Welcome to Adventu, your final fantasy rp haven. adventu focuses on both canon and original characters from different worlds and timelines that have all been pulled to the world of zephon: a familiar final fantasy-styled land where all adventurers will fight, explore, and make new personal connections.
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year 5, quarter 3
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The man introduced himself; Barnabas Tharmr and Alex briefly combed through all his memories to see if there was anything that "... Who?" He asked simply. Yeah that name was bringing up nothing, so he obviously wasn't from his world. Or at the least wasn't from his time. God, the whole past lives thing made his world infinitely more complicated than it needed to be. Still, he'd work with it. Alex shook his head. Right, that was his bad, getting him all mixed up. "No, no. In my world, there are warriors and then there are Warriors. You see, warriors are warriors and Warriors are axe wielding barbarians." Obviously. Culture shock. "I'm a Purple Mage. I know magic and blade in equal accord." And everything else, but he didn't have the stones for all that. Literally. He left the rest of his Job Stones back home on Etheirys. So he was screwed there. Maybe his past lives could shore up some of that at least.
Still, none of them? Either he was lying or there were more B Rate Ascians. Neither of them were good. Or maybe he was one of them and he was hoping to get off on Alex being some unintentional hype man. Like hell, he wasn't playing into that. "Also, no. You are far better off not knowing about these people." Everyone was. Everyone would be far better off if the aforementioned would just go crawl into a hole and die, or at least never know the sight of sunlight ever again. Now that he thought about it. It was kind of offensive that Ragnabawk hadn't at least, you know, protested leaving his master to fight some dark teleporting dude all by himself.
At least his armor was neat. He'd give him that.
Alex gave a sigh. This guy was some weirdo of darkness, that much was clear. "Anyway, if you're new here." He cleared his throat, might as well get it out of the way, right? "Welcome to Zephon, where all your dreams come true, and hero and villain from across the cosmos do... something." He trailed off, clapping his hands together in a decidedly bored manner. The effects of glitter scattered all around him as the sound echoed out. He pulled his hands apart, a small rainbow forming between his palms as he gave Barnabas an unenthused stare. Cassandra had once told him that learning those party tricks was a total waste of time. Alex maintained that she had never known what it was like to throw glitter in someone's face before immediately following it up with a Firaga.
He looked around him. "You're in Kahiko Valley, which I'm pretty sure is home to some fallen civilization. If this is where you woke up, then I'm guessing your gods hate you. Or this place does." He'd gotten lucky. He'd woken up near Torensten, and was able to make his way there easily enough. Gotten a job mining, used some of those funds and well, things had progressed from there. And regressed. Thanks, blonde asshole. Alex figured he'd have done fine here, if he had to. But he'd have started off with a sour view of Zephon, rather than just, progressively sliding into that mindset over time.
As he continued to stare onward, it was only the sudden appearance of a very weird man that threw him off. Jumping at the event, he almost choked. What the fuck? Where did he come from? What was the meaning of this? Oh Gods, he was having flashbacks to Zenos all over again. He blinked, took a breath, and began to think for a moment. An Ascian? The magic was almost their calling card, and as it was, this man already looked like a buffer, bearded Hermes. No. He--Actually, hold on, something like this was completely in Fandaniel's wheel house. That in itself wasn't an issue. Fandaniel was only ever a problem because he had Zenos to go crying to if anything went wrong, and Alex had made it very clear that possessing some shattered god of eternal darkness wasn't going to be enough to even the field. Even if said shattered god was keeping the apocalypse at bay. Right, at least he hadn't known that part.
Still, a warrior? The first place that went for Alex was probably not what the man was assuming as Alex shook his head, getting bad vibes from the guy. "No, I'm a Purple M--Wait, no, you're meaning in general." It quickly occurred to him as he corrected himself. Red Mage, really. Or at least, that was the stone he had, even if he wasn't sure he needed it at this point. But, well, if he could use Red Magic and Blue Magic, then obviously, that made him a Purple Mage. Perfect logic. This, see, was a simple case of Alexander taking it literally. Did he have a Warrior job stone? Yes. Was it on him? No. Alas, this meant that as long as he was here, the ways of the Warrior were lost on him. Unless another one from his world showed up and he just, jacked their stone or something.
The answer was yes. Obviously. The Warrior of Light and Darkness and all that jazz. Still, he didn't feel like introducing himself as such. Sure, more people were finding out about that. But Alex was also slowly realizing that those same people probably didn't believe it either, and there was a part of him that was relieved. He patted Ragnabawk on the side, a quiet signal to send the bird away. As the chocobo huffed and took off in flight, Alex crossed his arms, turning to stare at something else. "I mean, I can defend myself. If that's what you're considering." He eyed the man warily. "So which one are you then? Fandaniel? Or maybe one of the others. Pashtarot? You definitely don't strike me as an Altima or Deudalaphon." Ascian, right? Or maybe... He squinted. "... Ardyn?" He didn't remember Noct telling him what the guy looked like, and Ardyn was just a Clown Shoes Ascian from what he'd heard.. And this guy just felt... off.
Alexander stared at the outside of the clinic, fully armed, fully armored, wondering if this was really a good idea. To go through with this would be tantamount to declaring war on the Dragonblades. But, that was irrelevant. Caius would make his move first, and he'd rather go on the offensive than the defensive. That was what Ethelbert would have done. It worked out until he died. Damn you, Elidibus. He took another step, brushing his fingers against the door, closing his eyes in solemn thought as he briefly wondered about turning back for a moment. "I've put this off long enough. I'll just deal with Dragelion later." He resolved. He took a deep breath. Inhale, exhale, and then with the squeal of a pig as he cast Bristle, he slammed his foot against the door. It gave. Right off the hinges. And the panic on the patients and staff inside was palpable as he stormed in, sword drawn and ready for battle.
His eyes blazed with fury. "I will see Shiva dealt with! One way or--" He stopped as he actually took a moment to scan his surroundings. He recognized no one here. He took a moment to ask about Yuna, and where she was. And that was how he learned this was not Yuna's clinic. And that he didn't actually know where it was. Fuck. He sheepishly apologized. Originally the guards were going to get involved, but one of the staff recognized him as "the poor homeless drunk" and well, it beat going to gaol, so he just kept his mouth shut. So he spent more time, after helping put the door back on that is and they'd agreed to let it slide once, and eventually he came to what he thought was Yuna's clinic. Really her clinic this time. He checked. Really made sure.
He placed his foot against the door, and realized he didn't want to potentially be wrong again, so he lowered it. Instead, he, surprisingly, and gingerly, opened the door quietly as he peeked his head in. "Yuna?" He said before he let himself in. Was she out? He slipped inside, closing the door behind him as he began to wander just a little. He was greeted at the desk, and overheard discussions about some poor man, blinded, in horrid shape, and suffering from night terrors. Alex stopped for a moment and wondered. It'd been some time, and, well, it'd make sense for Dragelion to send them all here... had Noctis, Prompto, and Ignis seriously been in Provo this entire time? The description fit. With how distressed the others had been that Ignis wasn't waking up, Alex had, for once, the empathy to realize that telling them it was an actual miracle Ignis wasn't dead in that state, was not a good idea.
His thoughts went back to that night, of the utter disaster it'd been, how he'd treated everyone, and it made him want to crawl into a hole. It also made him want to see Ignis. At least for some peace, to know some good came out of it. He approached the clerk. "Are... are they talking about Ignis?"
The clerk frowned. "I'm sorry, sir. But Provo's Health Insurance Portability--"
"I'm his husband." Alex cut them off and lied as easily as he breathed. Would this haunt him later? Probably. But things with this entire group was already in the shitter, what did it matter at this point? The sheer, brazen casualness and confidence of the statement had the clerk make an "o" expression, and whatever law they'd been talking about was promptly ignored as he got his confirmation and was ushered in after handing over his sword and giving his name--he gave Richard Ethelbert. It wasn't a lie. Past lives counted, right? It did not occur to Alex that there'd been about three felonies committed in only a couple minutes.
They were about to announce him, he shook his head, asked if there were any precautions, and quietly went inside when told no. He sat down and looked at Ignis. He looked awful. "Hey. You." He remarked awkwardly. "You're finally awake." He stated the obvious.
When Zenos made the offer, well, one would perhaps expect Alex to emphatically deny it. Instead, he went silent for a moment. Well, he hadn't asked it. Zenos had offered. So, technically... this wouldn't be on him. And well, if it came down to a fight between Dragelion and Zenos... Well, shit happens, right? The possibility that this could all be done and dusted within a day or two occurred to him, and the silence went on for a couple more moments. He shook his head. "No, he doesn't have a prayer of success." He bluntly stated. No, when it came down to him against Caius, Alex had no real doubt who would be the victor of such a bout. The odds were too stacked in his favor. Perhaps it was the same cockiness that got him Octaslashed, but this one he felt more confident about.
He leaned back a little as he explained. "He's a Kingsglaive from another world. I've been one briefly, so I have a decent idea of what he can and can't do." Unless he wasn't like other Kingsglaive, Alex. The literal dragon he had may have hinted at that. "He doesn't know a thing about me unless Cassandra's blabbed and told him everything." There was a brief pause, the wheels turning before he sighed, leaned forward, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Cassandra has definitely told him everything." She almost certainly told Caius all his tricks. Probably to get into the good graces of the Dragonblades or some other ridiculous reason. He could see that, easily. Whatever. Fine. Let that traitor be the traitor she always was. "Doesn't matter, Dragelion isn't really a threat to my continued existence either way." He huffed instead. "Though I guess if he tries to start shit and you're there, have at it." That was a good compromise, right?
Then he remembered; would Zenos even know who Cassandra was? It didn't seem like him to keep a memory of all the others that were around him at times. "Right, Cassandra was the tall blonde woman. Basically, things got mildly inconvenient, and she immediately ran off to join the Dragonblades without a word, leaving me with a destroyed guild hall." At least Sephiroth had tried to make it right. But at least this time he left out the dog. "As for you... who actually has taken you up on your offer of a fight?" Really, Zenos remarking earlier that he couldn't get anything made sense. Bloody look at him. You'd have to be mad, a fool, or extremely confident in yourself to look at the guy and go "yeah I can handle that."
He just wanted to talk. He wanted stories. Alex blinked for a moment, before he mouthed a familiar obscenity that he would have gotten out had he not choked on his espresso. "I... what?" He finally managed to get out. Okay, he really had to be following Alisae's advice. Gods, he'd never hear the end of this, would he? He could just see her crowing triumphant over it all. "Are you...?" Serious? By the Gods, he was actually serious. Alex looked Zenos up and down, waiting for the trick before hesitantly taking a seat. The tension began to slowly dissipate as it looked like there would be no altercation. Alex definitely owed Sephiroth an apology the next time he saw him, was this seriously how it was when they first met?
Gods, he really was like Zenos.
Slumping into a chair, still almost expecting something, he exhaled. "Where do I even start..." He breathed, drumming fingers along the table in a rhythm. Might as well just be honest about it, right? What was Zenos gonna do? "Well, I've been burning bridges, running a failing guild, butting heads with the world's most sanctimonious man-whore, and receiving the memories of a previous incarnation like an ice pick to my brain." The last one was the weird one. He'd offer up an accounting of what Delita Heiral was actually like, considering his almost mythical status to Garlemald, but he also knew that Zenos gave absolutely zero fucks about cultural history and the like. He'd love to tell it to Varis though, watch the old man choke in rage.
Alex crossed one leg over the other, folding his arms. "At least the guild is slowly coming back. You should meet Sephiroth. You'd like him. He's the one guy I've met with blade work to match yours. Has a real stick up his ass, though." He imagined that the only time Sephiroth would ever get that stick out of his ass would be only to bludgeon people with it. Hell, maybe Zenos could actually get the guy to lighten up a little. Enjoy life a little. There was a pause for a moment as he racked his brain for something. "Also, I helped with a prison break in Sonora and said world's most sanctimonious man-whore is likely gonna try to assassinate me, I guess." He wondered if that'd even made the news. He supposed it depended on whether that place was supposed to be top secret or not. Things always got murky when Sonora was involved.
Ah. So this was what it had been like to be in Sephiroth's shoes that day. Drinking a nice cup of coffee, only to be accosted by someone creepy and weird and fixated on potential violence. He would make a note to apologize to that Superhuman Freakazoid for the way he acted that day. Of course, there may have been a slight difference in that the man Alex dealing with was--well, no, Alex had been hounding the people who wrecked his shop. So, well, he figured he was probably a stalker in this mess, too. Yeah, it only took over a year and all, but at the last, karma was truly starting to have its fun with Alexander Sorel. "What the f-" He cut himself off as piping hot espresso went down his wind pipe, resulting in a coughing fit as he tried to realign everything that his life had become. How come no one else had to deal with crap like this? How come Cassandra got to go live a happy go lucky life with the dog?
It lasted for a moment; and he was up immediately, sword drawn, a spell of thunder in the other hand, summoned blades at the ready, the pain he had been experiencing shoved away in a box that could not reach him for the moment. What stood before Zenos was the Autumntide, the Beast he'd no doubt longed to face. Casting Loom, he was away from the table, he wouldn't be done in by something like that. Fire blazed within his amber eyes, a look that radiated lethal intent. They promised a fight to the death, a battle that would see his all brought to bear. For the mere guttering ember that Caius had witnessed in Sonora, this was the radiant blaze that burned beneath the refuse and rubbish of, well, Alex. Time passed in a phenomenon that both he and Zenos knew all too well. The Time between the Seconds, those brief instants when the world was shaken and history written. When creation itself held its breath.
The air itself changed, and people became anxious. Nervous whispers permeated the area as others began to slip away, hoping to avoid the worst of what was about to be the unfolding chaos. They escaped Alexander's notice. He was no fool, to divert his attention here could be a death sentence. Perhaps he could keep it limited enough that no real damage would be caused, and no one would needlessly perish. It would be due to collateral more than anything. With a target, Zenos had no reason to simply randomly kill others.
And yet nothing happened.
Time enough had passed to make it awkward. And Alex blinked a couple times. Ah, he figured it out. Zenos was probably just here to make fun of him for the sorry state he was in, no doubt. His weapon lowered, the spells and swords, vanishing as his arms sagged. "From the sounds of it, you've been here a while." He observed. How long, he had no idea. Long enough that he hadn't been looking, obviously. "Makes sense you've calmed down, I guess. This world is probably paradise for you." He sighed. Of course it would be. This world was filled with people like the two of them. Zenos undoubtedly had plenty to keep him entertained. Alex briefly contemplated just pointing him to the Dragonblades and letting that mess sort itself out. He dismissed it. He wasn't quite at the point where he actively wanted to see them wiped out, at least, and he had no doubt Zenos could manage that much.
"So, uh..." Alex started, and it became abundantly clear how out of his depth he was to not just be fighting Zenos, right now. "What have you been up to?" He couldn't help but ask.
The sun was blocked by the World Sight as it began its descent, leaving a slow chill in its wake. The tower in the distance said to look over all the land. It reminded him of the Crystal Tower back home. Well, mostly the Palace of the Dead. Or Heaven on High. Or Eureka Othros. Depending on whether what he heard was true or not. He watched it curiously, trying to make sense of its impossible shapes. His mind could only briefly wander to what possibly lay within. The surrounding area gave him an idea. Machines. Lots and lots of machines. But he could work with that, he'd dealt with much worse. The idea of fantasizing and day dreaming proved a decent enough distraction, at least when the plausible was in fact, in front of him. It reminded him of better days, when things were simpler and made more sense. You got a band together, went into some ancient place, and came out with a good story and maybe some good loot. The story was more important.
It would be the perfect place to take his mind off things. Perfect place for an adventure. Ragnabawk made a noise, clearly starting to get impatient. For all the grief Alex complained about, it was clear that Ragnabawk may as well have been a reflection of his master, and all that entailed. Alex at times still believed he should have given the bird something more dignified for a name. Like, Shadowfax, or Aslan, or something of that nature. Alas, Ragnabawk was something of a long running trend. He wondered how the cat was doing back home in Tural. At least Ragnabawk rolled off the tongue. Catfurdammewrung, not so much. Maybe they'd found a hunter that gave them a better name, too. And they got to go and have great adventures. Maybe that was what he needed, at the end of all this. Just fuck off and go on an adventure. It was what he was good at.
Just... who would he take with him? The thought brought a frown to his lips. That was the major issue; who would he even take with him? Would he just go himself? He'd done it before, back home. He'd made more than one trek through the Palace of the Dead on his own. He'd enjoyed the view in Heaven on High too much to go only once, and Eureka Othros, well, he didn't really need an excuse to ransack the Crystal Tower. And G'raha never seemed to mind. Rarely did the others want to come. Still, it was a lonely experience, when you didn't have someone to talk to by the campfire, and Ragnabawk was only ever one to argue when he was around.
All he could do at the moment was stare, for what seemed like hours to him. He finally heeded Ragnabawk and dismounted. Countless ideas fluctuated inside his head that, for a brief bit, Alex actually felt like himself again. Of course, that couldn't last, now could it?
Rather, Alex was drinking. Not booze, more just drinking a lot of expresso. Probably way more than was safe. But it made the pain go away, even if just a little. Caffeine was a miracle of the natural world; he believed. It was one of the only things that, back home, had made the resulting migraines of the Echo go away for a time, even if it did leave him a bit jittery at first. Here, well, the caffeine did help to an extent, to slightly lessen the pain that had been ever growing behind his eye. Every night brought more vivid visions. Still, it was never completely enough, so he would often get one cup. And then another. And then one more after that. And one more for good measure. His comrades had once told him that he should lay off the caffeine, saying that it resulted in weird thoughts, especially whenever he ran into that Minstrel.
Weird imaginations was worth the sweet relief.
His tolerance had long since reached the point that he didn't get the jitters. Mostly. Maybe a little anxious, but nothing beyond that. Nor did, well, no, it absolutely did impact his ability to sleep. But he was still biologically in his twenties. Louisoix made that entire thing a mess. But being in his twenties, that meant he was free to run his body into the ground and not experience consequences until at least his thirties, when it would begin with the dreaded back pain. He looked at his sword, and curled an armored fist. His lips thinned, still weighing whether or not he should just rip the band aid off and go deal with Yuna, regardless of whatever Dragelion felt. Part of him didn't want to make the situation worse than it already was. That was Fray. The other part of him was saying that Dragelion could go step on rakes. Plural. And if he had to take on the Dragonblades, so be it. He could do that.
Every day just made the situation worse, and he knew it.
Alex ordered another espresso. He wondered how much money he was throwing away with these trendy drinks. He could be back at the Stones, making his own. But that meant being alone, not that he wasn't already. But at least there were people around, and it felt like for a minute that he was normal and could be around others without turning the entire area into some social equivalent of a raging inferno. And the thought of that only served to sour his mood even further. Great.
Since meeting that Crystal Brave girl, the pounding behind his eye hadn't stopped but for the briefest of reprieves. What had started as a trickle over the months had recently since become a torrent overnight. Every night it was the same, more visions. By and large it was mostly involving Ramza, but one here or there involved people he had no idea of. He would wake up multiple times in the night, his head pounding, he would cast a Sleep spell on himself, and it would buy some time. And the visions returned. Serve. Save. Slave. Slay. Motions his yet not his. Beyond his ability yet so perfectly within his grasp. Every morning, when he would finally give up on sleep, it was the same. Roll over on a bare mattress, the covers thrown away simply to cool down from all the sweat, vomit up black ink all over the wooden floor, and clean it up by also vomiting pure, crystalline water all over that before simply balling it all together in a wad of aether of his making and tossing it out his still broken window.
Fray was right, and he hated it. Yet loved it. Part of him elated that it hadn't been the Echo, that it had never been the other way around. Hated it because of what it gave a portent of the future. And yet why should he be surprised? He had remembered the Endsinger when he was helping Noctis out--that simply brought on another wave of regret. After what he'd done to Prompto, he doubted Noctis wanted anything to do with him either and he had to admit that was smart--, but why would it surprise him when more would come rushing back to him? The answer of course was obvious, they were still the memories of Alexander Sorel, and not the memories of a man long dead, from an era long gone by. Of course the difference would be enough to throw him off. Flickers of other times were following were beginning to trickle. But at least now he had a name. Ethelbert. The name was Ethelbert. Pointless yet it awakened a primal feeling within. Recognition. Familiarity. Belonging. There was a common refrain in each of them; Serve. Save. Slave. Slay. It was always battle. It was always war. It was always violence.
He realized, the memories in combination with how awful he'd been to the others, one sore thing; war was the only thing he was good at. Breaking others was all he knew. It explained so much, how could it not? The sobering realization that he did not know of one incarnation that settled down and passed away in their bed bothered him. Serve. Save. Slave. Slay. It was always the same end. It was always the same life. It was little wonder that Cassandra left. Violence was all he knew, and he responded to any situation in the only way he knew how. He didn't know how much of that was him or Myste speaking.
He was collapsing, he knew it, and he was alone for it. He brought it on himself. He still had the self awareness to admit that much.
He forced himself to dress, and couldn't help but feel frustrated in just how difficult even such a basic task was to perform. By the time he'd finished, something that was to take only a couple minutes had taken the better part of an hour as he simply stared at nothing, trying to will the pain behind his eye to just go away. This was the second part, joy that it wasn't the Echo was replaced with a desire for it back, if only because the agony in his skull whenever the Echo reared itself wasn't as awful as this. And the Echo at least, had a few moments of warning before it hit. This didn't. He knew he had to get something in his stomach, but at the same time felt no appetite, and worried that anything he put down would just come back up. He moved, slowly, to another, dilapidated room in the Stones, looking at himself in the mirror. His hair a mess, his eyes bloodshot and baggy. He inhaled through his nose, and through sheer force of will, cast a glamour through the pain. His eyes returned to normal, as if he had rested well and long. He nodded his head, his reflection doing the same.
The pain faded, and for that, he was immeasurably relieved, but wondered if, or when, it would return. In the night like it preferred to? Maybe one would make itself known later, as it had begun to, as well. Relief was replaced by exhaustion, but he forced himself out to the front to what he imagined would simply be another empty day. He glanced at the walls, wondering if it would be better to simply call it quits on the place. He forced himself to think of the Dragonblades, hoping that some rivalry would fuel him, absurd as it was. It worked, to an extent. It reminded him of Caius's threat to "do his job." He inhaled, looking at the door, as he knew that a confrontation with them would be inevitable. Caius would come to do his job, likely with others at his back, and that job would be simple assassination. He wondered if then he'd at least see Cassandra again. Probably.
He must not run. He would not run. He didn't know his odds, but he would take as many of them with him as he could should that day come.
He went in the back briefly, brewed himself some coffee, guzzling the pot, and brewing another, letting the caffeine try and bring him back to some semblance of vigilance. He exhaled, doing his best to center himself. He placed his hands on a table out front, taking his seat, waiting for the door for something, anything, to give him something to focus on.
Things continued to not add up. Yes, she listed some names he had supposedly forgotten, but then others that should not have been. Though that only served to strengthen his belief she was just a Crystal Brave. The situation with Minfilia in particular was tricky; she hadn't died because of that banquet. Listing Haurchefant caused him to raise an eyebrow. Ah, so that's what she was doing. She was just throwing names out there to claim he had forgotten them, regardless of their relation to the Crystal Braves. Ysayle, Gosetsu, Conrad. All names he knew, but in no way fallen by the machinations of Alphinaud's failed company. He snorted. It felt kind of like dealing with a child, called out on their fibs, throwing a tantrum hoping that would get the adults in the room to acquiesce to their demands. It never worked, and in the end, the child usually learned that throwing tantrums was not the way you got what you wanted.
She said she would kill him. Alex didn't say anything. Maybe she knew that the game was up, and figured that she'd just take her chances. He wondered briefly, what her plan even was if she somehow, against all odds, managed it. Would she try and say that she was in fact the Warrior of Light like others had? He gave it a thought, and the swords appeared poised, ready to strike and skewer at a moment's notice. But it never really came. In the end, it looked like all the girl had was a moment of rage that seemed almost to immediately subside. She dropped her spear to the ground and seemed to just completely break down, sobbing about Zenos. Ah, his sympathies there. Dealing with Zenos was never pleasant. Really, it was a mark of fortune she yet lived. Right, there was no further point to all of this. This had been nothing more than a waste of time, a distraction that had kept him from the real issue.
"Forget it." He remarked as the swords around him vanished. She was broken, a fight now would have no point or any meaning, and even he didn't have it in him to strike down someone who was so completely in their own grief. Nevermind that he had bigger fish to fry right now, before Dragelion got involved. Silversnake remained in its sheath as he stepped towards the door, moving past the broken girl, as he put his foot on the spear. It wouldn't do to have her try and make a quick swipe as he got close. "Make a move or don't, Crystal Brave. In the end it makes no difference to me." And with that, his foot left the spear, and he attempted to simply move past her and leave the Rising Stones. Yuna and Shiva needed to be dealt with, before Dragelion got involved, because he knew the man would just dive in front of any attack meant for Shiva. Probably with an overly drawn out "No."