The black mage was driving him mad.

It wasn’t that it had disobeyed his orders, but rather that it hadn’t. Every time that Kuja wandered through those cool and echoing halls, he dreaded hearing the rustling of clumsy feet or the shadow of someone trying very hard not to be seen. The mage was like a child, overwhelmed with both curiosity and fear and too impotent to put either into action. On occasion, Kuja would find a book out of place or some trinket or another turned the wrong way. Once, he felt the the shuddering of one of his magical seals and froze in his work, scowling as he went to yell at the mage for attempting to escape into a deadly wasteland, but when he got there, the door was closed again and the mage was nowhere to be seen. At least the mage wasn’t stupid then.

Or not as stupid as it could be. Its own naivete left him with no delusions of any innate intelligence in his own creation.

Kuja tapped at a table in his library, clicking his tongue impatiently as he tried once again to read the same line his eyes must have glazed over three times now. It was a book of both magical history and incantations that Kuja had no doubt were either beneath him or completely outdated. Such lore had always fascinated him in its own, often useless way, but not today. No, today his mind lingered on scuffling in the shadows and the quick retreats he’d pretended not to notice that morning. The mage was many things -- powerful for its age, too ignorant to realize the limits of its pure sentimentality, oddly persuasive in its immaturity -- but stealthy was not one of them. It had all the grace of a swan out of water, making every retreat an embarrassing assault on his senses.

And yet…

The same scene played like an echo behind his closed eyelids. Even now, hours past, Kuja was a victim to his own unfocused mind, and not even his spellbooks could capture his attention. Something about that mage toyed with his imagination in the worst of ways, eliciting emotions in him that made him want to strike the bumbling puppet with sharpened nails. But why?

There must have been something fundamentally wrong with the mage. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Perhaps its overwhelming weakness in the face of captivity. It didn’t deserve to live, didn’t deserve his mercy because-

he’d never received it himself

-because the world itself was cruel and only the strong survived. Yes, that was what disgusted him. Not his own reactions, but the mage’s pure helplessness like a canary trapped in a cage if that canary was manufactured and hideous to behold. In other words, useless. Why did he keep the mage around at all? One spell, and that artificial life would be extinguished.

The mage simply knew too much. Its wealth of lost knowledge piqued Kuja’s curiosity. There could be no other reason.

With a sigh, Kuja marked his place in the book’s weathered pages and closed it, rising to replace it on the shelf. He’d been struck by a rather odd idea, one that he both derided and could hardly believe it hadn’t come sooner. He would check on the mage. Just observe it to see for himself how its soul had reacted to captivity. Perhaps the mage would surprise him in its resilience, but mostly likely not.

And so for the first time since the mage had entered these halls, Kuja closed his eyes and searched for it. His natural psychic inclination picked up on the flickering of a foreign soul in seconds -- the vessel of a black mage was far less secure than even genomes meant for spiritual possession. He scowled, trying to place it. The mage was somewhere to the west. Somewhere past his spell forge, past his workshop, past the teleporter leading to…

His jaw clenched. To his dragon’s keep. Had he not specifically warned it to keep away?

Kuja started with a hurried step, wondering faintly as to his own concern. Would it not be better to let the mage kill itself? Would it not save him the trouble of keeping it alive? But he hurried anyway, taking a side path that would cut through the waste towards his teleporter. But why?

It could only be to protect the mage’s knowledge. Any other reason was pure nonsense.

He tensed at the familiar magic of teleportation as he was swallowed by nauseating blue light. When it faded, he blinked into a different light -- that of the sun, warm and natural. His boots clicked on the stone of a natural hollow as he started towards the dragon’s keep. He could hear slow breaths and the ripping of flesh. Kuja’s stomach turned. He was too late.

But no, was that the mage’s voice? ”How are you?” It was such a casual question that Kuja stopped and blinked in the face of it. ”Have you been out to stretch your wings lately?"

Kuja gaped at the open sunlight. Was it talking to his dragon?

He closed the distance, stepping into the dragon’s hollow to see that, indeed, the dragon was ripping at natural meat rather than the manufactured flesh of a puppet. She was pleased with herself, Kuja didn’t need his psychic connection to know that, and her eyes closed in ecstasy as she bit once again into her bloody prize. Kuja had seen the expression too many times in his first dragon, Cornelia. He’d brought her the corpses of monsters he’d slaughtered on the way, speaking to her in hushed tones as she nearly purred at his touch…

Kuja spotted the mage just a little out of the dragon’s reach, clutching its hands nervously even as its eyes brightened towards the majestic beast before him. Kuja tilted his head at it, crossing his arms before speaking. ”I told you not to come here.” After a moment, he stepped towards the dragon, admiring its graceful plumage before touching at the soft feathers of her neck. She hardly noticed him through the delight of her food, but made a soft chirp of acknowledgement nonetheless.

”But it seems I needn’t have wasted the breath. I suppose you have a way with animals. Or perhaps just a stupidity brazen enough to approach her.”

Why was he talking? It was mystery even to him. But for once, he didn’t feel particularly hostile towards the puppet before him. Perhaps it was simply his mood.

”To answer your question, she comes and goes as she pleases and more often hunts for herself than not. But she’ll never turn down a treat. Dragons are intelligent creatures and graceful ones at that, but they are still beasts at the end of it all. Food goes a long way to earn their affection.”

Kuja glanced at Vivi, nearly expressionless in his own disinterest. ”And her name is Ava by the way. If you're intent on speaking with her, then you might as well do it right.”

ulla

"To start anew,” the emperor said and then paused thoughtfully. ”Would you create again the path you followed, or perhaps branch down a different one given the choice?”

”Me?” Kuja echoed. ”There’s nothing to change.” Kuja’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a scowl. What had there been but destruction or death? No, Kuja would change nothing if only because there hadn't been a question. Would he lie down and accept his fate or would be rebel against it? There had been nothing to consider. ”No, if I were to somehow fall back in time, I would do it all again. Such a cyclical and pointless fate, but my choices were my own. I wouldn’t retract them.” Kuja’s eyes wandered back to the emperor. ”Though I wonder of you.” He smiled faintly then. To whom did his choices belong?

"Yes this world has provided its challenges, but challenge provides its own rewards if you rise to the occasion."

Kuja raised his eyebrows in surprise. That was the last thing he’d have expected from a man with so little self-awareness as this. Kuja tilted his head, smirking once more. ”Oh yes,” he said. ”I’ve always despised those who were merely handed their status. They will do anything to deny their own good fortune -- too weak to admit that their ill-gotten strength is but a facade. I would much rather a man who started with nothing, though I take no end of amusement watching the self-importance of the nobility crumble to dust.”

Kuja paused. There was that pulse of power again. He turned to search for it and this time found it wasily. A shard of some jewel or another, glowing in an eerie red. His eyes caught in an almost predatory focus. What secrets did it hold?

"Strange how your lust for answers did not take you to the tower with its azure beam ablaze for all to see." The man’s tone was almost mocking, his eyes bright with satisfaction. Kuja felt his lips thin.

”Why rush to the public eye when others will doubtlessly reach it on their own?” Kuja’s gaze cooled as he eyed the jewel shard. An eidolon piece, perhaps? It looked nothing like Alexander. ”Besides, I act only on my own whims and no one else’s. Though it’s fortunate that so many are willing to become pawns in another’s game.”

The memory still burned hot to the touch. A voice -- so familiar, why was did it fill him with hate? -- seizing his mind in all its merciless might. He’d stumbled and fallen to his knees, gritting his teeth against the pounding of his head. Garland. The thought came on instinct and stole his breath, but no. This was a different master that sought to claim him as its own. His hands had tightened until his nails drew blood. No. That would be its final mistake.

"Alas the challenges of this world may have finally produced fruit for me." The would-be emperor held the shard aloft as though to display the full extent of its power. He did not remove it from his neck, however, and Kuja fought the urge to snatch it away. ”A promise of power it was, but when the reward was reaped it presented itself in such a form. Perhaps you know something of its origin and perhaps it might provide you with some answers of your own?"

Kuja let out a breath. The man would be a fool to trust him, and an even greater fool to reveal his own prize. That meant that he was truly clueless as to its true nature. He was nothing but a mindless pawn.

”I have a history with jewels such as those.” Kuja tried to keep his voice steady. He wondered how much of his hunger slipped through the cracks of his control. ”At first glance, I’d assume it’s a summoner’s stone, but I can’t know for certain.” He smirked humorlessly. ”Do you mind?” It wasn’t a question. He stepped forward and eyed the stone closer. Its power was almost palpable now, a tension in the air that hummed at his fingertips. The man must have lacked any aptitude in magic not to sense it crying out for release. Kuja paused before reaching out to touch its surface.

Its power was like an electric shock. It surged through him, racking his body with pain and magic and something else -- colors in a flood of cool blue, glistening orange, and crimson red. The red was what lingered. A burst of shattering light and a swathe of feathers that scattered like raindrops or was he falling? He felt the whistling of wind, the nausea of vertigo, and then-

This is not yours to take.

Kuja recoiled away, breaths uneven, heart pounding. He raised his hand defensively as he stared at the thing. Had it just rejected him?

His laughter started quiet, weak behind the back of his hand. Then it grew louder as his fingers slid up to tangle through his hair and louder still as he tilted his head back in wild abandon. So that was the way of it. He would gain nothing at all after all of his plots and his schemes and his self-acquired magic while this worthless nothing of a man-

Was awarded for his obedience like a dog praised for learning a new trick. His tongue soured with disgust. That power would never be his.

His laughter faded as his hand fell back to his side. If that was the price to pay then he had little interest. Though Kuja had yet to find a barrier without some way to breach it.

”It seems that your crystal has chosen its master.” And so had Mateus. That pitiful wretch of a man. ”It carries a frightening power, though I doubt its at full strength in that form. Even so, I think I can help to unlock its secrets. Without touching it, of course.” Kuja’s expression bittered as he looked to the jewel again. His fingers were still trembling, and he clasped them together to keep them steady. ”But I’d want something in return. Nothing too arduous, of course, but merely a fraction of your spoils. I have no doubts it can grant you the power you seek, but its magic seems disposable. It longs to free itself, and I doubt the same spell would work twice. If you should use it for your own gains, you would need more than that magic to sustain you. You’d need something more...An army perhaps…”

Kuja let his eyes drift from the emperor to the waxing moon. ”If given the chance, would you repeat your old ways? I wonder.” Kuja looked back to Mateus and smiled. ”If it’s power you seek, I can grant it to you and provide you with all the means to protect it. You can have your fame and your status -- I care little for such things -- but you would share with me your wealth and listen when I advise you. What’s been given can so easily be taken away.”

Kuja straightened, tilting his head in inquiry. ”Well?” The question was shrouded in shadow and the silver reflections of the moon. ”What is your answer?”

ulla

The emperor jerked upright at the sound of Kuja’s voice. Apparently he’d been asleep afterall, and looked blearily at him even as he jumped to his feet and made some token effort to make himself look presentable. It was in vain, however. Free of his golden armor or his noble’s silks, the emperor appeared just as common as everyone else. His plain clothes hung off him at odd angles, his make-up was long worn away, and his long hair was tangled from laying about in the wind. Yet still, there was that odd sense of pride in him that brought Kuja’s lips to the edges of laughter.

There were those who had fought for eloquence and higher standing and then there were those who were merely handed it on a silver plate. Kuja was the first, and the emperor was undoubtedly the latter. What a shock his own mediocrity must have been.

"Kuja?" Mateus blinked at him in mild confusion, but he seemed to recognize him nonetheless. Of course he did. Kuja wasn’t one often forgotten. ”Excuse my ill manners. It seems you've caught me at a rather unflattering occasion.”

”Do you find yourself sleeping on benches often these days?” Kuja let his eyes sweep slowly over the emperor from his tarnished boots to his wiry hair. ”What a tragedy to have fallen upon such piteous circumstances as this.”

Kuja paused. There it was again, that strange power crackling between them. It had come from the emperor -- Kuja was certain of that -- and yet, there was no consistent flow to it. No usual rhythm like the pounding of a beating heart. This was erratic. Tense. Kuja’s eyes narrowed slightly as he sought its source.

How could he ask without setting off the man’s suspicions?

Mateus straightened his clothes before asking, "Have you come to seek your answers once more?"

”So I have.” Kuja tossed one final, inquisitive look towards the power’s source before turning away to consider the night sky. The stars sparkled like pinpricks in black velvet. ”This place is the center of it all. Of that, I’m sure. I’ve made some progress, but I’ve concerned myself with more mortal matters as of late. Power and wealth and the sort. Soon, I think I shall acquire both.”

Kuja tossed his loose hair over his shoulders and hummed to himself in thought. ”I’ve started to wonder if it might not be better to remain here on this world. I must say, it is far easier to start clean than it would be to return to a reputation of infamy. And if time is really so fluid...If there’s an ending I’ve forgotten…” Kuja felt his lips purse. ”Well, then I suppose my work there is already done. I would like to have remembered it though. Leaving it like this is…unsatisfying.”

Kuja muffled his own scowl as he turned to face Mateus again. The sight of him brought the shadow of a smirk to his lips. There were some who could adapt better than others.

”And you? I see you’ve met, well, challenging times.”

ulla

“My appearance interests you.” The man -- Seymour -- was watching him with a knowing expression. Not judgmental, merely aware in a kind of passive way that pierced through pretense. Kuja paused. He wasn’t used to this level of perception. He couldn’t decide whether it was a welcome change or simply unnerving.

Seymour expanded upon his origins. Of his mixed race and the hardships of it. Kuja’s tail twitched at the story, though he refused to empathize further. There was a reason he posed as human.

The man slipped past him, approaching the gate with cautious, thoughtful steps. Kuja stepped back, crossing his arms as he watched him work. Seymour certainly seemed attuned to magic. In fact, he seemed almost overtaken by his senses as he closed his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose as though feeling its energy rather than inspecting the gate itself. After a moment, Seymour opened his eyes again, straightening as he reached towards it in interest.

“It is...intricate, as if whomever created it took great care to ensure it was precisely the way it was intended to be.” His voice was low, almost revenant with the power of the ancient relic before them. ”But it is also a labyrinth of complexities, shrouded in mystery. Perhaps as a security measure, or a trial, to identify any unworthy of accessing its power?”

”A security measure?” Kuja touched at his bottom lip, eyebrows twitching into a furrow. He hadn’t considered that possibility. Though it was certainly possible that Seymour was wrong -- particularly with so little time to examine it -- there was something about his confidence that made that seem unlikely. First impressions often held their worth when it came to magic, after all. But if it was a trial…

”Then how does one prove himself worthy?” It was not a question that expected an answer. Kuja had plotted so long as to how the portal should be activated that he’d never stopped to consider any further obstructions that he might face. What trials might lie beyond that veil? The possibilities were endless.

Seymour turned to face him, the mask of eloquence already replacing his earlier curiosity. He thanked Kuja for his offer of aid and then paused. A brief flickering of pain crossed his eyes before he’d cleared it once more. ”I confess, I know little of this world, and would gratefully accept any insight you would be willing to share,” he continued. ”Perhaps you could even tell me more of this Alexandria of yours.” Seymour smiled at him then in a way that could have meant anything. Kuja smiled back, the shadow of a smirk touching at his lips. The man’s expressions were like looking into a mirror -- albeit it a distorted one. Kuja flipped his hair over his shoulder and began a few thoughtful paces past him.

”This world,” Kuja started. ”Is the center of everything.” He stopped, tilting his head up to admire the rays of the rising moon. How odd it was to bear witness to just the one -- bathing in silver light rather than red or blue. ”Perhaps you have noticed in your time here or perhaps I am the first you’ve met of any significant standing. But you and I were hardly the only called here, and few share a background the same as any other.”

Kuja glanced back at Seymour, his usual smile faded. ”I know nothing of ‘Yevon’ or ‘Guado’ or anything else by which you might identify yourself. This world is a gathering place for wandering souls torn from their proper stories by forces unimaginable. And before you ask, I’ve found myself as lost as you.” Kuja sighed, shaking his head before turning to face Seymour again.

”The world I last knew was one comprised of warring kingdoms and suffocating beneath a mist of stagnant souls. I rose to the rank of nobility in the kingdom of Alexandria by my own hand, providing them with weapons and knowledge they couldn’t have come by alone.” Kuja paused, considering the doomed kingdom he’d infiltrated, emboldened, and then destroyed with the same breath. ”Alexandria was a trite place concerned only with appearance and headed by a queen driven only by gluttonous desires. Its very power was itself a facade, but one that sought to consume until truth was but a fading dream.” Kuja smirked with a bitterness unbefitting his own grace. ”In truth, I hardly miss it.”

”And what of you?” Kuja tilted his head in interest. ”Your world. Not that it matters much here, but I can’t deny my own curiosity.” He smiled again, all traces of darkness banished once more. ”What have you left behind?”

ulla