Kuja hadn’t left his bed in fourteen hours.

That wasn’t altogether unusual. He’d made a habit of throwing himself into his research for over forty-eight and then lounging in bed for sixteen. But he’d done nothing before this and had no plans to do anything after. Instead, he simply stayed nestled beneath his blankets because he could think of nothing else to do and because waking seemed like more effort than it was worth. The echoing walls of his bedroom reverberated with every slight rustle. His hair splayed lazily across his eyes. Far away, he could feel the persistent hum of his own magic crafted into spells and charms.

None of it mattered. With the veil of delusion pulled back, he could no longer deny the obvious. Everything he was, everything he’d ever done, had all been meaningless.

Kuja shifted and rolled himself into a tight cocoon of woven cotton. Since his first moment of waking, his life had been defined by the purpose ordained for him. He was to be bring destruction so there could be no ties, no fondness, no care for the lives of mortal Gaians. He was to be perfect so he studied endlessly, brought himself to the brink of exhaustion, and plotted out every action, every word with unerring precision. He was to lose his soul so he rebelled, risked his life, disposed of threats and ultimately destroyed the birthplace that was never his home. But all of it hadn’t made the slightest bit of difference.

He had, from the beginning, been fated to die.

The realization curdled within him, and he curled tighter on himself, eyes closed, hands grasping. Garland, in his infinite indifference, had never intended Kuja to live longer than necessary. He’d been only a prototype, Kuja knew that, but he hadn’t imagined that he’d be disposed of so efficiently. Was that why Garland had always kept himself so distant, so disapproving, so cold? There was nothing Kuja could ever have done to prove himself or even to spite him. He was in his very existence a failure.

Kuja shifted again only to pause. A foreign magic tinged the air, wafting from somewhere in his subterranean halls. A trespasser. Kuja debated leaving them to their own devices before he scowled, thrusting the blankets off and pushing himself upright. He rubbed at his eyes, bleary and unfocused, before rising to his feet. No matter the circumstances, he had no intentions of leaving himself vulnerable to attack.

Kuja pushed his hair over his shoulder and started towards his dresser, but something stilled him. In the mirror, he caught himself at in his most natural form. He carried with him the same ghostly and ephemeral beauty and the same wild hair in its naturally styled layers, but the trappings were different. His eyes felt pale without their usual eyeshadow and mascara. His lips were dull and faded. And then there were his clothes.

Instead of his usual armor, he wore the cotton skirt and half-cut top that he felt most comfortable in while sleeping. His tail swept across the ground, dusting it with silver fur. He was, in fact, the mirror image of the genome he’d once been -- clothes and all. It was a shameful vision that he kept strictly to himself, but for the first time, Kuja lacked the desire to hide it away. Dressing himself in the bulk of his armor felt exhausting -- his makeup too much of a hassle.

Whatever awaited him could be dealt with however he dressed.

The magic wasn’t difficult to trace. It crept lethargically towards him, chilling all it touched with an oppressive hand. Kuja’s tail bristled at it. It sparked vaguely familiar in the back of his mind though he couldn’t say for the life of him as to why. Whatever it was, Kuja would extinguish it quickly. Every second spent upright was a second too long.

The magic led him to his oasis (wasn’t that always where intruders dropped in these days?), and he squinted as he emerged into sunlight. The warmth of it was jarring, and the glare even more so. He touched at his head, disoriented, and tried to regain his focus. There was the water glinting in its cool reflections. There were the sparse desert grasses swaying in a nearly nonexistent wind. And there, at the opposite end of the pool, were too figures huddled together by the water.

Kuja froze. He knew those figures, and he knew them intimately. On one side was Vivi with a book in his hand, sounding out the words in a painful drawl. On the other side was a skeletal man shrouded in darkness. For a moment, Kuja could do nothing but blink at him in surprise. That was a face he hadn’t seen for some time and hadn’t expected to ever see again, yet here he was as though he’d never left at all. Kuja’s first true pawn, his unstable weapon bound to him by forces Kuja couldn’t fathom.

”Nero.” Kuja’s eyebrows raised before he quickly cleared his expression. He glanced between them again in idle disbelief, his tail sweeping an uneasy rhythm against the grass. ”What are you doing here?”

ulla

Nero scrambled to his feet at the sight of him, clearly panicked in some way. Kuja blinked at him without comprehension. Had he not already died? Fallen victim to that tower that had seized Kuja’s curiosity even as it had penetrated his mind? Kuja’s eyes narrowed, scrupulous and questioning. What he been doing all that time? Or was it that the man simply couldn’t find his way back? Either way, it reeked of incompetence though Kuja could hardly call himself surprised. While powerful, Nero’s mind had clearly broken long ago. It had been a mistake to send him.

And yet the tower had intrigued and repulsed him all at once. Perhaps his emotions had taken hold of him rather than his rational mind.

Perhaps.

Nero’s eyes swept over him, first in shock and then in something like disappointment. The man’s gaze chilled him, and it was only then that Kuja remembered his physical state. His stomach churned with a mortifying sense of exposure. How was he to know that someone of worth would find his way here? No, as far as he’d been aware, only Vivi had access to this place, and yet the fates had played their cruel tricks upon him once again.

So here he stood, vulnerable, plain, and so very human. His lips pursed and he felt his tail lash its irritation. Kuja’s weaknesses were not something he wished to display for the world at large let alone such a feral man he commanded through image alone.

The panic cleared his head like glacial waters. His intellect came sharp and instinctual. He could not afford to stumble again.

”So you stayed away? I’d rather you have reported back, but I suppose that’s meaningless now. You’ve returned, and a terrible fate hasn’t befallen you. I’d thought it might have. You can’t imagine my grief.” He slipped into his usual persona as easily as assembling his armor. His stance straightened, his expression cooled. The trappings of his power may have left him, but true strength came inherent and without decoration. Anything could be excused with the right presence of mind.

”You disturbed me while I was resting. You’ll have to excuse my...less than dignified appearance. Your magic -- I thought it might have stemmed from a hostile force. I hadn’t the time to properly ready myself.” He sighed and crossed his arms, one hand at his elbow and the other touching at his lip. Still, his tail lashed its unease. For not the first time, he cursed it as the traitor it was.

”Vivi?” he echoed, eyebrow raised. ”I captured it weeks ago and thought it might be of some use to me. It’s a puppet, nothing more. You needn’t pay it any mind.” He waved a dismissive hand and closed the gap between them, eyes sparking with interest. ”Now what is it you’ve found for me? I’d like to express my gratitude.”

ulla