Cal sighed heavily, his breath coming out white and misty. Everywhere he went, death seemed to follow. This time, it had preceded them.

"She's not dead."

He turned, surprised. The others were looking at Driel. She lifted her gaze from the red snow and looked intently at all of them.

"She's not. I would have... she CAN'T be!"

Her eyes were brimming with tears. Alcan held out an arm and she leaned against him, burying her face in his shoulder. Her hot tears melted the frost that had dusted his cloak during the march.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence broken only by Driel's sobbing. Locke picked up one of the feathers and examined it. Syn cleared his throat.

"Come on. We should try to find out if anyone knows what happened to her."

* * *

Locke thanked the man and went back to the table where his friends sat.

"Well, the innkeeper says that he was attacked by a giant falcon the other night. If his story's true, it had wings wider than his arms and then some. That would match the feathers we found." Locke paused. "A falcon that big would be able to carry off Lola."

Alcan nodded solemnly. "We still don't know for sure if she's dead. But even if she is, we should try to find her... body." Driel glanced at him with puffy red eyes, but said nothing.

Cal sat quietly, keeping his thoughts to himself. A part of him just wanted to walk away. He'd done what he could for these people to repay them for helping him escape from occupied Nikeah. The girl they'd been looking for was probably in the hands of the Goddesses by now.

But his Magitek Armor was still back on the ship. He couldn't bear to just abandon the machine. And even though there didn't seem to be anything more he could do, his conscience still nagged him. <Going to desert again, Brody? Run away? Hide? Where will you go this time? Is there any place left?>

Cal rubbed his eyes and stood. "If you'll excuse me, I'm tired and I'm going to bed. We can talk about this in the morning."

There was a chorus of nods and farewells from around the table. Driel reached out to brush her fingertips over the back of his hand. He summoned a smile for her. <She's lost so much. We all have.>

Cal stumbled upstairs to his room, shed his clothes, and crawled under the warm covers. He slept like the dead.

* * *

The overcast sky was steel grey. Grey was the color of the the land, the scrub grass and the slippery, sucking mud. A grey stone castle stood on a cluster of islands in the blue-grey river. Men with pale grey faces moved or sat around the camp, talking in low voices. The drab canvas tents were almost the same color as the blasted heath. Light was vague, sounds muted. Even the red banners of the Empire seemed washed out.

Cal crouched by the river bank, watching white fish drift by on the oily surface. The bank was slowly crumbling into the water as the grass that held it together died. The stench of decay was horrible.

No vultures circled above the battlefield or Doma Castle. The carrion birds had learned that the meat here was tainted. The bodies of the dead, Doman and Imperial both, rotted where they lay.

Cal's stomach growled at him. The army was on short rations, forbidden to forage or drink from the river. That was all right; he'd lost his appetite days ago.

There was a blare of trumpets behind him. Cal turned to look. Riding slowly through camp, seated atop a chocobo, was a figure of riotous color. His costume seemed a mix of clown and courtier, an impression reinforced by the makeup on his bone-white face. He gestured to the soldiers and barked orders. His expression alternated between a scowl and a manic grin.

"Behold the hero of the seige of Doma," muttered a sergeant sitting next to Cal on the bank. "A great victory with few Imperial casualties, won at the small cost of a few hundred innocent lives."

Cal shook his head. "General Leo never would have allowed this."

"That's probably why the Emperor ordered him back to Vector." The sergeant grunted. "Hey, look there."

There was a body floating down the river toward them, face down. Cal felt a halberd being pressed into his hand. "Go ahead and fish it out."

He reached out with the halberd and managed to hook the small body by its waterlogged clothes. It jerked to a halt and started to turn in the slow current. Cal dragged it in carefully, feeling as if he was watching someone else do this.

<No...>

The body was a little girl, with blonde hair that drifted loose around her head like sea grass. Her pretty green dress had started to discolor from being in the river.

<... please, no...>

The other soldier leaned out and put a hand on the small shoulder, giving it a push.

<...not again...>

The body rolled over in the water. Cal found himself looking at her round face, still flushed from the deadly poison: the open mouth, the staring, sightless grey eyes...

* * *

Cal jerked awake with a cry. He looked around the dark and unfamiliar room, shuddering. Getting to his feet, he staggered to the window and opened the shutters. Cal ignored the sudden blast of frigid air against his bare skin as he leaned out the window and threw up.

That's putting it lightly, isn't it? How long has it been since we met in Jidoor, rebuilt the Returners? Our spirits were so high then. We were ready to march to Figaro, confront Edgar--a new Edgar, an evil Edgar--and restore good and light. Just like all the old legends.

It didn't happen. Instead, we were attacked by a magician. A magician, in a time when magic, or most magic, is dead. And with him, he brought some last reminders of Kefka's evil, the Dark Force.

He kidnapped Lola, blasted Driel with lightning, and... incapacitated... me. Not something I care to record. Alcan managed to destroy the Dark Force, pulling lightning out of a clear sky somehow. He too has magic. But not much of it, not after that. It weakened him... I don't know whether he even got to approach the magician. He couldn't have won in a mystic duel, of that I'm sure.

In any case, Lola was kidnapped, and we made our first mistake. We split up. Driel, Alcan, and I left on the Waverider. I didn't get sick the usual way, this time. Instead, I ended up comatose for nearly a week. Meanwhile, we reached Nikeah and found some so-called New Empire controlling it, and Driel and Alcan barely escaped alive. With two new passengers, not that I begrudge them the trip out of there.

So. Here we have another power-hungry nation conquering cities, just like in the good old days before Kefka tried to jump from man to god. But this time, it's being run by two real weirdos. The Emperor is Akfek, which doesn't mean a whole lot until you realize it's Kefka, spelled backwards. Maybe it's intentional, maybe not, but it's not a good sign as far as stability goes. This is not a kinder, gentler Empire. And the other one might be worse. The Empress. Behind her back, they call her "the Beast," but her name is Sascha.

I knew a Sascha once, in Kohlingen. Antisocial towards almost everyone, including me. Bitter. Jealous. But harmless. If this is the same girl, something's happened. Something's changed her...

Funny, I never thought she'd leave Kohlingen. She wasn't happy there, but she wasn't exactly the adventurous sort, either. By all indications, she should have lived a peaceful, if unhappy, life, and changed nothing.

Maybe that's what finally got to her. She didn't allow anyone, or anything, into her world. And so she found herself alone.

But back to this Empire. They have Magitek. Cal Brody, the young soldier who joined us at Nikeah, even brought his suit onto the Waverider. And its core pack is run by magic. I don't know how I know that, but I'm sure of it. I can tell now, ever since the Espers. Maybe once magic touches you, it's always a part of you.

Or maybe I'm not quite human any more. I hardly noticed while we were fighting against Kefka, but since the end of that battle, it's becoming more obvious: My speed and agility are far beyond what they once were, maybe beyond what any human's could be. Even my strength is greater. And I've been able to survive things that by all rights should have killed me. If only I could speak to Sabin again, or one of the others...

A thought, here. Could the enhancements have anything to do with Edgar's sudden impulses toward evil? Can a human mind deal with an Esper-enhanced body? If it's true, I'll have to watch myself carefully. I could be next.

Life was a lot simpler when I was just a treasure hunter. I'm starting to miss that.

But I've digressed again. We left Nikeah, seconds ahead of the Imperial troops and their Magitek. Driel somehow felt Lola, north. So we headed to the only nearby northern town, Narshe. Learning on the way that the Empire's occupied Albrook, Doma, Zozo... and Kohlingen. My home. But we didn't want to sway from our purpose. Was that mistake number two?

We followed Driel's 'feeling'. It's as good as anything, I guess, and it seems to have proven partially accurate. There's something strange about that, though... maybe it has to do with her healing magic. Something like what she did to me, in Kohlingen.

Anyway, we reached Narshe, now hellishly cold, as befits the season. Took shelter during a blizzard in one of the caves I'd once prepared... well, at least all that work wasn't completely useless after all. We continued when we could, the five of us following Driel's suggestions, climbing a hill near Narshe. And we found a pool of blood, and a number of large feathers.

Driel no longer feels Lola. She takes this as an indication that Lola's dead. Alcan pointed out that we didn't find the body. Me? I'm not sure what I think. The one thing I know is that we've reached the end of this particular journey. We need to decide where to go next. If Lola's alive, she could be anywhere, and Driel is no guide now. If she's dead, we can't spare the time to mourn, not with Edgar and this new Empire running free in the world.

So. We can't stay here, we have to go elsewhere. Syn's been hinting at confronting the Empire, somehow, anyhow. Cal seems willing to go along with that. I don't know what Alcan's goal is, unless it's to get back to his home--another world--but he seems to have something in mind. He's a deliberate sort.

And then there's Driel. I wish I could do something to help her. But right now, I think she just wants to be left alone. Old friends...

I wish Celes was here.

That was my original goal, wasn't it? To find Celes again. But there's something strange about that... not that I would do that, but the way I decided. That dream.

There are things that bother me about that, now. For one thing, it was late spring when I jumped from Setzer's airship, and close to fall when I woke up after the vision. I don't know why I didn't notice that earlier. But that does explain why I thought the world was healing so quickly. It wasn't; I was healing slowly. Or maybe not that, either. I would have died of starvation if that was the case.

So, what did I do during that time? I can't clearly remember anything. But fragments are coming loose now and then. Soon, I'm sure it'll be clear. I'll venture to guess at one thing, though.

Someone's been playing with my mind.

Not only after my fall, either. There was that magician in Jidoor, and his tricks. And right after that, I slipped into a coma. And then... I'm not entirely sure, but I seem to remember that the trip from Nikeah to Narshe took a very long time. In fact, I'd almost swear that one day repeated itself three or four times. Or I thought it did, at least.

This brings up obvious questions. Who has the power to do that? Who would have done it? Why? And again, what did I really do during that time?

I almost forgot one more: Was it really Rachel, or Celes, who awakened me? Or did I snap out of it on my own?

Whatever else happened in the past, I was always able to trust my own mind. Now that doesn't seem to be the case. Maybe it is the Espers' influence after all. Maybe they'll win the War of the Magi this way. How ironic.

But now that I've written this, there's a record. If something happens to me, or to the others, someone will know my suspicions. Maybe that's enough.

Locke Cole

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Locke slowly stood, pushing his body away from the desk, and stretching his limbs. He wasn't used to writing so much, so quickly. But it would be worth it, if it was ever needed.

<I've got to hide this someplace where it can be found, but only by those who know where to look.> Until then, he'd have to carry it with him, of course. It should be safe, for a while. <If I get to Jidoor again, maybe I'll put it behind Gestahl's portrait, in Owzer's house. My friends who remember the Phoenix might look there. Or if I get to Kohlingen first, I can give it to Justar.> The old alchemist could keep it safe, if anyone could. People tended to trust him, somehow, even if they thought he was mad as a hatter. (He had in fact been a hatter, in his younger days, if what Locke had been told was true.)

He smiled to himself as he unconsciously paced back and forth across the bare, hard floor--the inn had been rebuilt, but it was still far from palatial. Still, it was a welcome comfort after weeks on a boat and days in a cave. <If I ever see Relm again, maybe I'll ask her to paint my portrait--on canvas!--and hide it there. Gestahl had a good idea, there.> Locke chuckled. That was almost too vain to seriously consider. If only it wasn't so certain to be searched by one friend or another...

<If any of them are left, that is.> He sighed aloud, feeling the heaviness descend again. <Setzer survived the crash,> he reminded himself, but it didn't help much. It had been months since then, Setzer could well be dead. Like Lola could be. Or Esper-insane, like Edgar.

And Celes?

With a final sigh, Locke decided it was better not to speculate. This was getting him nowhere. He tucked the note he'd written safely into one of his pouches, and reluctantly prepared to go to sleep.

Tomorrow, a new journey would begin.

Locke's eyes snapped open at the familiar alto voice, and he sat upright in his bed, staring at the woman who spoke. The long black hair, bound by a tiara, the large, luminous eyes, the elfin features bent into a mischievous grin. Her clothing -- a deep red pair of men's pants and a blousey gold shirt -- were unusual for her, but there was no way he could mistake this woman's identity.

"Rachel?!" He blinked, gaping in mute disbelief.

She laughed, a rich, melodius tone, and spun in a quick pirouette, arms spread. She was wearing a backpack, and a staff was strapped to her back -- his stunned mind took note of the random details -- and she was as graceful as he remembered, if not quite as fast. This train of thought was interrupted as she completed the turn, still grinning cheerfully. "In the flesh." Her voice took on a mock-aggrieved tone. "It took me forever to find you. You really should be more considerate than to slip out on me like that."

He shook his head, uncomprehending. <But this is...> "What... Rachel..."

"What am I doing here?" She grinned again as he nodded. "Following you. I'm not about to let you leave me behind again. Really, by now you should realize I'm not made of porcelain."

"No, it's not that... it's just..."

"What?"

"...You're supposed to be dead," he muttered, wincing slightly at how blunt the words sounded.

She cocked her head to the side. "Dead? Is this another one of your jokes?" She asked, suspicion evident in her voice. "It's not funny."

<Goddesses, how am I going to explain this to Celes?> He nearly laughed out loud at the stray thought, then held up a hand. "No... I remember... the Empire came, and you..."

She nodded. "I nearly died. I know. But," her features softened, "You saved me, love."

"The Phoenix, right, but that was..."

He was about to say 'temporary,' but Rachel didn't give him the chance. "Yes, the Phoenix, even though it shattered the stone forever."

He blinked. "Forever? No. You..."

She smiled again, taking another step toward him, and completed the sentence with her own words. "...Deserved the effort you put into the search. You've told me that hundreds of times..." She winked. "I think that's why I married you. Your charm."

"But we..." Locke stopped. "Married?"

She took another step toward him, looking concerned, and Locke fought an irrational desire to step back. "Are you feeling all right? You wouldn't joke about that..."

"Well, no, but..."

"You do remember!" She nearly jumped in exuberance, any trace of reproach seemingly forgotten. "I knew it. You'll have to introduce me to your new friends, I don't recognize them. What are you after this time, anyway?"

"Um... er... ah." Not certain exactly how to respond, Locke took the path of least resistance, answering the last question before he'd really considered it. "I'm trying to find Lola... and Celes."

"Who's Lola?" Before Locke had a chance to answer, Rachel went on, "And you were going to visit Celes and Setzer without taking me?"

"Setzer? I didn't say..."

She sighed in exasperation, one hand resting on her hip. "Where else would Setzer be, if not with his wife?"

"His wife? Celes?"

"No, his other wife." She rolled her eyes. "Really, your jokes need a lot of work. Well, I'm glad I came. It'll be nice to see them again, after so long. And Victor too."

"Victor?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten about their son, too..."

<Celes has a son..? And Setzer... what?> "How... when did this happen?" he asked desperately.

She seemed not to notice his tone. "Nearly a year ago. Remember? The last time we saw them was right after Victor's birth."

"But... I don't..."

She sighed softly, then smiled again. "It doesn't really matter. Come join me, and you can introduce me to your friends." She stretched a hand towards him, waiting expectantly.

Locke started to reach toward the hand, then hesitated, trying to come to terms with this new development.

As he hesitated, Rachel turned her head a fraction of an inch. Her soft green eyes met his, and she repeated softly, "Come join me, Locke..."

And it all fell into place.

He innocently asked, "Just one thing, Rachel..?"

She, just as innocently, replied, "Yes..?"

Locke smirked and leapt forward with blinding speed, swinging his clenched fist toward her face. "Since when did you have _green_ eyes?" He felt the impact as his hand connected with her flesh, and a flash of gold flickered through the room. Rachel's -- no, not Rachel's, the imposter's, he reminded himself -- body was thrown into the air, slamming backwards into the wall. Hard. <Did I do that? I'm not that strong...>

Nothing moved for a second, and he slowly lowered his still-clenched fist. Before it reached his side, a maniacal cackle rang through the chamber. The form that had been a replica of Rachel a moment before lifted itself from the floor, changing as it did.

And kept lifting. Now, hovering a few inches off the ground, a transformed figure laughed at him. Its face still resembled Rachel's, strangely, but its hair was emerald green and resembled flame in its appearance. Her clothing, too, was green, a swirling, one-piece gown whose folds flowed around her body like a river. But the biggest change was in her voice. Now, it was two octaves deeper, and resonant, and it crackled like lightning. "So you are Esper-influenced. Such a shame you refused to join me. With such power, we could make a new world..."

"I don't want that sort of world."

"What a shame. Won't you reconsider? If you'll join me, it will be as an equal. I can give you whatever you may desire. I can even," she whispered, in a voice that carried clearly across the room, "Return your Rachel to you. For real. Forever."

He gritted his teeth. "No... you can't possibly have that power..."

She laughed, and at the sound the room dissolved. He was standing on a featureless plain, facing her, nothing else in sight. "I have that and more. Her spirit survives, and could be manifested here. Oh, it isn't quite real, but you won't know the difference!"

He scowled. "I don't care to spend my life in a dream, demoness."

She sighed, with real regret. "No? What a shame. Then, you must die... and I believe you've met the executioners before." She smiled as three diminuitive forms coalesced between her and Locke.

"The Dream Demons!"

"Yeah," the shortest one said. "It took us an entire year to recover enough to manifest again after that beating you and your friends gave us. But the muscle guy and the chick with the sword aren't here now." He chuckled sadistically.

"Enough gloating," the tallest threw in. "Let's get him!"

That was the last thing he said, as a circle of white-radiating metal neatly decapitated him. The disk spun through the air, rising upwards in an arc and returning towards Locke.

He caught it, completing the arc, and held Graedus in his hand.

"Waah!" screamed the one who'd been quiet until now. "We can't use our Delta Attack!"

"That's the idea." Locke smiled. <These demons are a lot weaker than I remember them, or I'm a lot stronger. So it's true that the Espers' effects last. But do they drive humans insane?>

The short one growled, and closed with alarming speed, throwing a punch. But Locke wasn't there. He'd already vaulted over the demon, throwing the shining dagger Graedus again. Again, a single throw killed the demon. This time, the one who'd just complained about the Delta Attack.

But this time, the dirk got stuck in the Demon's chest, and didn't return. Locke prepared to sprint towards it, intending to recover it and finish the short demon, but the demoness in green gestured at it. Body and dagger alike shattered and melted into the featureless grey floor.

<Uh oh.>

The demoness cackled. "What now, Locke Cole? Your strength is no match for a demon's. You have no weapons left. Bwahahahaha!"

Locke rolled backwards, dodging the demon's blow by millimeters, and rolled to his feet, already leaping sideways to avoid a kick. He struck out with his own foot, but the blow glanced off the monster's skin ineffectively. The green demoness laughed again. "You can't dodge forever, 'hero.'"

She was right, Locke realized. The demon that was left was the fastest of the three, and it was taxing him already to keep avoiding the blows. If even one landed, he might be finished. But with no weapons, what could he do?

A cackle echoed beind him. "That was close, wasn't it? Getting tired, Locke? You should have joined me when you had the chance..."

Locke's foot slipped at that moment. The dream demon howled triumphantly as it lifted one fist to smash him. "No..." And then the fear was gone, replaced by anger. "No! Never!" His empty hand swung up, to meet the demon's descending fist.

A crackle of energy, a flash of gold. And a scream that echoed through the entirety of... whatever dream realm this was. It was not Locke's scream.

He opened his eyes, to find that the demon was... gone. No trace remained of it. And around his outstretched arm -- no, around his entire body -- a soft but visible aura of golden light pulsed.

"You... destroyed him. Eradicated his essence." The demoness' voice was filled with shock, awe, and hatred. And fear. More than a little fear. Locke stood and turned to face her, and she took a step back. "For a mortal to destroy a demon completely... no! It can't happen now!"

Locke took a step forward, golden aura fluctuating around his body. It seemed to grow brighter with each step, and the demoness shrunk away. But Locke was approaching, somehow, faster than she could retreat. He was almost at her now, and raised a fist in anticipation of the strike.

The demoness' eyes grew wide with desperation, and her voice grew shrill as she shrieked, "Out of this reality! Awaken!"

Locke swung...

And the blow passed through empty space. The demoness was gone. That was the last thing he knew before the blackness that surrounded him bore in, seeming to snuff out the golden aura, steal away sensation... and plunge him into a dreamless, but restful, sleep.

Maybe I know as much as I ever will

We've been forever

Should we tell her?

We are not alone

We speak a single voice

What sort of where is this are we?

So we're complicated, so what?"

- his name is alive, "Why People Disappear"

* * * * *

Sleep had proven a reluctant guest after all, and Locke stood at the window in the hazy grey of pre-dawn. Even with the window fastened tightly shut, he could feel the chill of Narshe's winter. It was still too early for the worst of the wind, and there was a notable lack of the ominous clouds which had hung over the city for the previous weeks. The ascending sun was already lighting the grey dawn. The sky burned blood-red, like...

<The Phoenix.> Locke sighed softly to himself. It seemed he always came back to that, recently. The Phoenix, the Espers, and magic. For most of his life, they had been myths, or less... until he had met Terra. She had shown him magic, and the old Esper Ramuh had given him the power. When he closed his eyes, he sometimes thought he could still feel it, an electrifying energy hovering in the back of his mind, awaiting the ritualistic formulae of chant and gesture to set it loose.

But that had been another world, and, perhaps, a worse one. Now the eldritch dance of words and gestures produced nothing. There was none of the euphoria of that first time, when he had finally comprehended the working of that first simple spell, under Ramuh's tutelage, and used it to blast a group of monsters in Zozo. There was none of the rage that had fueled his final strike against Kefka. There was... nothing. A void, where the power used to be. Almost like the phantom feeling left behind when a limb was severed.

<What an appropriate comparison.> Yet that was the strangest part. He hadn't had magic for that much time, really. He'd certainly never relied on it more than his own skills. But he felt its absence. <I wonder... is this how the Esper-madness begins?> If it exists, he reminded himself. If it exists. No need to give up hope yet.

But there was no need to endanger the others, either. Locke nodded to himself as the sun edged above the horizon, illuminating the streets of Narshe with a dim, crimson-tinged light. He turned, grabbed the backpack he'd painstakingly packed earlier that morning, and crossed the small room in three quick strides. The door opened quietly into the dark hall. He paused and, hearing no sound, slipped silently along the hallway. Pausing near the last door, he slid a single sheet of paper under one of the doors and headed down the staircase. The paper read simply: 'I have to leave you before I endanger you. I'm sorry. -Locke.'

Downstairs. The inn's rooms might still be a little rough from the recent rebuilding, but the common room looked almost the same. The new chairs and tables weren't quite as scratched, the bar was a little the worse for wear, but it was, indisputably, the same as it had always been. So early in the day, the room was usually either empty or populated by a handful of sleeping guests, who hadn't made it upstairs and who, for whatever reason, the innkeeper and his staff hadn't seen fit to wake.

Usually. Today, there was one man, awake.

"Alcan."

The Prince of Drellost started slightly, turned a little too quickly, as if he had been startled. Locke took one look at his face and decided he'd been awake and sitting here for most of the night, if not longer. "Locke." His voice sounded as if he was four decades older, rough and laden with weariness and sorrow. With more enthusiasm, he continued, "Morning... we should decide where to go next, to look f--"

"You, Alcan." Locke interrupted tersely. There wasn't time to explain. Locke knew his friend deserved better, but... there wasn't time. "You. I... I have to leave."

"What? Locke, you..."

"I can't tell you why. There isn't time. Just... trust me."

"That... what about Driel?"

Inwardly, he winced. Driel... what would happen to her, if..? No. If he stayed, he might be a greater danger to her than anything else. "Alcan," he began, his voice quavering subtly, then sighed. "I don't know. I can't explain fully, I hardly understand it myself. But... well, it's important," he finished weakly, and felt a surge of anger. <Well, *that* was convincing...>

Alcan, studying him with a sharp, intent gaze, slowly nodded, sighing softly. "I think I understand. You should go before the others wake up."

He nodded gratefully and strode toward the door. One hand on the handle, he paused, and slowly turned. "Alcan?" The prince looked up, inquiring... expectant? Surely not. "I..." He hesitated, while Alcan watched, unblinking. It was no use; he couldn't find words to articulate what he felt. "Take care of Driel," he finally implored.

Alcan nodded slowly, the barest hint of a smile on his face as Locke turned back around and walked out the door. <We might not be so different.>

* * * * *

The red light of dawn had faded into a blinding white glare which gave the illusion of warmth without the actual temperature. Locke struggled forward along a path, working against the glare and the weight of the large coat he wore. Well, it did help with the wind... he wished he'd had the foresight to pick up a pair of goggles to compensate for the brightness, though.

Well, soon enough it wouldn't matter. He didn't have the Waverider, but if he could find that entrance to the caverns, he could use the labyrinthine system to cross to Figaro Island.

Finding the entrance was the problem. The first of the entrances he had remembered had been sealed by an avalanche, or possibly by the cave ceiling collapsing. Either way, it looked to have been blocked since the Day of the Breaking, and there was no way he could clear it alone, without equipment. He'd moved on. The second entrance simply hadn't been there any longer, making him wonder just how many of his memories still applied in the new world.

Fortunately, the third entrance was where he remembered it: A gaping black slash in the naked stone face of the mountain. He entered the cavern mouth, grateful for the protection from the increasing winds, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Idly, he noticed that his night vision was better than he remembered from before the magic. <No, that must be my imagination. The Espers didn't do that...>

He'd waited long enough. He extracted a long stick of waxy material from one of his vest pockets, shook it, and broke the tip. The rod began to glow with a soft, eerie greenish light, forcing the shadows back. <It's not daylight, but it'll do. I hope I've got enough of these, I'd hate to resort to the lamp.> He had a dozen of the rods, each supposed to last for a day before fading. Locke suspected that the actual duration was half that, at best, before the glow faded so far as to be useless. After those... well, he had the lamp, but it would provide less light, and be more unwieldy if he had to fight.

At that thought, he slid his empty hand to the hilt of the Graedus. It, too, could provide light, now that he thought of it... but not enough to be useful. As long as it retained its usefulness as a weapon, it didn't matter.

That was strange... he was certain the blade had been shattered in that dream. He could still picture the demoness's gesture, followed by a crash as hundreds of tiny shards of metal scattered across the dreamworld's featureless floor. Yet when he'd awakened, it had been intact, and seemingly as strong as ever. He'd been reluctant to test it and risk losing his only weapon, but it had dug into wood and even cut through metal as easily as before. There was no explanation... except that maybe it had been a dream after all. But then...

That was too complex, for now. The light-stick was fading. He had to search. To Figaro, then, and from there to Kohlingen. It seemed he was always returning to Kohlingen.

* * * * *

Locke had lost track of time, but the first stick had nearly faded. The tunnels, at least, seemed to be deserted except for some small vermin, which scattered as the light approached--he hadn't had to fight anything. That was good, since the passage he was currently working his way through was more convoluted than most. The floor was uneven, and the corridor curved at odd moments.

He didn't remember this section. The caverns had changed. Well, it didn't matter. It was going in the right direction, toward Figaro, and as long as he surfaced on that continent...

<I wonder. Is Celes still there?> Doubtful. But he continued to hope... <I'm the darkness, you're the stars...>

Surrounded by a fading green light, Locke walked onward into darkness, softly singing.

"Ere I walk away, let me hear you say I meant as much to you..."