of the children had apparently been purchased, or stolen and the son of a King, hoarded within a castle full of soldiers and loyal citizens, was almost impossible to obtain. Fate, luck, whatever you want to call it placed your brother dying on the forest floor when Zaibach soldiers arrived to attempt your abduction."

"Then," whispered Van, his eyes sliding towards the boy in the bed, whose fingers clenched in anger now even in sleep, "I could have - "

"No," Dineer interrupted, a bit of old frustration emphasizing his words. "I remember, once, when everything was over, I attempted to rationalize the possiblities: Could Folken have been King? Could you have survived the experiments? Would Celena been left to live a normal life? In the end, I believed, Folken would have died on the forest floor, a victim of the dragon's maw. You would have become the beast, so to speak; in fact, I almost believe that your presence could have won us the war. Celena would have met her end in Zaibach, a torn, broken body encased in chemicals and glass.

"Celena, you see, was not part of the experiments by chance, but by choice."

Folken refused to elaborate, gently placing the book aside and picking up another. Dineer waited a moment, wrought by curiousity. After a while, his friend sighed.

"I can no longer live the life of Folken Lacour de Fanel," he said, his voice a blend of regret and determination, "and my brother is well taken care of. It is better this way, that I was given this life, rather than risk what might have become of him." Pointedly, his eyes shifted towards the heavy steel doors.

Admirably Dineer stared at his friend. To accept the hardships he'd experienced on the basis of a brother he'd not seen in over seven years... If only there were others that could share what was beneath this foreign boy's cold exterior. He resumed reading down the list. "Freidian, Basramlic, Freidian, Asturian, Daedalian, Basramlic - ah! Asturian Female. Hm." He hesitated, then suddenly flipped back and forth between several pages.

"What is it?"

"This entry," he slapped the paper with the back of his hand, "it doesn't make any sense."

"What?" Folken reached for the book. Immediately his eyes were drawn to the final entry on the page, where the handwriting, bold and flourishing as it was, stood out admist tightly packed letters and digits. The final column had the usual set of letters and numbers in the usual handwriting but alongside it, in the same flourishing script, was "Atlan/Sch."

"There was a book around here," Dineer mumbled, shuffling noisily through their piles, "I think it said - Ah! Maybe this one?"

In his friend's hand was a worn, compact book, looking as important as a torn paper admist the heavy leather-bound tomes that made up the rest of the archive. However, this book had been marked quite distinctly with the Emperor's seal in his own gleaming golden wax. Scrawled on the inside were the corresponding markings that had been found in the ledger. Whatever was inside had been meant to be seen by the Emperor and his Strategos, if even the latter had been permitted to know of its existence.

The two friends exchanged baffled looks. Had this been placed here by accident, or...?

"Hiding it in the open you think?" Dineer offered.

"Possibly," Folken replied, cracking open the book carefully with his metal hand, hoping to leave the least amount of evidence that the book had been disturbed by a human being. While his companion scanned the small journal (for indeed, what had been written inside turned out to be quite personal), Dineer set about to looking for the appropriate logbook that matched the girl's experiment number.

A few quiet moments passed, though finally Dineer located the volume at the bottom of one of their stacks. He sighed as he placed down book; the lack of a night's rest starting to wear on his reserve. He looked at his friend, in the hopes that his predicament would strike some sort of sympathetic nerve, to find an expression that was darkening by the moment.

"'The man chooses to die,'" Folken read, the journal turned to the last written page, "'bleeding in the snow like a dog, rather than give me the key to my dreams, rather than give me the key to everything that I have ever lived for! The pages missing from his journal are the most important! Precise directions into Atlantis itself! I can no longer make him suffer, but his family still remains.' It ends there."

"What man?"

"A man named Leon Schezar." He frowned, flipping backwards through the book. "The Emperor knew of his attempt to find the city of Atlantis, thus devising a plan to befriend and follow him there. Apparently the Emperor was cheated out of what he desired. What does this have to do with a Fate alteration?"

Dineer, in the meantime, had begun to flip through the details of the denoted experiment. Engrossed and alarmed as he was at the terrifically maniacal particulars, he missed Folken's question. Worn by the late hour and uncharacteristically impatient, Folken slammed his metal hand on the pages his colleague had been looking at. The boy nearly leaped from his skin, sending several books tumbling to the floor.

"F-Folken," he stammered, "maybe you shouldn't see this..."

The tired, cold look the sky-haired boy gave him rattled his nerve. He sighed and held out the book. "Just... look."

Gently Folken took the tomb, pushing aside the Emperor's journal to make space. At the end of the first page, he slowly turned to the next, the expression on his face unreadable. Long minutes passed as he read the entries from beginning to end, and Dineer looked warily at the exit, the lack of windows making it impossible to estimate how many hours of the night had passed. His gaze lingered at the heavy metal door they'd opened when they first arrived, feeling the sorrow and revulsion that he'd experienced when he first saw the childrens' remains. Yet, no matter how horrifying the ends, the means had paled in comparison. He fought the urge to vomit.

When Dineer looked at his friend again, he swallowed his despair. Though Folken's face hadn't truly changed, his eyes betrayed the turmoil inside, and a few tears had escaped their depths. "It might not be her," Dineer consoled softly, compelled to draw the book away from his friend.

"It is," Folken replied dully, swiping the long sleeve of his left arm over his cheeks. "The physical descript could not fit anyone else. Plus there is. . . that name."

"So that is what he meant by Select - " Dineer clapped his hand over his own mouth.

"'Select'? Who? What are you talking about?"

Dineer grabbed several books, hands shaking. "Nothing! Nothing! Maybe we should start cleaning up before Urn decides I need to give him another case of Basramlic Vodka." He laughed nervously.

Disconcertion and misery created by what he'd discovered fed a growing fury. He reached across the desk and grabbed the other boy's arm with his artificial hand, squeezing hard enough with its cold, sharp fingers to illicit a gasp of pain. "You know something. Tell me now."

"You're hurting me, let go!" His protest ended in a squeek. Though the two matched enough in wit, if the confrontation turned physical Dineer was sorely outmatched. He attempted to pull away, only to find that the effort caused the layers of metal that composed his friend's fingers to bite into his skin.

"Tell me!" Folken barked, grabbing hold of his colleague's neck with his spare hand. Dineer gasped for air, desperate to be free. Their struggles caused most of the books to tumble noisily off of the table.

"Jajuka," he croaked, "told me... she'd been Selected."

"How long ago?"

"Almost four years."

Shocked, Folken threw back the boy, who sat hard into his chair then bent over coughing. "Four years," he repeated coldly. "You knew for four years."

"I couldn't tell you," Dineer choked out, his speech garbled. "I was afraid - cough - you'd run to save her."

"You see what she's been through!" he shouted, slamming shut the tome.

"And I know we couldn't have saved her!" Dineer threw back. "She would have died, we would have died trying! At least we know where she is now and that she's still alive! Folken..."

"Just shut up."

He threw the Emperor's journal at his friend, which jarred his shoulder and clattered to the floor. "Clean this up," he snarled, using a royal tone of voice he hadn't sought to use for over ten years. Dineer released a shuddering sigh, too afraid to look up as the angered boy walked out, slamming open and shut the door at the top of the stairs. A few moments later, Urn opened the door, a flickering torch highlighting an unnaturally red face.

"Fu... Fuck!" he slurred, discovering the mess left in their wake. "Upupup! They'll be here any m-minute, Shorshers. Who knows wha' kinda crap you two have been getting into..."

[ 16 ]

"One, two, three, four, I count the rocks upon the floor..."

I don't want to play this anymore.

"There isn't really much else to do, I'm sorry. Can I tell you another story?"

All right.

"Once upon a time there was a princess."

Bored already.

"Hush! You promised I could tell. Once upon a time there was a princess. She was very lovely."

As they all are.

"Of course! All princesses are lovely. One day, an evil ogre spirited her away from her castle to keep her in his tower, where he planned on one day devouring all of her."

How wonderful.

"Well, it happened that one day a beautiful knight in shining armour came to rescue her! It was wonderful that he did, for the ogre was at that day preparing to have her for his meal. He was a beautiful knight, tall and handsome, and he spoke with such admiration for the princess that she fell haplessly in love. The knight, though, had only one arm, and a witch had replaced it with a strong, beautiful one made of jewels and glass."

This is not a very interesting story. Does the knight decapitate the ogre? Does he chop him to bits and feed him to the dogs? Can you see the knight's bones inside his chest where his arm once was?

"You're awful, Dilandau. Sometimes I hate you."

Jajuka looked into the room at the usual time, trying his best to hide the concern for his favourite charge. Concern meant that he felt, and that he was weak, and to the guards it meant recognizing that the beast with the face of a dog was just as human as they were. As it was, the soldier stationed at the end of the hall watched him closely. Bored and displeased as they were to be "babysitting" the Skirts' experimental animals, most of them took their pleasures in any way they could. Beating up the resident watchdog would hardly merit anything more than a slap on the wrist from their superiors.

As usual, the young girl sat in the farthest corner from him, hands hugging her knees, always farthest from the door. That wood and metal portal birthed only one good thing, and when it did, she lit up like the little girl she should be and tossed away the truth that she was a bludgeoned, victimised prisoner. Alternatively he'd been rewarded with hugs or tears, for just the sight of him bred comfort.

But when the portal spewed men in Black...

The door creaked as he opened it, a familiar, startling sound. She flinched, then looked up at him. He almost sighed with relief at the beaming pleasure in her eyes. She unfolded her long limbs, no longer short and pudgy as they were when she first arrived, but growing with length and purpose along with the curves that had begun to show through the simple green dress that all his wards wore. Under normal circumstances he knew this should be a time of celebration and exploration, to begin learning what it was to be wooed and to be loved. Here there was only the leering, wolfish soldiers to lend themselves to such education.

"It's time for your supper and your medicine, Celena."

"All right, Jajuka."

"Dilandau needs to go now, just as we promised."

"Very well." She looked pleadingly at her friend, as did Jajuka.

The empty, cooling stones before their eyes glimmered briefly with the passing of the sun as if their mutual companion who had no body and who had no voice was attempting to be difficult. Then the shadows passed over, night fell, and the young girl looked toward the steaming bowl of food.

"How long?" she asked, calmly eating spoonfuls of meticulously prepared meat and vegetable stew.

"Tomorrow," he replied, popping open the tiny vial that was designated for Celena and Celena alone. He crumbled together five drops and the sugary cookies that he'd brought with him. Experience taught him that the sweets hid the bitter taste well.

"So soon."

"I know."

There was cold metal on her forehead, cold metal on her wrists, and cold metal on her ankles. Around her waist there was a strap of fine, buckled leather. The slightest movement took an effort. She used to cry and scream when they started this, but after a while she realized how much of an awful waste that was. It would earn her a prick in the arm, which though it made her muscles relax and her mind numb, it did not alleviate the pain. No use bursting her vocal cords now when she'd need them later.

Even if she could move, she wouldn't be able to see; the light shining from up above encased her like a cocoon, unpleasantly filling her sight though it illuminated her for everyone else. She could hear, however, and she always wished she couldn't. Without the ability to hear she'd be swimming in silence and not left to speculate about those low droning voices always made incomprehensible by the bubbling of boiling liquid and the occasional snake-like steamy hiss.

"Begin."

A needle pricked her arm. From there a boiling heat raced through her veins. She gritted her teeth.

"Fate particles to eighty. Chaos line approaching."

The bubbling intensified. A second needle pierced her other arm. More heat moved through her, though significantly slower.

"Chaos density at regular levels."

"Critical point reached. Stabilizing."

It hit her head, heart, and groin all at once. She howled at the agony and writhed in her bonds, gouging the skin. Blood dripped down her fingers, her heels, and her face.

"Fate particles to one hundred." Escaping steam shrieked, adding a harmony to her tuneless chorus.

"Density at maximum. Chaos level peaked."

Things twisted in her. Her skin felt as if it was tearing apart. The screams went on.

"Fate and Chaos conjunction complete."

Her breath caught. Every single muscle she'd ever grown tightened at once. Her veins burned, and her heart stopped. Starved of oxygen, her lungs burst.

Death stole her away from the torture.

A white haired boy lay on the table, his breathing shallow, his too red eyes staring blankly upwards. At some invisible signal, the clamps unlocked and slid into their compartments onto the table.

"Infirmiry."

A uniformed Madoushi slid the handle to the table into its slots near the boy's head. A second one lifted the bars around the sides and at at his feet and they wheeled him from the light into the surrounding darkness.

...And she awoke upon the bed in her cell, with the desolate knowledge that it would all happen again.

Naria and Eriya jerked awake at the sound of their beloved Master's choked cry. They turned together from their shared bed at the other end of the room.  "Folken. . .?" Eriya whispered worriedly.

The young man was sitting upright, gasping from fright. Quickly he composed himself, running both his hands through his hair, the human one quivering slightly. "I'm fine. Please, go back to sleep."

"Very well," responded Naria, though the twins exchanged anxious looks. This was the third time in as many days that he'd woken up so ever since he'd returned late from studying in the Library. They lay down and turned their backs to their Master, giving him as much privacy as was possible in the compact room.

Folken hid his face in his hands. Gods, he couldn't forget what he'd read. Though the language of the document had been cold, hard technical terms (Drug A administered, reaction threshold 9.8/10, success rate: 95.99%, Particle Hold: 10 Days before reversion), he knew the truth between the lines. In his rats he'd seen both the results of successful Fate Particle inoculation and the convulsing agony that they'd experienced, and then the gory aftermath in those that failed. After his exploration of the Library's inner sanctum, he knew now what the human by-product looked like.

What could he do? Angry as he was with Dineer, he'd lost his tenuous link to any other student in the facility. Without the popular boy as a constant companion, none of the others felt obligated to acknowledge him courteously. The soldiers still welcomed him, but none of them would have access to the rooms of the Sorcerer's Academy.

He could not leave her. She was not the only one there, of that he had no doubt, but he could not leave her. Dineer had been  right in one sense: he could be killed trying to take her from the grounds, and even if he succeeded, it was possible that both Dineer and Jajuka would be executed for the mere possibility that they'd helped him.

To see her just once. . .

He lay down, if only to calm the nerves of his twin feline admirers (whose tails, swishing around as they were, belied their still bodies). There was nothing he could think to do at the moment, but there was always tomorrow to try.

[ 17 ]

Dineer stared at Allen, who'd moved from his position on the bed and now had both hands braced against the walls nearest to the northern window. A furious expression sat on his face, and both his fists were tightly clenched.

"What is it?" the Strategos inquired.

"You mean to tell me," the Knight hissed, "that my sister was taken from us, tortured and made insane because of what had happened between my father and Emperor Dornkirk?"

"As far as we were able to tell - yes."

The Knight snarled at Dineer, still facing the window, "Was your Emperor so petty as to gamble the lives of children for revenge?"

The Zaibachian sighed in response. "I don't know. To be honest, the Emperor became less and less compassionate and human as the years passed. It was his charisma, his hope, and his desire for rebirth that influenced my once struggling ancestors to reform into the advanced culture that Zaibach is today. But the means of prolonging his life included both arcane and technological means, and as you have seen," he waved a hand towards the prone figure on the bed, "such a mix often produces rather questionable results. Towards the end, the Emperor ran on a single-track mind, and was rather bitter when things did not go precisely to plan."

"Pathetic," Allen spat.

While Dineer spoke, Van replaced Allen's seat on the bed. He looked down at his enemy's face, remembering the quick, defensive motion that had created the crevice leading up from the pale boy's right jaw. If it hadn't been for Hitomi that Guymelef bay would have been splattered with his blood.

ButŠ Well, things such as those were of the past, weren't they? The deadly tradeoff between them, was that not done with? A country for a scar... the lives of countless Asturians and Friedians for fifteen young boys... innumerable one on one skirmishes on allied soil left unfinished, death and destruction left in their wake... It seemed so lopsided; the sacrifices made on his part outweighing the ones made on Dilandau's. The old hatred surged within him.

And yet...

He remembered the pale, blue-eyed beauty from the ceremonial parade, her silvery blonde hair tousled by the slight winds, fragile and frightened, so much not the red-eyed terror whose Guymelef had left a path of blood wherever it had gone. Then, later, the fire and determination on her face, inadvertently sparked, and the feel of her less than feminine muscles beneath his hand... All of it so horribly attractive. His hand reached forward, trembling with a mixture of revulsion and yearning, stopping abruptly when Gaddes abruptly cleared his throat. He withdrew his hand quickly, casting the Crusade commander a scathing look.

"What did they do to her exactly?" Van asked, breaking the momentary silence.

"Suddenly sympathetic," Zhi spat vindictively. Van's sword was halfway out of its sheath when Dineer interrupted.

"Zhi," he said softly, "maybe you should wait in the hallway."

She whirled suddenly on her superior, her voice surging in volume and startling everyone in the room. "Don't tell him! He doesn't care what they've been through. He doesn't deserve to know what I--"

"Zhi," he repeated, more forcefully.

The tall Freidian looked down at him as if preparing to contest his suggestion. He peered over steepled hands at her, his own formidable will admirably matching the fury behind hers. She relented first, pulling her gaze away to stare at the floor. "Very well," she said finally, "I will wait outdoors for the Princesses." The girl threw a fiery glance at the boy King before pulling on the ornate door handle. She turned once more to the Strategos.

"Will you tell them?"

He smiled warmly at her. "Not if you don't want me to, my dear."

She softened at his expression. "Tell them everything then," she replied. The door creaked shut behind her.

"What was all that about?"

Dineer turned his eyes towards the grizzled Crusade Commander. "Celena was not the only child to suffer under the Fate Experimentation Project."

Gaddes gasped, and Van started at the proclamation. "You mean --"

"Yes. Zhi was once a victim of those same tortures."

"And," came Allen's cold reply, still facing the slitted window, "as the King has asked, what were they?"

The elder man closed his eyes and released a painful sigh. "It was discovered even before Folken and myself had arrived that Fate was not an element that would always push and prod itself on its own. It required help, a good deal of it, if it was to be altered. The Atlantean's natural ability to manipulate Fate for themselves was something of a miracle of evolution. Their desire to alter all fate as they knew it, well, that was just a mistake. The technology, however, that they utilized to do it was so complicated that we assume the creative process took decades, perhaps centuries to undertake.

"The Generals of the past wanted human soldiers, perfect ones, ones that were instinctively capable, loyal, and who loved the smell of death. To do so the Madoushi proposed using the ancient technology to isolate a single person's Fate and change their Destiny to our making. They discovered that animals would take to the treatments, but these were not enough; loyal as they were, animals did not respond well to commands on the battlefield. However, the experiments that were performed on willing human subjects failed every single time. As the years went on, the Generals forgot, since the success rate was low and the possibility that they'd be granted their request was dim. Eventually the men that held the posts had no idea that the Project still existed.

"I digress," apologized Dineer, "but someone discovered that the more delinquent a child became under their care, the more successful the experiment, and back then 'success' mean that the child survived at least a few hours before his physical form shattered under the pressure. A human psyche is fragile, delicate, but after a certain age there are barriers instinctively built up to combat outside intrusions. The younger the child, the easier to bend their minds away from their original state and into one of our own making. Good ones they made bad. Bad ones they made good. The difficulty was, though, to imbue the psychological aspects into their subconscious without entirely destroying their original personality.

"Your sister, as well as Zhi, was absolutely perfect. They were both delicate when they were acquired, yet at the same time they'd developed an inner spark, something - " he rubbed his chin in thought " - I suppose you could call the stirrings of rebellion. Both were being raised in societies that are predominately patriarchic. The younger princess would sympathize."

"They would have been tomboys," Gaddes remarked, looking amused.

The Strategos returned the delighted expression. "Something along those lines." His face fell almost immediately becoming once again grim. "The Sorcerer's jobs, then, were to exploit this spark, fan it so that it would become a blaze, a bonfire, with science and Fate as its fuel. In order to do this they needed to chip away the personality that was building, while at the same time maintaining its core."

"I don't understand," came Van's puzzled query.

"Hm. I forget sometimes that I speak to people who have no scientific background whatsoever, no offense," he apologized. "In order to create a new creature out of an old one, you still need parts of the old creature, yes?" He lifted his goblet. "Sometimes this is filled with water, sometimes with wine. The Madoushi wanted to empty the glass's current contents and fill it with something of their own that would rest well on their palate. Alas, sometimes what they put in could not be held and the cup cracked and fell to pieces. They ended up with what Folken and I discovered in their hidden vaults as their physical selves took on the same aspects as their broken, psychological selves."

"Their minds went, so their bodies followed," Van murmured.

"Precisely." Dineer almost beamed. "Is it a family trait to be so perceptive?"

The young King bristled.

Dineer lifted an eyebrow. "I suppose the temperament is as well. As it is," he continued, brushing away the boy's continued glare, "such a thing does not happen in normal circumstances, but with Fate particles many things are possible.

"As to what I had been saying before - as long as the original persona remained then the body did as well. What they did, then, was to stir within the child another personality, one that was stronger, older, more capable of being the superior soldier they'd been looking for. At the same time the original one had to be retreated and pushed back, but still remain in existence. As long as they could do so they were free to push and prod their physical aspects as much as they wanted to mold perfection.

"To do this..." He hesitated. "Well, they did a lot of things."

There was a moment of silence. Even Allen turned a bit at the sudden break in the long flow of conversation. Dineer stared at the goblet in his hand, twirling it back and forth between his fingers. He swallowed hard before continuing, and even then he found difficulty finding his words. "I... didn't want... well, Zhi... the Princesses should not hear of these things." He drew a shuddering sigh and the tears welled in his eyes. "Sometimes they isolated them, put them in cages, didn't let them see another person for days, weeks at a time. They... they frightened them, executed a man in front of them, placed rats and roaches inside their cells to torture them, threatened them... even hurt them, abused them, had soldiers beat them within inches of their lives... told them things, terrible things about their families, that they'd abandoned them to our hands willingly, had asked them to do these things... allowed horrible men and women to... curb their sexual appetites with them..."

The slender glass fell from his shaking fingers to shatter suddenly on the floor.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmured, the tears flowing freely. "God knows I didn't know this was going on until we'd opened those books, seen the cold, precise shorthand about what those children were being subjected to. And I tell you now," he said, his voice rising in fury, "even as some of these men continue to live, not one among them feels sorrow for what they've done."

Silence, pregnant with anger, sorrow, and revulsion filled the chamber. Three hands clenched on finely crafted swords, reflexively, though despairingly, knowing that the foe that had been revealed before them had already done its damage. Though their blades might find solace in blood, their hearts knew that not even the slaughter of every black-cloaked magician that walked upon Gaea could undo the damage that lay prone in that bed.

He'd managed to avoid contact with Dineer by requesting a leave of absence from the project. The Strategos refused at first, faulting him for his laziness, his inability to produce satisfactory results, and his ridiculous personal misgivings he'd developed about his assistant. Folken made it clear that they'd worked nearly every day, that the Emperor himself had delivered praise regarding their accomplishments, and that there was nothing wrong whatsoever with his assistant. He also calmly explained that the team of Sorcerers that had been assigned to create his Destiny-Prognostication Device had ran into several, noticeable snags and that Emperor Dornkirk was growing visibly rankled over the delay. A few months, no more, he said, would be sufficient.

Kyr, as head of the Device's team, and whose archaic methods were obviously the causes of the project's degradation, developed an interesting tic under one eye and granted his request. He could go ahead and finish the damnable thing. Alone.

Temporarily, he and the twins were assigned to another section of the massive Zaibach fortress where the Emperor's personal assistants and the higher ranked Madoushi (such as Kyr) were stationed. Though it wasn't much farther from where their original quarters were, it was closer to the Emperor's Fate Chambers, where a good deal of his own experiments took place. Should he require assistance, no matter the hour, it was readily available.

The floors meant to house these people were meant to intimidate, to impress, and apparently to disorient. Long, stark hallways lined with high metal walls and stone floors, all in dark grays, were composed of nothing but sliding doors broken intermittently by gas-lit lamps. At each of the hallway was either another door to another hallway, or the entrance to one of the steam and pulley elevator rigs that transported them from floor to floor. Some of them were different in that windows (which offered spectacular views of the industrialized city) instead of doors, took up one of the walls. Since the place was bereft of signs or maps, and since its main residents were often at work rather than wandering about the corridors, an unwelcome visitor could find himself lost for hours. Once he screwed up his courage to open one of the mysterious doors, said visitor would probably find himself in the arms of Zaibach's most elite Royal Guardsmen.

Distracted by thoughts of Celena, the Device, and Dineer Folken found himself doing just that quite a few times even after having resided there for so many months. He'd caught the soldiers at cards, meals, and, once, in a compromising position with one of the palace maids. With Naria or Eriya's help he found his way around easily enough; their heightened olfactory senses were well enough to accurately pinpoint whether or not the smells behind this door included sweat and steel or whether or not it included acrid chemicals. However, they also had their own training to account for, primarily in Guymelef operation, and Folken had to learn to fend for himself.

He'd taken a wrong turn too many, cursed himself for being distracted by his thoughts. He knew it'd been a good hour since he'd set out from the main lab, where a fatal flaw in one of Kyr's "alterations" had overclocked the Destiny levels and rendered the Device non-functional after just twenty-five seconds. As promised he worked alone, and though he'd managed to fix the problem he lamented the loss of an intelligent companion. Thoughts of Dineer brought up thoughts of their night in the library, which in turn brought up thoughts of Celena...

Mounting frustration fed his strength as he slammed open the nearest door. If he was lucky, he'd end up finding some soldiers. He'd discovered that they were far more willing to help him find his way than his jealous peers. Instead, he found himself at the start of a long, dark passage. He peered around to be sure he wasn't being watched; no guards and it was late enough that his fellow Sorcerers were finding their ways either to meals or at least to their personal quarters.

A boyish curiousity moved his feet forward. Most of the doors opened right into a room, whether it be a laboratory or someone's personal quarters. It was possible that he'd found somewhere important, somewhere that he very well shouldn't be. Well, let them find him and let them punish him. The worst luck would find him executed. Bad luck would find him jailed. Better luck would find him thrown out of the Emperor's good graces and then possibly out of the fortress. The latter, at least, would allow him to explore a life outside this scientific dungeon.

The tunnel was long, curved, and moved upwards making for long minutes of exhaustive walking. The fear of discovery did nothing to alleviate the work. It ended, finally, at a steep staircase that led straight up to a dusty hatch. Bright, warm light filtered in from all sides. He kneeled on one step to examine the door. It had a simple lock, and by the dust under his knee it hadn't been opened in a while. He used the same two needles that had opened the door under the library to pick the lock, praying that whatever lay beyond was far more pleasant.

It was and it wasn't.

The door opened easily, swinging upwards and thumping softly onto the ground. He climbed the last few steps cautiously, his jaw dropping in astonishment. Around him lay a wonderfully maintained garden - green grasses, brilliantly colored flowers, a few scattered trees - surrounded by gleaming, curved steel walls. The light above was abnormally bright and he shielded his eyes against it. A quick glance upwards revealed abnormally large lamps which seemed to feed off of lines of thick wires. He took in a deep breath and smiled. It reminded him of home... of backyard romps with his brother... of the abundant nature of Fanelia's surrounding lands... But in Zaibach, where rich soil was achingly rare, this place was priceless. Had he stumbled, then, into the Emperor's private grounds?

The shuffling of disturbed grass alerted him to another's presence. He quickly closed the gate and ran for the cover of a nearby tree whose trunk was large and whose proximity to the wall was close enough to hide him from view. He cautiously peered around.

Celena was standing there.

Not the bright eyed, merry child; a young woman, whose potential to become achingly beautiful was already visible in her brilliant blue eyes, her elegantly formed face, and her delicately expanding curves. Her soft, slightly curled hair was still cut short to her chin. She wore a similar simple blue dress, though cut for her more mature figure, as well as thigh-length stockings. A short cloak floated in the artificial breeze. The sight of her lifted several years worth of worry from his shoulder.

A small smile lifted the corners of her lips. Serenity itself.

But her eyes...

Her eyes were empty, soulless, dead.

She stood still, yet the slight wind moved her arms languidly back and forth. A cold chill swept through his veins as he remembered the dead young girl whose arms moved like so enclosed in her chemical bath...

One pale hand lifted. An exotically colored butterfly lit upon an extended finger.

She looked at it, entranced, intoxicated. Its wings moved lazily up and down. He was almost relieved. Perhaps it wasn't so bad as it seemed. Impulsively he began to move, intent on announcing his presence.

Its wings, each nearly as large as her own hand, began beat faster, obviously about to take flight.

She snatched it with her free hand and crushed it, quickly and deftly. Broken black legs waved haplessly from between her fingers before giving in to death. Pieces of its gloriously painted wings floated to the ground. Yellow and green liquid, the remains of the thing's viscerals, dripped down the back of her pale hand. She brought the corpse up to her face and looked curiously at it for a moment.

Then she feasted upon it, using both hands to stuff the remains of the delicate creature into her gaping maw. Her empty eyes gleamed, backlit by a desperate, mad lust.

Nauseous, appalled, he remembered rats. Mother Rat that had destroyed her babies to make a gruesome mural. Mad Rat that had dashed its head on its cage before dying...

He stepped out from behind the tree. He would take her, now, away from all of this, somewhere safe, somewhere where he could heal her, save her, reverse the process that was eating her mind. If he did not act now, when would the next chance come?

"Celena," he whispered, slowly approaching her, afraid she'd flee.

She looked up at him, glittery traces of the butterfly around her lips. Slight recognition dawned, though the promising light was still eclipsed by that dimming hunger. She reached for him as he reached for her, a smile blossoming once again, the emptiness swiftly returning to her too blue eyes...

"Celena."

Jajuka was pulling at her arm, gently directing him in her direction. Her body obeyed, stepping lightly along with him, though her gaze still remained fixed upon him. The beastman ignored him completely.

"No, wait!" he cried, taking a few running steps towards them. Swiftly Jajuka was in front of her, his arms held out slightly as if to block him from her view.

"What do you think you're doing?" Folken demanded.

"Protecting you, Master," the canine replied.

"Me? ME?" he roared. "Do you see her? Do you even care for what she's become? Get out of my way!"

"I can't do that."

"I'll make you." And he was prepared to. He didn't need a real weapon when those Zaibach Sorcerers had so courteously fastened one to the skin of his right shoulder.

The two steeled off, eyes connected in a silent battle of wills. Folken recognized the tactic, so often employed by the lupine clan that inhabited the forests around Fanelia. Their spokesman and chieftain, Ruhm, would have applauded the strength behind the gaze that the dogman employed against the former Fanelian prince. Celena, in the meantime, had not moved. Serenity's smile and emptied eyes had returned.

Folken looked away first, defeated by the man's natural, superior skill in the act. Jajuka looked as if he'd taken no pleasure in the victory. "Your friend," he said, once again leading the girl away, "he misses you."

"What?"

"The brown-haired one. He worries."

"He has no right to," Folken snarled.

"He has every right," retorted Jajuka, turning his head slightly to gaze reproachfully at him, "since both of you have had a hand in their success. Your guilt is his guilt."

The young man blanched, having no proper reply to the accusation.

"I truly don't mean to cause you further misery." They'd reached a nearby wall. Jajuka pressed a hand to the panel nearby and a door, its borders blending with the thin partitions between the wall's metal plates, slid open. Folken had not moved from where he'd found Celena standing in the grass. The beastman gently pushed the girl through before turning to face him once again.

"Exit the way you came. No one has used the corridor you discovered for many days. Be sure no one sees you. The Generals have an alcove that looks over this place, but when there is no Council they do not use it. I tell you now that your friend was right in what he said - that we all would have perished if you had tried to deliver her from this all those years ago."

Dull, throbbing despair had overtaken him. Eyes glassy, fists clenched Folken turned away.

"Do not give up hope so easily."

Folken turned. "What do you mean?"

"There are ways of doing things now that were not possible then. There are stirrings among the Senior Sorcerers. The Generals roam these corridors more often than not. Soldiers and intellectuals alike are being plucked from the general populace and being put to the benefit of Guymelefs and Flying Fortresses. Yet, for all of this, security around these labs is lax, for there are only so many men and so many duties that can be done. The Fate Experiment is becoming lower and lower on the list of their priorities. This I know, this I see, invisible worthless dog that I am to them.

"Celena has approached the final stages of Fate Experimentation. The last trials are the worst, and the most permanent. Dineer cares for you, though he does not know the girl. I love her as well. There are very few options and a slim chance."

"What are you implying - " Further shouting became futile. Jajuka was gone.

He made his way through the hatch and down the corridor, peering cautiously back and forth out the door at the end of the long tunnel. By the light from the window at the end of the hallway it was well into the night, which meant that the soldiers had probably lapsed into their games and that the Sorcerers were performing their nightly ablutions. Nothing to hinder him.

Folken, focusing more than usual, found his way to his room quickly, not seeing a soul. Jajuka was right. The security was lazy, speaking of either supreme confidence or lack of manpower. He'd been a floor and two left hallways off which had given him ample time to bump into a night watchman. He stared at the door, and smiled.

Hopefully Dineer's plans would come into fruition soon.

"I didn't know that Jajuka had told Folken anything at all of our plans. I didn't think that Folken would have even seen it coming. To be honest, I'd hoped that it would come as a surprise, like the grandest apologetic present ever. We had everything worked out - schedules of the guards, disguises, bribes, a halfway point in the mountain pass to place them in until we could transport them somewhere far. I had myself a youthful sense of invulnerability; Jajuka a desperate desire to see his beloved charge safe."

"It didn't work," Van muttered.

"No.It failed more miserably than I ever thought possible."

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Author's Notes

Chapter 14: "Zhi" is a female Chinese name meaning "Irises, Orchids, symbol of character, true friendship." "Dineer" was borrowed from Chris Claremont's Shadow Dawn, sequel to the movie "Willow."

Chapter 15: According to the time frame in the Escaflowne Compendium, Naria and Eriya were picked up around the same period that Celena disappeared (which is never really specified). During the flashback, Folken's voice has also changed to the deeper, more melancholy tone, making it more likely that by that time he'd already developed the darker side to his personality.

Chapter 16: Supposedly Zaibach is the Gaean version of one of them thar Industrial countries, and since Ol' Dornkirk aka Mr. Newton is supposedly the lord of the country, it would make sense to introduce a religion to the people that would give them a sense of purpose and hope to keep them going. Thus Dineer's pseudo Christianity.

Chapter 17: Naria and Eriya's parents were torched by people who, don't quote me, wanted to be rid of those horrid Beastpeople that were preventing them from hunting in the forest. Though the Asturian marketplace was nicely populated with dolphin people and wolf people, Dilandau's own sentiments regarding anything non-human would summarizes more or less the general human opinion that anything different is therefore suspect.

And yes, those ARE some future Dragonslayers ^.^

Chapter 18: So... things start to get ugly ^.^;; In terms of the timeline: 1) Folken and Celena's disappearance is supposedly around the same timeframe. 2) Leon Schezar's death is also around the same timeframe. Thus: 1) It's possible that they did go for Van and, well, "missed"^^; 2) At the same time, it's possible that Dornkirk was so pissy that he missed out on Atlantis he attempted to satisfy himself by preying on Leon Schezar's family. It's all supposition. That, and I was really surprised that some prereaders were happy Folken finally got to figure everything out!