The Wolf, The Cetra, and The Tonberry

From SCross

The Devil And The Angel

Sion is leaning against the spot on the wall that until a week ago was covered with the Whitehand. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his head is bowed down as if he was asleep.

Faruza closes the door, and chuckles faintly. "I used to sleep the same way, watching over my Lady." he rumbles. "It makes for sore heels, lad."

Sion reaches up and taps his left ear gently, before he shakes his head, ((Listening to the other rooms from here. Some sound carries through the walls and the small spaces they use to make air travel. It's remarkably quiet in here.))

Faruza nods his head quietly. "It's why I chose this particular lodge." he rumbles. He heads for his kitchen table, settling down, loosening his scarf, sliding off his goggles. A man, like any other, freer in his home than in public.

Sion pushes off the wall, and settles down across from you, giving a small grin, ((Chelsie will probably send you a message I was looking for you. I thanked her by making her dinner... you seem to collect people around you who... influence things. Anyways... I left her with enough for last night and this morning. With a second on the way, and the deep winter, I wanted to make sure she ate well.))

Faruza inclines his head quietly, and chuckles. "It was I that she collected." he rumbles quietly. "Would you like to hear a fantastic story, lad? Of how little I know of her, of how she came to be?"

Sion tilts his head thoughtfully, ((Only on the grounds that I make you some of my own tea. It's nothing rich or filling... but it is for drinking and company. It won't take long.))

Faruza chuckles softly. "Very well." he rumbles. "In the city, one has the luxury of other brews, I suppose."

Sion fishes deep into one of his pockets, and draws out a small bag. Nodding once, he goes to heat some water, waiting for it to boil over the fireplace, ((If it was not for this winter turning so rough, I would not be here... that and having to deal with my position in the Court, in the City, and so on... The more I was out there, the more I saw WHY the peoples live out there. When you spend most of your time trying to make sure you live to the next day, some petty things seem pointless now.)) As the water heats, some leaves and a few petals are dropped into the small pot, adding the faint scent of foreign tea, hinted with a citrus sweetness in the air.

Faruza nods quietly. "Indeed." he rumbles softly. "A land I was born into. The city... these southlanders... they must learn the ways of the North if they are to survive here. For this I am very proud of Rosabella; she learns to be accepted by the People; and her life is much the better for it." He takes a slow drag of his cigarette, and then begins his story.

Sion lets the tea steep for less than a minute as he locates two cups, and pours it for you and himself, the rest going into a smaller pot before the young tea shoots turn it bitter. Setting that aside to clean later he returns and sets it before you, the scents of it faint, but aromatic... something of springtime.

You say, "Chelsie, I met here some years back. She was a strange, quiet young woman. Her serenity... her lack of awareness, intruiged me. I'd find her lost, out on the roads, unable to navigate even a single straight line from the wilds to the village. She would walk twenty paces, and without realizing it, she'd circle back around." He shakes his head slowly, chuckling. "When first I met her, that was my impression. And I knew also, within me, that the Beast, that one wanted to protect her, though it could not articulate why." He sips the tea, rolling it across his tongue. "Very light tea, that. A drink for warmer climates." He continues: "Not long after I met her, her older protector, Artair Alair? Fell to the wine and drink. She lamented to me that she wished she had never bedded him; for as soon as he had had her, it was but a week later that he fell to the wine and seems never to have recovered." He shakes his head slowly. "One thing that must be understood about Chelsie then, and even still in some ways... she was, in those days, a human animal. How to explain this... she had intelligence. But she had no -consciousness-. She would carry on conversations, knowing that certain words were meaningful and important, but she could not fundamentally understand them.""

Sion sits back, and does not comment as he sips at his own, inhaling the aroma first before drinking the brew itself. He remains sitting back, and just listening for now, his eyes watching your subtle movements and your own eyes.

Faruza rumbles. "It took me a long time to understand this, Sion, to put my finger on what made her mind so different. I mistook her behavior, at first, as offered vulnerability; I did not realize then that she *could not choose*. She was incapable of rational, conscious choice; she operated upon instinct, and even if she could sit and hold conversation with you... it would take a while, but eventually, you would realize, you were not talking to a consciousness, but a tremendously clever mimic. When I first took her as a lover, as a charge... she told me what she was. The Cetra. The bearer of Holy. This explained why Beast wished, from the onset, to protect her so." He taps his lips, sighing faintly. "It troubled my heart, deeply, when I finally realized that the wonderful, deep vulnerability she had offered me, as a lover, as a woman, was meaningless. She had not chosen it; it had merely been the behaviors her instincts told her move through. Like a woman watching a dance and imitating the steps, but not understanding /why/ the dance existed."

Sion refills his own cup from what's left, and continues to drink, rolling the tea in his mouth before he continues to watch and listen...

Faruza leans back against his chair. "She continued to talk of needing to be "fixed". I did not know it at the time, but when Gaia made her... it was incomplete. Once, in her life, long ago, she was Chelsie St.Cloud, a young woman, a minor member of little import to the Noble House St.Cloud. Gaia chose her, and... well, Gaia called her to a shrine, and changed her. Shades, however, hate her with all their malice, and attacked. Gaia saved her and was able to get her away safely, but the process was incomplete... ach, how to explain? Gaia infused her with her will, but in doing so, subsumed who Chelsie was entirely. Like a woman changed into a WEAPON, of sorts; given enough time, something would have been restored, but enough time was not given, and for good reason. Had the Shades held her and corrupted her... then instead of Holy, we would have... I suppose, one can say, an Un-Holy. Holy, only worse, in the nature of the Shades. Such a nightmare I cannot even begin to fathom."

Sion shakes his head, and looks down at his tea, staring into the reflection of the person there, finally speaking, ((That is not something even I would entertain... a corrupted... a corrupted Gaia.))

Faruza nods quietly. "There are worse things to contemplate than even Holy." he rumbles in agreement. "These are the terrible burdens I and Rosabella carry." He sips the tea, and continues. "I spoke with Chelsie at length, about having her "fixed", as she kept repeating. She said it was a place south, near Valente; and by this time she was with my child, and I had realized, to my shame and horror, that she had never chosen, not once, in all our time together. And so this, I could not bear. And I gathered her, and we began to travel south, to this temple. We took the teleporters to the mainland, and from there, we walked south, for over a month. There was first an Esper in Drominham... Silver, was his name. Apparently very famous. He appeared the instant I and Chelsie arrived, and spoke to us, and when he knew the purpose of our journey, he blessed us and sped our path."

Sion nods once more, blowing on his tea, and drinking deep from it.

You say, "As we made our way south, we passed through the old Esper Forest. Some warders and Espers still hold that land, though not many. One esper was our guide; a kind, if young one, rather impetuous. I confess I no longer remember his name, but he was as fast upon his feet as I, and it pleased him to have another that could keep up with his travelling speed. Shades hunted us, but the forest turned them away cunningly, and we made it further south to what we believed was safety." He drains the last of his tea. "And then upon the roadside, as we approached a crossroads, an old man waited. Ramuh.""

Sion sets his cup down, seeming much more attentive now...

Faruza nods quietly. "He challenged me; a golden scroll in his hand. He asked why I, of all men, led her to the temple; and he asked what I intended to do with the power of Holy in my hand, then." he rumbles softly. "I told him that he was mistaken. I had come to make no choice for Chelsie. I was there to lead her to the crossroads of choice. Where she could, once again, be whole, and *choose* once more for herself. That was all that mattered." He nods his head, his expression thoughtful, though of course his eyes never change from that insane, raging glare. But then, his eyes have always been meaningless that way; his eyes the same when he looked at Tharsten, as when he looks upon his own son. "This answer satisfied, and he cautioned us of the watching eyes of another. We continued south to the temple..." He sets his cup down slowly. "And it was there we met the one-winged angel."

You have him there... he's leaning in, watching your every nuance, his eyes holding almost a sense of wonder and awe in them at the mere mention of THAT one... of this whole journey.

Faruza whispers softly. "We approached the temple, and a great force pushed against us. All the eyes of the spirit world lay on this juncture of history; we could not see them, but we could feel them; they observed, but did not interfere. The one-winged angel manifested; and he ordered us to allow him to accompany; he said he would be remade into a god through Holy, as he was intended to be. I pushed Chelsie on ahead, and turned to face this one. And I told him: "This is a place for the living. The dead are not welcome here. Begone!" The canine huffs a slow breath, remembering that tense, terrible time. "And still he insisted, a second time, as he drew his terrible sword: "You will take me with you. I will be a god." And I told him a second time: "This is a place for the living. The dead are not welcome here. Begone!"

Sion almost recoils the second time you deliver the denial, instead just leaning in further, as if somehow that would coax the climax from you.

Faruza slowly opens his coat as he speaks, baring his shirt, and then opening that, to show the long, pink scar, running from his right shoulder to his left hip. "And he swung that terrible blade as I spoke it thrice, for the Shamans of my land have always said that the dead are bound to threes: "This is a place for the living. The dead are not welcome here. Begone, one winged angel!" He fingers the scar slowly. "And as his blade fell, he blew apart, as seeds of the dandy-lion upon the wind." he whispers. "His blade bit only lightly before he was banished, but it was enough. And so I am marked."

Sion settles back once more, and a small grin settles on his face, shaking his head lightly... no disbelief... merely a sense of wonder.

Faruza smiles, though sadly. "We turned and made our way into the temple, and Chelsie found a place within the old ruins... and lifestream leapt below her, and enveloped her. And oh, my heart, you cannot imagine my fear, Sion." he rumbles softly. "This entire long journey... always in my mind, my heart... I wondered, I feared: Her choice returned... would she love me, then? Would she choose to embrace me, to keep me? For by then I loved her, Sion, and wished her as my wife. And there in my heart, as I watched the joy and contentment leap to her eyes and her face... I longed to throw myself into that stream. To be... to hear that voice, all of it. And to be spared the pain of her choice returned, and being turned away by her. But of course, I did not. I watched, and I waited, as all the eyes of the spirit world turned upon her. And then..." He smiles deeply, sadly. "For just a moment, all the rage of Gaia was gone. She made a great cry... like a mother who has been missing her daughter for many years, reunited. And even in this moment, as brief as it was... even then, Beast had no rage, only joy. The terrible flow... it stopped. And for a few heartbeats /I could hear it all/. And my heart is sorrowful, for I know I will never again in my life know a moment so beautiful."

Sion nods once, and then takes a deep breath, reaching up to rub the side of one eye with his knuckle. He stops or a moment as he looks up, and tries to compose himself again, as if to play off the motion.

Faruza eyes darken, remembering the next few moments with difficulty. "And then she was back on her feet, and all the world was as it once had been. And I reached out my hands for her..." his hands going out, to gesture. "... and I whispered her name. I asked her: "Chelsie... do you remember me?" And she looked up, and said: "Yes. I do." And... oh, the pain in my heart in that moment, Sion... she turned from me and walked away."

"A thousand miles had I walked, my tail around her hand to lead her the whole way. Hunted by Shades. Confronted by esper, by spirit, by the one winged angel. Every step, my heart in my throat, with fear and sorrow and hope. And in that moment, she turned from me, and she left the temple."

Sion's jaw tightens, as if that seems to mirror something in his own mind... and then his body shifts towards you again, his chin coming to rest on one hand.

You say, "It was a long and silent walk; I at her side. She said not a word; nor I. Finally, as we walked, she said to me: "There are things between us I would not have chosen." And that, I thought, was that. And I bore the pain and I walked on at her side, silent. And that night, we camped, and I asked her only: "Am I then, unworthy?""

Sion nods once, entranced again, watching you with rather child-like eyes.

A gentle, spreading smile from Faruza. "And it was then that she rose and stepped to me, and embraced me. And said: "You have walked with me all this way, and never asked for anything. You brought me here to be fixed, so that I could choose again. I don't love you, Faruza; not as a woman would, I cannot love anyone wholly like that, for my love is for all. But if you aren't worthy, then who is?" He smiles softly at this happy ending, and gentle epilogue: "We made our slow way back home. Weary, but we took our time. We made a holiday of it; stopping in many places, and we would make love, gently, tenderly, or fiercely, as the mood struck us. And all too soon, vai, we were home. She moved in with me, and by this time, Daivat was seven months along, and it was time to change our lives to accomodate him, and so we did. We had no idea what Gaia's change wrought upon him in the womb would be, and still, in truth, we still don't. The boy is barely a year old, but he appears to be four, and he speaks, and he walks and talks, and he sees the threads of fate in a way I cannot understand, and even Chelsie, in her way, cannot either. He is something new, wholly new, on this world."

Sion arches an eyebrow in speculation, and finally speaks again, ((Well... what did you expect when the voice of Gaia is heard by one so young? He may very well be Her Child as much as yours... for all you know, when she stepped into the lifestream and called out to Gaia, Gaia answered her by taking her burdens from her, and leaving her with nothing but love in her heart.))

Faruza shakes his head softly. "Chelsie can explain it far better than I, but she also ensures that we know that understanding changes nothing, and thus, understanding is optional, when it comes to her nature. Whether we understand her heart or not, it does not change it." He snubs out his cigarette. "This wisdom I treasure, for very often it is the hearts of others, their minds, their souls, I change, without understanding wholly why or how."

Sion picks up his cup, yours, and the small pot, and takes them both away to be washed with the dishes from last night, ((So... what is this box you wished me to meet?)) His back to you as he tends to the home-making.

The Box, The Child, The Silent Emperor

Faruza rises quietly, and walks to one side of the room, dragging out a large, but otherwise ordinary travel chest, and opens the top, beginning to unload old clothing out from within it. The only unusual factor in it, that the insides are lined with very dark, black felt, instead of the usual bare wood.

Sion finishes cleaning the dishes, hanging them to dry, and then turns around to face you, watching with some curiousity...

Faruza finishes unloading the box, and then drags it out into the center of the room, the canine then walking towards the hearth, and plucking up a large felt bag, within, powdered blue crystal of some kind. Quietly, he begins to use it to draw a circle around the box, and once the circle is made, numerals... a clockface, with the box in the center. Elaborate time magic, whatever this is. "Strip to your smallclothes, or whatever you have that is loose and comfortable. Unstock any weapons you're concealing, they'll do you no good, and I won't have you suiciding."

Sion starts to undress himself, quickly down to nothing but a white loin-wrapping, his few things set to the side. Naked like this, he begins to just draw weapons from nowhere, and set them down against the wall. For some reason, he has come into a large collection. A new katana, two shorter blades, a long knife, a sword as tall as he is, a metal staff... a chain that looks like it might have belonged to Rosabella... and finally a worn pick and bronze axe. Leaving those in a line, he stops, and finally draws out a compound hunting bow and a quiver of arrows, leaving those as well. He turns to you, the knife-scar somehow highlighted, and replies, ((Suicide? I am not so weak as to ponder that.))

"Rosabella did." is all Faruza rumbles quietly. He finishes inscribing the last of the numerals on the floor, via the blue crystal, and then opens the box wide open. Enough room within to climb inside, with just a bit of fetal-positioning. The canine looks to you. "Do you have a wedding ring, a token, something that is of meaning between you and a loved one?" he inquires."

Sion shakes his head, and then taps the side of his, ((Because of my mental and magical training, I savor all of those here... in the river of my mind. I can dip in and call them up as I need.))

Faruza nods quietly. "Good. That will fare you well in the weeks to come." he rumbles quietly. A gesture to the box. "Inside, lad. Lay yourself in as comfortably as you can. Careful not to disturb the crystals laid out." He steps carefully over the circle, walking towards Rosabella's old chain, and plucks it up, and then three stout padlocks from a box by the hearth.

Sion steps overe the lines and makes his way to the box. Moving to step inside, he turns, and shifts, settling himself down inside, curling against his right side on the black felt, and curling his arms and legs, shifting himself here and there until he is comfortable, before replying, ((Wait... weeks?!))

The canine steps over to the box, and looks down at you, high, high above. He carefully takes the chain, and coils it in his hand, and lays it down inside the box beside you. "A gift from a friend, a symbol. It will suffice." He straightens, his hand reaching up to the box lid, his tails moving to grasp and open the padlocks. "One of the things within this box is a lie." And with those words, the box lid slams shut, and the locks are heard, outside, being put into place. A few things are made immediately apparent, within it; the black felt swallows all light, and muffles most sounds. The inside of the box is featureless and black, except for something painted, in gently glowing letters, on the roof of the box's lid. The lambent, soft green glow seeming to hover in space, the letters all in block capitals, spelling out one simple, stark message: YOU ARE ALONE.

Sion closes his eyes as he sees the letters appear, and attempts to settle into a meditative state, learned from youth. He steadies his breathing, and does not focus on those words that appear... instead he just focuses on his breath, taking in good chi, and pushing out bad chi...

The sounds of Faruza's feet, walking away... and the distant sound heard of the door ot the house opening, and closing again. In his wake, the crystals around the box ignite, and the terrible time magics withheld spring to life; and within the box, time ceases to correctly function. Your awareness of time dilated, thoughts accellerated, body slowed. Your heartbeat slowing, so it seems, to your own ears... from seconds between, to minutes... to hours... Each breath seems to take a full day to inhale, to exhale. And the terrible reality of this box made clear: Weeks. Solitude.

Sion continues to breath slowly, but with the creeping magic around him, and the sensations of becoming so disjointed, he turns inward to his mind, picturing himself standing at the banks of the river of his memory. For him, there is no such thing as alone, thanks to his soul-bond, that he has willed closed for now. Reaching into the river, to calm himself, he swirls the water, waiting to see what will come.

And there, terribly... nothing. The entire world's time separated from you. The link may be there, but the currents and eddies of the strange, warping time magic, make it indistinct, impossible to even tell if the link still exists or not. Telepathic senses, identical; the world's time around you seems to shift so much, there's no way to reach out to it, the whole world, so confusing. Epochal Struggle, manifest. And the words, glowing high above you, sealing that fate: YOU ARE ALONE.

Sion stares up at the letters emblazoned on the stormy clouds in his mind's eye, and he shakes his head... trying not to let them get to him. Here in his mind, he can at least here his own voice, "I've been here before... this place I know." And he treks inside his own mind to the source of his memories, a waterfall over churning and turgid rapids, a reflection of his seperation and discomfort, "This place I know... Alone..." Trying to settle himself on the rocks over the river to watch, to see what he could not see in the calmer waters...

There's nothing; as near as every sense can tell, the entire universe begins and ends within the confines of this box, within your own body. Every attempt at motion seems to take hours for the barest shift; as trapped within your body, perhaps more so, than within the box. There is only you.

Sion opens his eyes to darkness, and then closes them again, trying to find that elusive sense of serenity, trying to form the mental discipline he had before...

Time moves on, slowly, like molasses, to open your eyes, to close them, seems to take a day within itself; each heartbeat, so far apart. That occasional, distant reminder that you're alive, but so easy to lose track of, time having so little meaning here, now.

Sion continues to try and focus inwards on his mind, working at exercises from his youth as much as he can... not focusing on breath or heartbeat now, instead trying to focus on any happy memory he can grasp... like the recent one of seeing Dimitri with the young feline he'd rescued... sleeping and smiling.

It's so hard to grasp the past now. Is it the past? The future? Is it memory or that which is yet to be? Time has so little meaning now, and how long can one hold onto any memory before the mind begins to change it, wearing a groove in the thread like the spindle does the yarn?

Sion tries again... and again... watching them shiver and change into musings, into nightmares, into dreams, into things he never considered... and pulls away. Shaking his head, in his mind, and in the reality, he stops, and takes a couple more deep breaths. Trying again, he draws on threads of memory to try and form the image...

Each breath... days in the coming. So easier to think much faster than you can breathe. Faruza's words, drifting in memory, as the chill chain is felt against your front, and the words glow overhead. One of these things is a lie.

Sion focuses his speeding mind on Rosabella then... the chain is solid, the words he sees them as the lie. Memory, emotion, life is about connections... and so he tries to draw from that, the connection to one who would be like a real sister to him... one who touched his heart with cruel honesty.

The words then, floating above you, a lie?

Sion whispers in his own mind, 'I am not alone... I am not alone...'

But such empty, hollow words, without evidence. How, within this terrible, timeless place, can you be anything /but/ alone? It's been... not weeks... months, you're sure, now. Years? So hard to tell.

Sion continues to repeat the words in his head, remembering the weight, remembering things that are solid, things that are real... things that he could touch, and hold tight to. 'I am not alone... I am not alone... I am not alone...'

But what about that little boy within? Is he alone?

Is this his place, his life?

Sion tries to pull away from that line of thought... not that... not the boy... unbidden it bubbles up though as he tries to get away from him, that clawing and ravenous desperation for an end to pain, an end to the beatings, an end to everyone turning their back on him save those who want to use him, 'I am not... alone... I am... not... alone... not... alone... not...'

But there's nowhere to run from that line of thought. That boy is within you, isn't he? And all he's ever known, is this place, hasn't he? Can he be drawn from this place? Into a brighter, better day?

Sion would sweat if he could, would begin to pant if he could... the boy... no... not the boy... 'No... please no... I want to be alone!' Not realizing the litany has changed, all he can see now is the castle built around his deepest and most hidden things... a palace and a child emperor...

But does he want to be alone? Or is it all he's ever known before that the outside world brings him pain?

Sion tries to turn away those thoughts from himself, trying to focus on better memories, and not the boy... never the boy...

But now there's nowhere else to turn. One thing in this box is a lie.

Sion would be sobbing now, if even a tear could come without taking eternity, shaking his head, 'no.... nononononononononononoNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO... I am NOT A LIE!'

Prove it. Strip yourself of it. So the silence and darkness seems to taunt you. So the painted words above mock you sternly.

Sion is pacing inside his own mind, showing signs of a discontented and caged beast, 'I am not the lie... the like is be being alone... I can't be alone... so I'm not the lie... it's not me... It can't BE me... I am not a lie... I am not a lie...'

Then why do you turn away from the child-emperor within?

Sion growls back at the thought without thinking, 'He deserves better! Better than me! Better than this!'

But you're all he really has. It's either you... or this terrible place within.

'He doesn't want someone like me! He wants a mother! A father! He wants to play, and laugh, and have happy things... all I bring is blood and death where I go!' And he reaches for where the tonberry knife-scar would be, trying to hold to it, like it was some kind of affirmation of himself.

Is that all you've ever done? Blood and death? Is that all you are?

Sion tries to pull away from those thoughts again, tries not to be drawn in, whispering still to himself, 'I am not a lie... I am not... a lie... not me... not me... please...'

One can pull away from thoughts, but there's nowhere else for your consciousness to go; time passing, so slowly, trapped within your own mind. The question echoing, unanswered, in your soul.

Sion feels suddenly fractured... between the part of him that WANTS to know, and the part that is afraid... the part that is afraid he'll reject himself. Shaking his head, his pacing continues, and he snarls at himself, 'I can't be the lie... why would I be the lie? I did good things... great things... I don't fight unless I need to... but it doesn't change what I am, what I've done... and that can't be a lie... I CAN'T BE A LIE...'

And the young boy inside you stirs, seeing a gate cracked open, from his paradise of solitude.

Sion looks down at the scar, what it represents, and sees it now as the crack in his armor, in his sense of self, 'No... no... please no...'

A gentle hand reaches out for that door... needing your help, to pull it open, all the way...

Sion freezes... he can't... not to face that... not him... 'No... please... go away... go... I can't see you, not now... not here...'

Why not? Is it any different now in here, than it is in there?

Sion looks down at the hand, and shudders, 'Please...' and reaches down to take the hand in both of his, pulling it slowly out, 'Please don't hate me...'

And finally, out of that place of terrible loneliness... steps that young boy, and with it, a joining, a flooding... you.

Sion falls to his knees, grabbing at his head, shaking it, the joining bringing back every day of pain, every day of seeming neglect, of people turning away, 'STOP IT... STOP IT! STOP! IT HURTS!' All the remembered pain... so much so that he would shut himself away again, armor himself from the pain of every day remembered... every day tormented... the images making him recoil, the most prominent a man of iron hair, of stern, cold expression... a man of pain, a man with nothing but hatred in his heart for what he looked down upon... a bastard child of a foreign woman and one of his clan's greatest sons...

All these things are yours. All you. The boy. The man. Everywhere he went. Pain and blood, at first. But then something changed. He changed. And lies built on lies, to justify his own disbelief that he could be anything else. That it was some other Sion, who longed for the love of a child. That it was some other Sion, that loved Dimitri. Because surely it couldn't be the same man, could it? Can one man be so many disparate things? This time, there's nowhere to escape the pain, the breaking, the uniting. Nowhere within or without; the young boy is free of his self-made prison; and behind him the walls crumble. Never again.

Sion looks down at himself, at the boy that was freed, and shakes his head, 'DON'T LOOK AT ME!'

And still the flood of memories come, terrible, sad ones... horrifying ones... all the crimes, all the lives taken. But just as hard, the sweeter ones... holding Dimitri, kissing him, growing something tender together. Fighting Rosabella. Crying against her shoulder. Fighting Faruza. Hearing his gentler words. The same man that slew so many... falling to his knees at the sight of a doctor tending to his children, moved so powerfully. Both these things... are they not you, those silent eyes of the boy ask?

Sion tears at himself, 'Stop looking at me! Stop it! Stop it! I couldn't protect you! I COULDN'T SAVE YOU! WHAT DOES ANY OF IT MATTER WHEN I COULDN'T SAVE YOU!' His fingers claw at his spirit-made-flesh, ripping at himself bodily.

But tearing at yourself can only go on so long; still the eyes silently watch, the hands gently outstretched to you, waiting to be embraced wholly, to be restored into you. It's lonely, in there. And never again will that boy return to that self-made prison.

And the words of Faruza, of Chelsie, drifting back softly: Sometimes understanding isn't important. Understanding or not understanding... doesn't change what is. Outside, has a month passed? A year? The eyes watch silently. Sion finally whispers out, 'It's safe there... they can't hurt you... no one can hurt you... I can't hurt you...'

Loneliness doesn't hurt? Isolation doesn't hurt? Being incomplete... doesn't hurt?

I killed people... I was a bad person... I am a bad person...

Good or bad, irrelevant now; the rubble of the childhood left behind, and still the young boy watches, arms outstretched, silent eyes imploring. It wants to know you. To be you, too. Good or bad is unimportant, meaningless. Only acceptance, within. The silent child, pointing high above to the letters: YOU ARE ALONE, and then to himself, and you. One thing is a lie.

I... am a lie.

So accept the truth. All of it. Worry about good and evil later. Worry about honesty and acceptance now. The hands await the last, full embrace.

Arms open, and he shakes his head, 'I'm scared... scared of the pain... scared of letting you be hurt again.'

The child within gently, sadly smiles. Pain, at least, would mean that he's alive once more.

Sion embraces, 'Forgive me... I just wanted to save you from it all.' 'I couldn't take the pain anymore... I couldn't live in that world... I couldn't feel anything but tears.'

But now you live somewhere else. In a different time, in a different place. Now you understand choice, and the prices paid for it, and the pain so often asked. A much better world... one in which you can choose again. Whether to kill, or whether to heal, whether to nurture, to grow. But most of all... a place and time to choose.

And no-one can ever take choice from you again.

Can the knife find it's way without the lantern? Can the lantern light everything but the knife? No.

Sion's thoughts turn to the one other thing as he holds the boy in his arms... his unthinking, uncaring side... his knife... the one he used to strike at Faruza, at Rosabella, the one that cuts anyone who gets too close.

Only when it cannot see it's way clearly, for denying itself the lamp, no?

Sion looks down at himself, or up at himself, 'I don't understand... if I'm not the lie, if the words aren't the lie, if the chains are not the lie... What is? Who is? I don't understand anymore.'

Understanding is not important, but still it comes, gently, as the magic slowly burns out, and time's flow, restored. Quietly, the locks are heard being pulled free, and the lid is lifted. Of course. The door opened and closed... but such a ritual would have taken his attention. The canine never left the room. He looks down at you, and quietly, a hand is offered.

Sion doesn't reach up, as time restores itself, he curls tight to himself, shivering, eyes closed tightly... in every way like a newborn...

A gentle hand, the canine's, brushes across your head. "Come out when you're ready then, lad." he rumbles softly. "It's been a long five minutes, hasn't it?" His voice quiet, understanding.

Sion finally whispers out, in your mind, the voice brittle, ((Thank you... I couldn't think of anything else to tell him... my father... I couldn't think of any words... just... Thank you...)) And as he pushes himself up, he hugs against you, clinging tightly, whispering, ((Thank you.))

Faruza nods his head quietly, a gentle embrace returned. "Thank yourself, lad. I did nothing but give you time to think." he rumbles in return.

Sion sniffles a bit, ((You always do that... make little of things that are important to others.))

Faruza smiles softly. "Because I'll not be responsible for the choices of another." he replies, as he gently draws you up to your feet.

Sion almost slips as he draws up with you, and takes a few deep, shuddering breaths, ((Fine... be that way. You still have my thanks, Fa-... Faruza.)) And as he steps out, he blinks, ((Now I know something of how it will feel to live as long as I have... maddening... I can't live with forever, if I can't live with myself.)) And he smiles softly.

Faruza returns the gentle smile. "Go have another cup of your tea." He looks to the box, and back to Sion. "I've laundry to pack back up."

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