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year 5, quarter 3
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Mikoto was quiet for a moment, considering his words. When she finally spoke, it was quiet, nearly awed. ”You accomplished so much in a short period.”
Kuja paused. He had really, but he hadn’t expected her to pick up on that. Perhaps it was because she knew of his starting point. She was living it herself to an extent.
Still, no matter his accomplishment or innate sense of pride, he felt nothing at her praise. He believed in results rather than intentions, and he smiled bitterly. ”Not that it mattered,” he said. Days, months, years, of sleepless plotting. All worthless. He wondered if Garland had laughed.
Maybe. If he’d been capable of humor.
Kuja had no interest in pursuing the subject, and thankfully the girl didn’t care to push the subject. Instead, she just gave him that puzzled look, half-vacant with a slight twitch of her brow. ”What is ’pursuit of the mind’...?”
Kuja gave her a disbelieving look, and when she didn’t waver, and touched at his forehead, thrusting back his bangs with a cold laugh. ”It’s like talking to a child,” he said. He’d never liked children.
”How do I explain it?” He considered his options, weighing them with the same care as the components of a potion. ”It’s...mental stimulation,” he decided. God, was this how he’d used to sound? So passionless. So cold. Nothing but analytics, but wasn’t that a genome’s natural state? His lips turned in a dismissive sneer. ”Science, logic, the arts.” Why was he explaining this? ”I’d rather not waste my time running around like an idiot.”
Or a certain someone he knew.
But the question he’d asked must have struck a chord. She considered her interests, eyes tight, brow furrowed. It was likely the first time she’d ever been asked the question. So young and naive.
And yet she liked ’attaching objects to her hair.’ Reading. Research. His tail gave another uneasy swish. How terribly familiar.
”It’s called expression,” he said, waving vaguely at the ornaments in her hair. ”I suppose you’d have had to do it yourself. I noticed the ribbon on your tail. It’s…”Plain. Basic.”Simple. You could find better in the city.”
Not that he’d bother to show her. Maybe he’d send her off with the gil to do it for herself. If she was going to follow him around, she might as well make herself a little easier to look at.
As for the others -- reading, engineering -- she’d find that in no short supply. She wondered how she’d react to the home he’d carved out of the desert. Her mind might short circuit.
”Cooking?” He raised an eyebrow. Who had she been talking to? ”It’s fine. If we’re talking alchemy, I’d rather synthesize something useful.” And not waste his time. While he was a staunch follower of hedonism, he'd often found the effort more taxing than the reward. ”I wouldn’t bother with it.”
More silence. More passing thoughts behind her eyes. Finally, she asked as thought out of nowhere why inhabitants congregate at empty gateways. Kuja gave her a strange look. ”What?” Was she stupid or just socially inept?
”I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. ”Look into it yourself if you’re so interested.” About doorways. And strange people. What kind of company had she stumbled into before now?
”I think I saw a clearing up ahead.” Finally. The life here had no beauty to it. Half the trees were dead and the other half were gnarled nests for rats and insects. He heard them buzzing about in noxious clouds. And that wasn’t even mentioning the Mist. ”I’ll call my dragon. If you still insist on coming along.”
Come on, Kuja. Go pursue your passions. You can do it. You have my permission.
Why should the world exist without me?
The girl looked almost ashamed of herself. There was that young naivete again, the hallmark of a white mage. She was one driven by duty to the detriment of all else, and one who’d never bothered to explore herself either. She reminded him in a way of Princess Garnet. Or perhaps that was merely a trick of the mind when dealing with a summoner.
”What is life if not a performance?” Kuja tossed his hair over his shoulder, passionless. He couldn’t care less if she carried out her dream in the performing arts. It was something to talk about, he supposed. The walk was already dreadful.
”Hold each other to…?” Kuja paused, considering her proposition and her playful smile. Then he laughed, touching at his lips. Him? A playwright?”Perhaps.” He answered it with a smile of his own, mysterious rather than encouraging. For all of his passion, Kuja was an industrialist rather than a true artist. Poets were paid pitifully.
”I think I have other business,” he said. ”But if it’s ever finished…”If he ever achieved immortality.”I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Death. Art. Theater. What else was there left in his life? His purpose was gone -- burned away in an inferno of vengeance and fear. He had no meaning, no direction. If he were to believe the stories (and he had no reason now to) then he was set to die. It was as though he lived by the cruelest of hourglasses, and one to which he could not see the sands. If the dimensional shift had revived him then how so? If he had not yet died then how long did he have left? And could any amount of temporal tampering reprogram that which had already been set in stone?
Despite his derision, his mood had soured. The thought lingered like a bad smell.
Kuja swiped his hand in front of him, bending the last bristling thicket out of the way as the path revealed itself before them. Kuja scoffed.
”Finally.” Finally, he could get out of these hideous wilds. Already, he dreamed of a bath.
He glanced back at Yuna. ”Are you going anywhere in particular? I’ll be headed towards the city. I wouldn’t recommend the other direction. It’s nothing but a frozen waste.”
Huh. They're actually kind of having an impact on each other.
Why should the world exist without me?
’Building up their theaters?’ Kuja nearly stopped, taken aback. That wasn’t on him to do. It certainly wasn’t his fault that the people of this planet were so base, but if he could...if he had the resources…
”I suppose there’s nothing stopping me…” Was there, really? Before, he’d been working against the hourglass of his own demise, but now? Well, knowing what he did now of his ultimate tragedy, perhaps there was, but he had no real direction in it. The thought bristled at the back of his mind. Was he really one to settle down, create rather than destroy? Could he really add something to this world…?
He shook away the thought. Now he needed power. He needed immortality. He needed something. There would never be time for such things.
”That planet sounds miserable,” he said. In fact, it sounded like one halfway in its grave. No cities? No theaters or events? The potential immortality would be worth it of course if he could manage, but for someone like her? ”Maybe you should consider a longer stay,” he said. ”The planet I left is a little livelier. Though you’d have to mind the reconstruction. It’s only just signed its peace treaties.” Kuja fought a smirk. Now who could have been responsible for that?
”If I’m to consider opening a theater then why not pursue your dances? There must be somewhere that would appreciate it.” A special kind of theater, perhaps? Not all of them were entirely disreputable. ”This is a chance to rediscover yourself, I suppose. If you’re interested in such things.”
He wasn’t, particularly. He knew who he was, and he didn’t care to lower himself to any public’s standards. But she seemed like the type who might make use of it. Her naivety reminded him a little of himself -- before he’d known any better of course.
”Whatever your purpose was, it’s gone now. You might as well take pleasure in something.”
“Is there not already a divider here in this forest? The cause of corrupted souls and mist.”
Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that? It wasn’t as though he’d studied the components of the forest’s mists for months as to ascertain that very thing. He thrust his hair over his shoulder. ”I’ve found the core,” he said. ”But there’s a barrier. I haven’t managed to break it yet.” A sad admission for a mage of his status, but there’d always be magic he couldn’t understand -- at least not yet. In truth, there was nothing that couldn’t be learned without effort, and it was for that reason that he’d been excavating old ruins and places of power. ”I don’t see the point in another divider. I could make one, I’m sure, but it’s pointless.”
All that work for vessels they’d already lost? It had taken years to develop the black mages on a backwards planet. She had no idea what she was actually asking of him.
But it didn’t seem to matter. Her attention was quickly stolen away.
”Ah.” She slowed, her tail sweeping low. Kuja raised an eyebrow. Had that really hit her so hard? He supposed so because she followed it with a quiet, ”I’m useless.”
Yes, actually. She very much was. No magic. No intellect. No knowledge of a living planet. Still, he supposed it was a little harsh to say so. Even for him.
”Well you could not be,” he said without passion. ”You have plenty of time.”
He’d already grown tired of his own consideration. She wasn’t even someone he could use.
But she knew her own limitations at least. And her ignorance. That was a rare trait, and one had to almost respect. Or at least not hold entirely in disdain.
“How did you take your first steps on Gaia?”
Kuja paused at the question. He felt that good will drain away even before she added, ”It must have been difficult for you.”
He hated that condescension. He hated even more the feeling of being exposed.
”I spent most of it skulking in old Terran ruins,” he said. His lips turned sour. ”I grew rather acquainted with the guardians and that hideous tree. Garland still had me running his errands, after all.”
Kuja started walking again. The topic didn’t warrant his full attention. ”I learned what I could of Gaia. After the destruction of Madain Sari, I moved to the Mist continent and took residence in Treno. It wasn’t exciting.”Thieves, grime, the skittering of oglops across creaking floorboards. He’d started with nothing. ”And then I gained my fortune. That’s all there was to it, really.”
He tossed a careless glance over his shoulder. ”You have to have interests,” he said. ”I always cared for pursuits of the mind. Not that I expect you’re much the same.”
Even when Kuja's being nice he is still a thoroughly unpleasant person
Why should the world exist without me?
The girl was as ignorant as he’d expected. There were towns? Of course there were. It was natural on any living planet though their technological sophistication was variable to change. Surely she’d retained something from Terra’s datalogs, but then again, he supposed not. She was young, after all. Nine months awakened. She was advanced just to have thought to ask the question in the first place.
”Three of them primarily,” he said. It wasn’t any real matter of interest to him. ”If you’re interested, I’ll take you. Though I doubt you have any real experience.” In anything, actually. How lucky she was that he’d felt so charitable. Kuja himself had been unceremoniously abandoned on Gaia’s surface without so much as a pocketful of gil. He’d once thought their ways strange. He was nothing if not adaptable.
”I was the last,” Mikoto said though Kuja had no way of knowing what that meant. The last granted a soul? The last genome produced? The last one brought through the dimensional rift? It was irritating, but Kuja didn’t bother indulging her. She’d made it clear she was alone. That was all he cared about.
Her eyes wandered back to the stream and the fairy lights still drifting on the wind. Kuja felt their touch prick at the back of his neck, and he suppressed a shiver. They reached for him, pawing for their new vessel. Well this one was thoroughly occupied, thank you very much.
”Is Zidane here too?” Mikoto folded her hands in front of her, glancing down with a kind of quiet dejection. ”Were the empty ones pulled here?”
”How should I know?” There was Zidane again. And the hollow vessels. His eyes flickered with irritation. ”And I don’t care to look either. Zidane’s as resilient as an oglop, and I doubt the genomes would last long on their own. They’d probably wander into the maw of a behemoth. Or maybe straight off a cliff.”
The suggestion came with some personal experience. He’d long made it a game to lure them into the wild parts of Terra infested with monsters thirsting for blood. The genomes were helpless outside of Bran Bal. He’d found it endlessly amusing.
It seemed Mikoto did not share the same sentiment.
”The souls here are eager. If tended to properly then perhaps they can be used to awaken the others.”
”Why bother?” For its own sake? For the sake of empty dolls?”They’re nothing. Their absence is hardly a loss. If anything, the world is better off without them.”
It would be a world without those hollow eyes. A world without their blank monotone, their endless talk of purpose, or their useless complacency.”I don’t know why you’re so insistent, but if you wanted to know the theory…”
Was it possible? He felt his thoughts quicken.
”It’s doubtful. The souls here are corrupted and incomplete. The Mist has a collective will, but I doubt anything of value could be parsed from it.” He considered the possibilities. It would be a challenge, but…
”I suppose one could try to capture a soul from its natural cycle. The technology here is rudimentary, but not nearly as primitive as that of Gaia. If I could fashion my own Divider and store them without damage, they could likely be transplanted into a new host. Though this is all purely theoretical.”
And not something he had any particular interest in pursuing. It was far too much work for very little reward. Even assuming they’d stumble across some empty vessel in the first place.
”You should really give up on the whole affair. There’s no use holding onto your purpose. No matter what’s been beaten into you.” Kuja’s lips soured. ”Isn’t there something more useful you could be doing?”
He doesn't care? Why should he care? Because he doesn't.
Why should the world exist without me?
Her expression didn’t waver, and neither did her strange adoration. Did she not care how he abused her? Was she really such a wet towel that she’d listen to anyone without so much as a blink of an eye? Kuja felt his tail swish, picking up dirt as it swept quietly over the ground. He knew her kind, and he knew the sentiment. How long had he waited, silently begging for so much as a single word of praise from their master? She embraced Kuja's hostility because she didn’t know any better.
Pathetic.
”I don’t want anyone else,” she said as though to prove his point. Then she turned from him, hands outstretched. ”This is what the Black Mages taught me.”
He felt a stir of magic. It wasn’t strong. In fact it would have been imperceivable to anyone else, but Kuja sensed it like the softest touch of the wind. His eyebrows raised as she squinted in concentration. There was a slight chill and then…
The rock iced over. Or it was more apt to say that it frosted like cold winter dew. Even she looked dissatisfied, but she persisted regardless, bringing a flicker of flame to her hands. She shot it towards its target, and the ice melted leaving only a faint water stain behind.
Kuja watched expressionlessly. It was wrong to say that he was disappointed just as it was wrong to say that he was impressed. He’d expected nothing. He’d received next to nothing in return. What was there to say?
Mikoto turned to him. ”Knowledge in weapons and magic can be applied to protection,” she said. ”I only need to be taught. I can apply the teachings for my purposes.” She paused, a thought passing behind her eyes. ”I also want to learn more about you.”
”Me?” Kuja blinked. Then he touched at his forehead and laughed. ”Because I’m so strong-willed? Because I’m the savior of the genomes?” He lowered his hand. ”I don’t know what you expect. Though if you want to know of Lord Avon..." He smirked. "I suppose that I could read him to you.”
If she wanted. If he had to. He had already transcribed all of the plays by memory, after all.
But that still left the question. What was he to do with her?
Kuja looked up thoughtfully. Did she expect to live with him? Was he supposed to teach her? Care for her? Order her around? It sounded like more of a hassle than a benefit, and he wasn't one to go about parsing favors out of a sheer sense of good will. Still, the thought lingered with him like a wisp of magic at his fingertips. Did he really have anything better to do? Perhaps she would surprise him. It wasn’t like he was in the middle of bringing an empire to ruin at the moment.
”Fine.” Kuja raised a hand, waving it carelessly. ”If you’re so determined to throw yourself under my heel...” He flipped his hair over his pauldron, turning so he wouldn’t have to see her look of satisfaction. Would Zidane have approved of this? Kuja found that he didn’t particularly care. The idiot should have just been grateful that someone was looking after the girl in his stead.
A newly awakened genome dropped on a living planet alone? He doubted she’d have lasted another week without him.
He started walking without waiting for her. ”We can fly by dragon, but we’ll need to find a clearing before she can land. From there, we'll go to either my desert base or to the nearest town. Take your pick.” He remembered a clearing some miles to the southwest. It was a drudge of a walk, but there was no use in wasting time. He glanced back with a dry smirk.
”I don’t suppose there are any more of you skulking about?”
”I resisted at first. I too wondered what the point was in saving empty vessels.”
She was smarter than Zidane at least -- or at least more self-aware. Kuja glanced at her, not particularly interested but not disinterested either. It was strange, speaking to someone of Terra and genomes. Zidane had acted so recklessly for one reason and one reason alone: he hadn’t understood. To him, the genomes were living, breathing people. Stupid, he knew, but he supposed he couldn’t blame a Gaian for observing the world through a simplistic lens.
A lie. He could entirely blame him. But that was beyond the point.
”Dying for your purpose?” Kuja smirked. That was one thing Zidane had gotten right at least. ”Why not continue living instead? Your strings were broken.” Thanks to him, he supposed. Was that why she was thanking him? It irked him that he’d accidentally done good. Then again…
’No one is useless.’
Why did he have to be right?
”The mages?” Kuja gave a short laugh. ”Is that where you went? The resemblance is uncanny.” Far too uncanny. He’d never had any sympathy for them. ”I suppose they’re likely dead by now anyway. Tragic.”
She was naive. Young. Newly awakened and not quite sure of herself. Had he once been like this? For not the first time, his fur bristled with irritation, but he supposed he wasn’t entirely unamused. She was a blank slate, stumbling into her first awkward steps of self-awareness. And then she just had to get personal.
”Even though Garland isn’t here, his echoes still haunt you.”
Kuja stiffened. ”He doesn't!” Binding himself to Garland’s rules? Garland was dead. And dead by his own hands. Kuja had already proven himself his master’s better. He’d already proven that he didn’t need him, that the old man was weak and stupid. Brought to ruin by his own puppet. It was ironic, really. Kuja could have laughed.
He didn’t.
”I’m not a failure!” He’d been using Garland’s words, that was all. Just meaningless, arrogant words. They held no power over him. ”You think I need your welcome?”
He didn’t. What did he need Terra for? Or the genomes? Or anyone but himself?
Kuja turned on his heel, taking three steps away before crossing his arms again. Stupid. Why had he ever thought he could have a conversation with a genome? Even one with a soul? She was the one still bound to Terra. She was the one hardly released from Garland’s hands. She was the one…
”Will you teach me?”
He paused. ”What?”
’Teach her?’ Teach her what exactly? To protect the rest of their race? Like he knew anything about that. In fact, he had experience in the exact opposite.
Still, he turned to face her. She’d caught his interest. For now.
”What do you want my help for?” He gave her a strange look. ”I’m only good for destruction in case you hadn’t gotten the message. So unless you want to bring this planet to its knees, I suggest you find someone else.”
Still, her intentions pricked his curiosity. How could she still idolize him? After everything he’d done?
He flipped back his hair with a way of his hand, casting his head aside. ”What would you want to learn, anyway? All I have is weapons and magic. Unless you’re dying to know the symbolism of the canary in the works of Lord Avon.”
Her eyes were pools of expressionless blue. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have called them hollow, but he knew all too well what hollow really looked like on that face. It left her at an eerie midpoint halfway between sentience and a living doll. For the longest time, she only stared at him and then he heard her echo once again. ’So beautiful.’
Kuja raised his eyebrows as she abruptly severed their connection and turned her back on him, fists curled. To anyone else, she would have seemed slightly flustered, but Kuja knew her thoughts as though she’d worn them on her sleeve -- or more accurately her tail. Her fur stood on end. Had Kuja been in a better disposition, he would have laughed. But he was not so instead he simply stood there, arms crossed and eyes impatient.
His tail bristled its irritation. There was a reason he took such care to hide it.
After a long moment, she looked back at him. ”Who am I?” It was like she was considering every word for the first time. How young was she? Only recently able to contemplate her existence, it seemed. What was Garland doing throwing around souls like it was nothing? Kuja had rather thought he’d spoiled him on the idea.
But then again, he supposed not.
It had only been nine months ago. Meant with the full purpose of guiding Zidane. Kuja felt his nails dig into his sleeve. Garland had created her as Zidane’s companion? Of course he had. Didn’t everything revolve around that idiot? Why not awaken him as a useless child? Why not create new life with the sole purpose of keeping him company? We wouldn’t want their precious Zidane getting lonely now, would we? He was perfect or so Kuja had been told. What was so special about Trance, anyway? Kuja had brought the entire planet to its knees without raising a finger.
And he’d been left entirely on his own. It wasn’t lost on him that his chosen companion was female. Even Garland had some sterile understanding of basic instinct, it seemed. For everyone except Kuja.
”Lovely.” Kuja’s tail thrashed. He was losing his patience. And she was still in awe.
”It was you, wasn’t it? You who ended Garland’s existence and with him, Terra. Kuja?”
Kuja paused. He’d rather thought that a genome would have hated him for such a thing. He still wasn’t entirely sure that she didn’t, but her blunt words were betrayed by her wide eyes, her open stance, the subtle twitch of her tail. She didn’t sound quite so disappointed when she said he’d taken everything from her. Usually obliterating one’s home came with some bitter feelings floating around.
Kuja knew from experience. Burmecia, Cleyra, Madain Sari. The survivors didn’t generally wish him well.
But still she went on. Gave the genomes a chance? The only one willful enough to do so? Had he been this chatty at her age? If he’d gotten in the habit of speaking so much, Garland would have forcefully silenced him. The injustice had no end.
”I assure you, that wasn’t my intention.” He could hardly remember the whole event if he was being honest, but he knew that much. He’d had nothing but satisfaction at watching it burn. The other genomes were merely a bonus. ”They’re hollow vessels. What do they need a chance for?”
A chance to be something beyond their design? Well he supposed that was correct. Now they’d never gain a soul. Tragic.
He glanced where her eyes had drifted. Vague orbs of light played about the river’s bank. They were nothing more than lost souls corrupted by time and their disconnect from the cycle. But then, they did have a strange kind of energy, didn’t they? For a moment, he saw their flicker -- child-like bodies with apathetic tails -- and then it was gone. ”Your memories are imprinting on them,” he said plainly. ”We’re alone.”
Still, that brief glimpse unnerved him. He wanted nothing to do with Terra. Least of all its memories.
”Then he brought you to Gaia.” There was nothing behind his words. Not derision, not sadness, not envy. ”I’d wondered if he would.”
That idiot. Risking his life for a bunch of soulless husks? What exactly did he plan to do with them?
”You know who I am,” he said. ”A force of destruction across both Gaia and Terra. Garland’s failure.” His lips drew into a bitter smirk. ”Aren’t you more interested in Zidane? I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. He has a way of showing up where he’s least wanted.”
He’d been useful, at least, that dear, kind-hearted idiot. He was always so easy to manipulate. Almost as easy as a woman drowning in her own greed. They had both danced exactly to his tune.
”So we’ve met. You had your chance to speak. What else do you want?” His tail swished. ”I don’t exactly have a sense of Terran solidarity.”
The Headstone Forest. It was a hideous sight even from above. The gnarled treetops. The shadows of corruption. Kuja could feel its influence despite the distance, and it chilled him. The souls desired a vessel. He smirked bitterly to himself, thrusting a handful of hair behind his pauldron. He had always hated the Mist, as much as he'd needed it. While this wasn’t exactly the same, it had the same components and the same offensive essence. He hated it as much as he ever had, and even from the sky, it drew his disdain.
”It's an eyesore,” he said. ”A pity it's worth useful.” His dragon made no response, but he’d hardly expected her to. She soared above the forest’s twisted paths with hardly a care, her shadow diving over the treetops like a hawk’s. Kuja twisted his fingers through her feathers, knees neatly folded to his side. His dragon had spent too long alone in the desert, waiting for his return. He’d had unspeakable business that had required a subtle hand.
How he longed for power.
From the beginning, the Headstone Forest had drawn his eye. He’d tinkered with its Mist and its uses. Could he replicate the Black Mages? The answer, it seemed, was a glaring ’maybe.’ Maybe he could. Maybe he couldn’t. He’d had worthwhile results in his prototypes, but that’s all they really were. Models. Prototypes. Proofs of concept. In truth, he’d tired of them. Why repeat the same methods twice? This planet required a far different strategy than the one he’d left behind. It had its own weaknesses, cultures, and complexities. He had taken the time to learn them, and he would take as much time as he had left to him.
A prospect that was growing increasingly urgent.
He had been born to die. Even now, the thought brought a scowl to his lips. It was the cruelest trick of all, giving him life, giving him a soul, only to kill him in the end. At least the awakening of the Black Mages had been a defect of which he’d had no real intention. But what Garland had done...What it had done to him...
There was nothing that Kuja wouldn’t do to defy his fate. And so that brought him to this accursed forest.
There was magic here. Something dark, mysterious, and immortal. He felt it like a beating heart, and at its center was a blackened obelisk protected by unspeakable magic. If he could lift the spell...If he could claim its power as his own…
Kuja was so nearly lost to his thoughts and schemes that he didn’t notice the shift at first -- a kind of stirring of the wind. Below him was the Mist like a static hum of broken souls. And there, glinting among them was…
Kuja sat up, eyes sharp with surprise. Was that…a genome?
But he knew that sense as well as he knew his own name. A Terran soul. It wasn’t Garland’s and it wasn’t Zidane’s. This one reached for him. This one was aware. But there’d never been another in Garland’s menagerie...had there?
And yet like a refutation, it spoke. ’I feel you.’ The voice drifted like a soft rustle of sand. ’Will you meet with me?’
His eyebrows furrowed. After a moment’s hesitation, he answered. ’Yes.’
What was happening? Who was this girl (for he felt it was a girl)? What did she want with him and why…?
Why did she exist at all?
Kuja touched at his dragon’s neck. ”Circle back,” he said, and the dragon huffed its understanding, tilting its wings as Kuja mused on the forest below them. Dropping in from above would be an uncomfortable maneuver at best and a dangerous one at worst, but he didn’t see much of a choice. He trusted his magic, and he wasn’t exactly drowning in options. He would rather claw out his own eyes than hike through miles of uninhabitable wilderness again.
Once he’d pinpointed her position, he brought his dragon into a spiraling descent. The trees drew closer in terrible, twisted detail. As his dragon’s wings swept the withered canopy, Kuja set his jaw, prepared a float spell, and slipped off her back.
His magic caught, slowing his descent as he raised a hand, swiping at the branches with flashes of brilliant blue-violet. The trees creaked around him, twigs cracking, leaves scattering as he burrowed his way to the forest floor. He dispelled his float in the last few feet and landed lightly on the ground, hair and skirt splaying gracefully behind him. As gravity settled in, Kuja took a moment to scowl.
His hair was scattered with twigs and debris. This had better be worth it.
She wasn’t hard to locate. As Kuja padded across the brambles and moss, clearing his path with slashes of telekinetic magic, he could only imagine where she had come from. Terra, obviously, but what as her purpose? If he was the disposable prototype and Zidane was the chosen weapon then why would Garland need a third? Or had there been a fourth? A fifth? His mind spun with possibilities that he’d never considered. With Zidane lost, had Garland simply mass produced their replacements? Nothing was ever without purpose with Garland. Every cog was flawlessly set, every piece in perfect order.
What, then, was her place?
He stepped from the foliage into a small, riverside clearing. Despite the horrors of the rest of the forest, this place felt strangely dull. The darkness had lifted, and with it the thinning Mist. Instead there was only the water, bubbling along the rocks and the grime. A trail of clovers led to its edge, and standing among them was a girl. A Terran. A Genome.
His eyes sharpened. There she was in Zidane’s echoed image. The angled face. The golden hair. The tail, hovering at a slight curl. She was dressed in standard Terran attire clad in black, white, and pink. She watched him with unreadable eyes set in Gaian blue. They matched his own.
”Who are you?” Kuja asked. He crossed his arms, waiting.
His tail gave a quiet, imperceivable swish. Who are you? There was nothing good that could come from its answer.
I wanted to close this out, but Kuja said otherwise
Why should the world exist without me?
”That’s it?”
Kuja felt his fur bristling. ’That’s it?’ He’d shared more of the truth than he’d likely ever done in his life, and it wasn’t enough? The simple-minded ogre. What in all of Gaia did he want from him then? To share a heartbreaking farewell he couldn’t remember? To crawl on his knees while he was at it? ’That’s it?’
Kuja bit back words as sharp as his nails. How he longed to take them across blue-tinted skin.
”Tch. Whatever.” The ogre held up the amulet, hardly looking at it before tossing it carelessly in Kuja’s direction. Kuja blinked his surprise, waving his hand to catch it in a glitter of blue-violet magic. Was he really just going to…?
”You’re giving it to me?” The moron. Did he have any idea who he was dealing with? Did he even care? Kuja’s tail gave a shrouded lash across the time-worn stone. He touched at his forehead and laughed.
Words fluttered behind his lips. ’That’s it?’ The sentiment was very much shared.
The ogre walked past him without so much as checking his back, and Kuja turned to watch him go. ”Damn it,” the man said. ”Zidane, you moron.”
”On that, we agree.” A funny thing to connect them. Did this ogre have the same disdain? The same irritation? The same…?
Well, Kuja wasn’t exactly fond of his starry-eyed counterpart, but their threads did have a way of winding together, didn’t they? It was infuriating, the way that Zidane so often intruded upon his thoughts.
”Out of curiosity,” Kuja said. ”Why go through all of this trouble? Why should you care?” If it had been the princess that would have been one thing. He’d even have accepted the puppet or the knight, but the bounty hunter? They clearly had no special connection, and he had anything but apathy for Kuja, he had a strange way of showing it. In fact, Kuja had the impression that he didn’t care much for anything at all. So why this?
