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year 5, quarter 3
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The girl, Sherlotta apparently (How had he forgotten? It must have been stated during that odd time when his mind was still reeling), told him all about the crystal in her hand though she conveniently told him nothing of any real use. It was a relic from her world and something that had once acted as a fuel as common as Mist. The thought gave him ideas (Could it be used that way again? And for what?) but that was nothing compared to the parable that came next.
It was a cautionary tale about greed and the lust for power. Apparently a single man had stolen all of the crystals for himself so as to assure his own immortality -- but once obtained he was but the only immortal left. It was a tragic tale certainly and one that wouldn’t have made for a terrible play, but Kuja could only smirk at the stupidity of it all. Was such a brilliant mind expected to let the products of his own work go to waste? And wasn’t it only natural to seek immortality above all else? Oh, she told him he’d been twisted by it. And he could read the thematic significance of the dangers of loneliness should one overextend oneself to the detriment of all others, but the whole ordeal sounded perfectly natural to him. If he was truly such a brilliant mind, he should have made other immortals in his image if the loneliness was too much for him.
Sherlotta, it seemed, was from the middle of nowhere and the inheritor of nothing. She told him how her idiotic people had found a crystal and simply left it there unsalvaged and unutilized in the middle of the forest. Oh, it gave them passive good fortune, she stated, but somehow he doubted that any of that came from the crystal itself rather than the mere perception of it. Humans had a way of believing anything if you told them so, and a relic as powerful as that must have had a way of sparking the imagination. Still, that was all the girl would tell him before she changed the subject.
"I'd ask if you knew anything about these designs, but from your assumption of my story, I assume we're in the same boat? Which would make these tales as foreign to you as they are to me."
”Hm?” Ah yes, the ruins. Honestly, Kuja hadn’t been paying much attention to them since he was all but assured a more productive excursion at a later time, but he eyed them curiously just for show. The walls here were littered with murals and mosaics -- chipped and worn by time. It was a standard affair really about some heroic venture or another, and he honestly couldn’t have cared less. Ancient civilizations were all so similar after all -- Gaian, Terran, or otherwise -- but he glanced over them regardless in the hopes of finding something worthwhile. It wasn’t as though ancient legends had never led him to power before.
”I’m unfamiliar with the myths of this land, yes,” he started slowly. ”But from experience, I’d say that the people here are just as unfamiliar. There are certain designs that are common across human history, however. This symbol here, for instance, is often associated with the sun. Its prevalence across the mosaics would seem to suggest some kind of light motif -- perhaps meant to portray purity or worth. In most of these murals, there appear to be at least four figures present, but the most focused upon is the one holding the flame. Again, that could symbolize either light or literal magic though I quite doubt the second.”
He talked without any real mind for his words. His thoughts came as quickly as his tongue could move, and he had no reason to filter between them. Already, his eyes were sharpening on the next scene -- a puzzle like any other. ”These figures are represented as almost demigods though whether that resulted in actual worship is hard to say. They appear to have battled draconian beasts of air and water, which I will accept in the literal current circumstances considered. And they themselves appear to have practiced a form of ritual worship towards a gemstone of some kind. You can see the motif present behind them in several of these murals as though the voice of a god spurring them forward. In fact, it doesn’t look entirely dissimilar to…” He glanced back at her, eyes flicking from the relic in her hand to the carving on the wall. ”Well, to your crystal,” he said before continuing on.
”What coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
Except that he didn’t believe in coincidence. Not when this world had already proven to be nothing but a thematic mix of every other dimension smashed together. The similarities didn’t necessarily mean anything, but it wasn’t necessarily unrelated either. Only time would tell, he supposed, if a rock motif was merely a rock or something far more significant.
The Mist had grown thicker here, almost solid in the darkness. Without the girl’s crystal, it would have been suffocating, but as it was it was merely an anomaly. How deep had they ventured by now? Were they farther underground now or was it merely an illusion? Kuja had explored the depths of these ruins once before, but he couldn’t remember their end -- just that he’d stumbled upon a tunnel far too precarious to venture any further. Still, he couldn’t help but peer into the darkness as they moved. The Mist brought with it a sense of unease, and with it, the feeling of being watched.
”Did you hear that?” Kuja paused and raised his flame above him, but the light couldn’t penetrate the fog. ”It sounded like...footsteps.”
Footsteps, yes, but not the human kind. This came more as the lumbering kind backed by weight and the purchase of scrabbling claws. Kuja glanced at the girl and then to their surroundings. With the walls as ruined as they were, he couldn’t risk a higher degree of magic without the possibility of collapsing it all upon them. ”Can you clear the fog?” He kept his voice to a terse whisper. ”We’re nearly blind.”
”I was born with this power. In a world far away from here.” The girl’s eyes had lost their focus. Her mind was somewhere else. ”Then I was taken and turned into a mindless soldier who knew nothing but battle and war. Controlled underneath a madman’s command.” Kuja paused, eyes darting to her in interest. A mindless soldier. Controlled by a madman. There was too much to consider. Too many possibilities. What were her powers then? Could they be removed? Perhaps controlled again? But as she continued, going on about her freedom and subsequent struggle against her captors, Kuja couldn’t help the feeling of unease that twinged at his soul.
A mindless soldier controlled by a madman. It was familiar. Far too familiar in that horrible way he’d almost grown accustomed to now.
Did he know this girl?
”As for fearing my power, it is not a fear for myself. I fear what it is that I could do to people. As…” The girl trailed off, glancing over her shoulder suddenly as though they were being watched. Kuja looked there as well, but there was nothing but the two of them alone in the darkness. His eyes darted back to her again, cold with interest and the answers he quietly demanded. What was she talking about? And who was she? The questions burned within him so forcefully that it was almost painful. How did he know her?
“I will just show you why it is I know that others would fear me,” she said, and he blinked in surprise. Show him? They’d hardly spoken, and here she was apparently ready to spill her secrets to him. At first, he wasn’t quite sure what she meant to do as nothing seemed to change, but then he noticed the subtle tension of the air, a slight spark across her fingertips -- purple.
”What exactly do you mean to-?” he started, but didn’t need to finish. It happened in almost the blink of an eye.
Where there had once been a timid and unassuming girl, there now stood a monster.
She was unmistakably feminine in form, but entirely inhuman with her lavender fur, clawed limbs, and angled face. Her fur struck out at odd angles tinted with magic like an aurora. Her eyes glinted with that same magic, and Kuja winced as they met his. A trance. He was all too familiar with the sight of it. With the taste of that magic and of its effects, but there was something else that struck him then along side it. Something painful that sent his heart racing.
He’d seen this before. Where had he seen this before?
“And this is the reason why I try to stay in control.” She gave him an almost sad smile. ”Most of those here… Would recoil in fear just from my simple appearance let alone the magic I have coursing through me while I look like this.” She raised a hand and cradled a flame in her palm -- much as he had. His eyes shot from the flame to her eyes.
Shut up!
He wanted to scream it at her, to strike that familiar voice from his mind so he could finally think and perhaps even remember. But she hadn’t moved and attacking her would do nothing. So instead he touched at the bridge of his nose, took a steadying breath, and collected himself.
He was better than this. Better than lashing out in crude and unimaginative violence. He had no idea why she’d shown him this or why she thought he might react in anything but horror, but that was beside the point now. If he laid bare his hostility…
Why, then he’d never learn anything.
”My apologies. I was merely…shocked.” By something far different than her actual form, but the excuse would stand. ”Where I’m from, such powers are not…uncommon. We call it the power of trance, and my brother-” His tongue nearly soured on the word. ”Has a tranced form not entirely dissimilar from yours.”
Yes, he’d had plenty of time to become acquainted with Zidane’s trance. It seemed Kuja couldn’t toss a single mistspawn his way without the boy bursting in a ball of pink fluff. Kuja willed the darkness from his eyes before tossing back his hair and angling his chin to look at her closer.
”Have we...met before?” His eyes flicked from the flame in her palm to her yellowed eyes. His stomach churned with the a hideous sense of deja vu. ”If I may be frank, something about you strikes a chord with my hazy memories. Like most here, I’ve lost my fair share. But you…” His eyes flicked over her again. ”I wonder if this is truly our first conversation.”
A girl stepped from the shadows as though they’d engulfed her. She was small, poised weakly beneath her over-large cape, scarves, and bangles. She watched him apprehensively, one hand at her chest and the other clutched tightly at her side. She seemed cautious by nature. A girl rather than a woman without a strong will of her own. As she stepped forward, her hair slipped from its tie in thick coils -- emerald.
”I apologize if you were meaning to be alone sir,” she started quietly. ”I just happened to be here attempting to find something and there… is just something about this place. Something that drew me here.”
There was something about that voice that he didn't like. Something weak and tragic, and worst of all apologetic. He hadn’t shown her so much as a critical word, and already she was asking his forgiveness simply for existing. And yet, he found something almost pleasant about her presence. Something...alluring.
”You needn’t apologize.” He cast her a polite smile, slipping into his nobleman’s guise as easily as a silk robe. ”I was merely taken aback. It isn’t the most common waking hour, is it?” He swept his hand from her to the arch, looking up to it in interest as she brought attention to it. ”I, too, could hardly stay away. So much so that I came in the middle of the night.” He shook his head. ”Such is the curse of curiosity.”
But she’d moved past him now, reaching for the ruins as though to touch an old friend. As her hand finally met the stone, a spark burst from her fingertips much as it had from his own. Kuja paused, his eyes raptly on hers as she recoiled and pulled back, clutching at her own chest in fear. This girl had a power of her own, and what’s more, she couldn’t control it.
The magic. It had come from her.
”Sorry about that,” the words stumbled over themselves in a rush of nerves. ”I usually control myself better than that.”
Control. Then it was something she hadn’t mastered. Something that she could barely contain. His eyes flicked from the arch to the girl once again before he slowly shook his head.
What kind of astounding fortune had he stumbled into?
”Please, don’t apologize.” He tilted his head and fixed her with a look that he hoped carried some manner of concern. ”I’m a mage myself, you see. I know how difficult it can be to wield such power. To carry the wrath of the elements at your fingertips? It’s a heavy burden and one too often overlooked.” He brought his hand before him and willed his own magic to his fingers. It sparked a purple current between his nails, humming with latent power put to too weak a use.
”Have you studied magic or were you merely born with it?” Kuja let out a soft and almost tragic sigh. ”It ran naturally through my blood, but took countless years of practice to bring under my command. It’s a destructive force, but also a natural one.” His eyes caught on hers. Purple. How very odd. ”With the proper will, there's nothing to fear.”
”My, my, folktales not your forte, sir?” The girl gave a haughty and infuriating laugh. ”The black cat, the shapeshifting, the stunningly youthful looks and lofty air?" She raised her head then like a debutant at the peak of her own ball. "I'm a bona-fide witch if you ever saw one. I've even been known to boil a few children on occasion."
”A...witch?” Kuja eyed her uncertainly, eyebrow raised in confusion. ”You mean a mage?” The description sounded ridiculous. Complete and utter trash that could only thrive on the whispers of the paranoid and uneducated. Magic was not some incomprehensible force beyond the control of mortals -- at least not mortals of any decent mind. It was as structured as science and just as simple to control once its limits were learned. ”I’m afraid there’s no such thing as ‘witches.’ Whatever you do to children on your own time is completely irrelevant.” Not the most concerned of answers, perhaps, but he was quickly losing his patience.
She went on to tell him about the plague she’d mentioned before. It was like nothing she’d ever seen. It was an assault on every sense, changing its victims into something monstrous, it seemed. Kuja didn’t particularly care, really, except that he’d have to avoid Provo for some time if this continued. Still, she wanted his opinion on the matter, and he supposed it wasn’t unwarranted.
”It could be anything,” he said with a wave of his hand. ”Magic, certainly, but your symptoms were hardly specific. If anything, a spiritual change might suggest a dysfunction of the soul. But there’s no use guessing without real evidence.”
He didn’t know if she cared for his answer. He certainly didn’t, but it he might as well try to maintain pretenses. It wasn’t until she took her stone back that anything particularly caught his interest. Not until she made well on her promise to make the trek into the temple’s labyrinth somehow easier.
She brought her hand to her chest, clasped it there as though grabbing onto something ethereal, and then pulled and with it came something that shimmered in the dull light like shards of glass. She made another motion with her hand, and the shards melded together into one, complete whole. Kuja stared at the thing floating before him, taken aback by its radiance, by its power, by the very way the air changed around them. ”Among other things, I can clear the air. As accustomed to it as you seem, I imagine some fresh air would do you better than inhaling this mist, no?"
Kuja’s eyes flicked to the girl before returning to the impossible artifact she held before her. It could control the Mist. Whatever it was -- be it some feat of technology, sorcery, or condensed magic itself -- that was something nearly unheard of. Something that could clear the Mist could certainly bring it forth or at the very least make living in it far more sustainable. What other powers did it possess, he wondered? And how was it so connected to her?
So many questions raced through his mind, that he nearly forgot to maintain his composure. Even still, his expression defaulted to one of thoughtful interest. Curiosity rather than hunger. He’d trained himself well to never reveal his desires in public.
”How useful.” Kuja’s words came stiffer than he would have liked. Distracted. ”It’s hard to say the exact properties of the mist, but it can’t be beneficial.” Of course not. Kuja could practically taste the anguish of lost souls on his tongue. Or he had before she’d activated her crystal. Kuja glanced at it again. How much more use would it give him than her? How had she extracted it from herself and could it be removed without damaging the relic? There were too many variables and too many of them ended in losing the very prize he sought, but one things was for certain.
Fortune had smiled upon him this day, and he’d hardly fail to take advantage of it.
”Well then. Shall we?” He shot her wry smile before sauntering forward, out of the nook he’d been clearing and further into the darkness. He kept his hand before him, and within it a weak flame that illuminated their path. He made certain to stay close to the girl -- both for the benefits of clean air and to be certain she wouldn’t slip away into the shadows. How many ruins had he explored just like this? There was that labrinth beneath the Metaia Temple, the catacombs of the Dragon’s Gate, and long before any of that there were the countless hours he’d spent renovating his Desert Palace or venturing into Terra’s elemental shrines. The experience was almost mundane for him. Here was crumbling rock, there a mysterious altar to gods lost to time, and far in the distance the sounds of scuttling which could have come from monster or pest. This time, it wasn’t his surroundings that set him on edge, but rather his company and the plans he had for her.
How was he to be rid of her? For once, he’d been caught off guard without the time to plot. He didn’t know what exactly he’d find at the bottom of their path, and he hadn’t been granted the time to plan for every contingency. As such, there was little more he could do but speculate and take advantage of whatever situation might come. And if there was none, he supposed it had been quite some time since he’d dirtied his hands himself. It was a dangerous gamble, but one he thought worth the risk.
Had he gone too quiet? That wouldn’t do. ”You haven’t told me your name.” He glanced to her as though he had any interest for her personal life. ”Or how you manage to wield such a…useful artifact. Is such a thing common where you’re from? I’ve certainly never seen anything like it.” His eyes darted to the crystal again before he directed his attention forward again. ”Or anything like you, as a matter of fact.”
I FINALLY DID THE THING. I deserve all the grumbling you feel like giving me. xD
Why should the world exist without me?
It felt good to be out of the desert. Like a bird in flight after months underground. Like the first breath of air after years of stagnation. Kuja had lost himself in his plots and experiments and machinations, and with hardly a thing to show for it but some extra gil and a few ideas without form or essence. If he hadn’t already scheduled this outing a month ago, he might not have ever emerged from his haven underground. How pitiful he’d be then. A slave to intellect. A prisoner to his own ambitions.
Ridiculous. He’d never let that happen.
It had been months since he’d last made a visit to the Crystalus Divider. Months he’d spent establishing new bases, recruiting new allies, and collecting the wealth necessary for both. Even so, he hadn’t forgotten the gate he’d once been drawn to or the way it reacted after his foray with the dragons. It was the most conspicuous landmark on this accursed planet, and was one worth his time and attention. Perhaps the inkling of power he’d felt here before would have faded by now or perhaps there would be no sign of change at all. Either way, he needed to test it. To examine it and record his findings. It was a taxing task, but one made far less time-consuming by his chosen medium of transportation.
’There.’ The word came slick on his tongue. Not in the vulgar tones of common Gaian, but in Terran -- a language more suited for psychic connections. ’Descend now. We’ll land shortly.’
His dragon gave a short huff of approval and angled her wings into a sloping decline. Kuja eyed the horizon, twirling feathers between his fingers to pass the time. Night had fallen some time before, but he rather enjoyed the mask of darkness and the silver light of the half-moon. It felt far more natural to him to slip between shadows -- as mysterious and unknowable as the starlit sky. This was a time for deception, and when the light of the sun meant nothing to him, he far preferred it to the pretenses of daylight.
His dragon landed about a quarter of a mile away from the Divider’s main compound. Crumbling ruins lined the road as he approached, but they were not what he was after. The main arch -- the one he’d seen react only months before -- was located at the very center of the campsite, crowded in idiot priests, wayward tourists, and travelers he had no reason to associate with. The place was known as a haven against the planet’s onslaught of monsters, and so his dragon kept her distance lest they set their human obstacles on guard. As it was, Kuja attracted only the usual number of eyes as he sauntered past insomniacs, patrolmen, and the easily woken. They watched him warily, but had no reason to obtrude upon his time. And so he moved on.
The air changed as Kuja approached the divider. It was charged with something. Tense. The fur on his tail bristled at the change, and he slowed his pace, eyeing the towering figure in the distance. Magic. He touched the arch when he reached it, but it didn’t react. Not like it had in those first weeks upon the release of the Dragon’s Gate. There were the same runes he’d already examined dozens of times. There was that same sense of dimensional anomaly, but there was nothing to explain the sheer energy he felt thick in the air and sharp on his tongue. He brought his own magic to his fingers and touched at the side of the arch itself. It glimmered a little. A small, green spark that traveled from his finger to the ruins’ midpoint twenty feet above him. But it did nothing else, he felt no further change.
Infuriating. His eyebrows furrowed with the cool narrowing of his eyes. Obtuse. He knew there was power here, so why couldn’t he find it?
Then he paused, hand still outstretched. 'Perhaps,' he thought. 'Perhaps it wasn’t the portal at all.' He glanced behind him, turning slowly on his heel. His eyes scanned the landscape around him, but there were too many ruins, too many crumbling walls, too many forms only a short way in the distance and the moonlight wasn’t nearly enough to examine them all. He kept his voice low as he called into the darkness, one hand raised in apprehension. ”Is someone there?”
”You’d prefer I leave?” The girl shrugged her shoulders and leaned casually against the wall. ”Well, I could but…” Kuja’s eyes narrowed as the word trailed into implications. But she couldn’t leave without discovering the source of that illness. But she was too ill-equipped to handle it alone. And by the way, wouldn’t he help her get to the bottom of it all? Her eyes glinted with the stubborn will of a zhagnol, and he swore she was three times as unpleasant. This girl was a curse sent from the fates themselves to stand in his way, and she was enjoying every second of her accursed, bull-headed waste of his time.
She watched him as though his reactions were that of an actor beneath a rising curtain -- seeking to entertain. He watched her as though she were a particularly verminous oglop beneath the heel of his boot. Something about her irked him beyond just the scope of her words. Something about her jaded tone far too old for the voice that carried it or the subtle, twitching sway of her tail. It all felt familiar -- far too familiar -- with that smug air of forbidden knowledge beneath a mop of silver hair.
He didn’t trust it.
”You want to delve deeper?” He tilted his head, leaning his chin against the back of his hand. ”Why, I’d hardly recommend that. Who knows what kind of monsters could be lurking in the mist? Or something far worse?” His eyes drifted to the darkness behind her before lingering once again on that pretentious, insufferable girl. She pulled something from her pouch beyond all the ruffles and stripes and hideous ribbons. It glinted blue in her hand when she turned it in the light of his magic. A small stone about the size of a children’s marble.
"The mist thickens considerably as you go deeper, though. Progress would be slow…” she said as though she knew more about it than he did. Of course it would be slow. He’d dealt with it all day and his fur was already standing on end. ”So in return, I believe I could assist with that. Tit-for-tat, yes? And don't worry, I can be quiet when I want to be. I'll barely be a distraction for you."
’Too late,’ Kuja wanted to say, but he was quickly distracted as the girl made a wild fumble with her marble. It rolled towards him and stopped almost precisely at the tip of his boot. Kuja’s lips thinned as he looked at the thing. A useless child’s toy. And this girl claimed she could help him?
”It’s hard to make deals without knowing the details, wouldn’t you agree?” His eyes swept over her again. ”How am I to trust you when I haven’t the faintest idea who -- or indeed what -- you are?” The thought passed as quickly as Mist on the wind. Did it matter if she could help? If he chose to make this his workshop, then he couldn’t let her leave alive. Not someone so infuriatingly persistent. And would it not help his cause to take her deeper where she’d be far more distracted by whatever might lurk beneath?
”Hm. Though it seems you’ll leave me no room for argument, will you?” His smirk came slightly bitter this time. If she simply chose to leave, he’d leave her to his dragon and that would be that. But of course she wouldn’t. He’d somehow raised her suspicions and she’d follow him until the gates of Hell, it seemed.
Well. He certainly hope she appreciated the view once she got there.
”A truce then?” He moved his hand to capture the marble in his magic, but then thought better of it -- kneeling instead so as not to alert her to the extent of his powers. ”If you’re so insistent upon it. Tell me, is this illness really so-?” He touched the marble. Not a stone, but something cold. Something alive. His eyes widened as it flowed through him. Magic. Pure magic like the core of the planet made manifest. He’d only felt this once before when he’d held…
The eidolon stones. His eyes darted back to the girl before he enclosed the marble in the palm of his hand. He willed the expression from his eyes. The confusion, the interest, the excitement -- all of it gone as he straightened again. He’d only frozen for a few seconds. There had only been the slightest indication of his surprise. He musn’t show her he’d noticed anything at all -- but even still, his heart raced with the power of the incredible thing in his hand.
The essence of magic. How was that even possible?
”Sorry. I thought I felt something...odd.” He held out his hand, offering the stone to her again. ”Try not to drop anything on our way, won’t you? I’d hate to be compromised by clumsiness.” His breaths were controlled even as he longed to gaze upon the stone. To study it. What could an accomplished mage manage with this kind of energy? What could he do if he concentrated it down to essence? ”Now then. What were you saying about assisting me?”
It had been the wrong thing to say. He knew that immediately, though he couldn't say as to why. The moment the words were out of his mouth, the girl's expression changed. Cold. Careful. Everything that Kuja had been trying to avoid. Then came her retort. "Not that I credit my own knowledge above yours, scholar," she started, eyes flicking to his distrustfully. "Though the intrigues of your type have very, very rarely been the same as innocence in my experience."
Kuja's lips thinned as he appraised her. He was really beginning to loathe this girl.
She stepped forward, clutching the crystal in her hand even tighter. Something in her responded to the touch, and Kuja had to will the curiosity from his eyes. Just who was she? What was she? He didn't have even a guess, not for this mysterious girl with the jaded eyes of an old woman who went creeping about ancient temples for fun. Kuja had never put much stock into age (how could he when his body never changed?), but she looked like she couldn't have been older than seventeen -- and that was pushing it. So what experience was she speaking from? And how exactly did she know anything of his intentions?
Hidden in its skirt, he felt his tail twitch his unease. Or perhaps his irritation. Yes, it was far more likely the second.
The girl explained that she'd come to find the source of the fog. It was believable enough, though Kuja could only wonder was to how she'd stumbled upon the source. He'd used his natural sensitivity for souls to guide him where the fog ran thickest, but what power did she hold to lead her this far? She didn't say, but told him there was some kind of unnatural illness going around that she thought might be related to it. Kuja highly doubted that to be true, but could only tilt his head in interest at the news of such an illness. What had she meant by "nothing natural?"
There was a long silence between them as they each appraised the other. A quiet, contemplative moment as thick with suspicion as the air was with fog. Kuja felt his tail twitch again at the sight of her. Just who did she think she was?
She went on as though she hadn't just skewered his attempted innocence. She said she was "quite happy to be here" or as happy as she could be, given the environment. "Putrid. To be honest, it reminds me of home. The trees, the solitude, the creeping, highly-toxic, mirage-inducing fog..." Kuja eyed her carefully. That certainly seemed...specific. And familiar. What were the chances of a Gaian being sent here -- perhaps one from the Mist-laden lowlands? What were the chances that another world existed that fit those criteria? Either way, it all seemed far too...coincidental.
"Perhaps we should start with names?" The girl spread her arms, allowing the crystal to float freely again. For not the first time, he wondered what it was made of. What were its properties? Its uses? But he banished the thoughts as quickly as they'd come. If the situation turned hostile, perhaps he'd find out. Until then, it was best to bide his time. "I'm Sherlotta. Currently, miser by trade. Curious by nature. Though, the latter seems to come with the body." Something moved behind her. Kuja's eyes caught on it, narrowing as he tried to make sense of the thing.
It swished first one way, then the other. Kuja's stomach chilled at the sight of it. That movement was all too familiar. Far too familiar in a way that cooled his eyes and brought his nails into the flesh of his palm. This girl had a tail.
Kuja's attention was so caught on the thing (What did it mean? Where had she come from? What on earth were the chances of it being unrelated?) that he nearly missed when she asked his name. It was only her mockery that wrenched his attention back to her words. "And you...? Mister...? Doctor...? Professor...? Maybe, pope...?"
His nails dug deeper into his skin. His eyes lit with cool fire. He hated this girl and her every smug, incendiary word. She was a brat, plain and simple, and one that he longed to send flying into the opposite wall on a bolt of lightning. Still, there was nothing to be gained from losing his composure. That would only give her the satisfaction of victory.
So he took a short breath, considered his words carefully, and answered. "I'm known by many trades. Sorcery. Engineering. Arms dealing. Anything that piques my interest, really." He glanced at her before touching at his chin and sending her a cool smile. "My name is Kuja." He kept his eyes on her, searching for any sign of recognition. "It's been a pleasure meeting someone as well-mannered and pleasant as yourself. Truly." He laughed quietly under his breath before waving her off with a casual flick of his wrist. "But as you might imagine, I'm quite busy and I can only guess that you haven't the time to waste either. So I'm afraid I must cut this short. If you would...?" He gestured towards the hallway behind her and fixed her with a pleasant smile that never reached his eyes.
”I can’t help but think you don’t appear dressed for the weather.” There was that voice again, feminine, young, and hopelessly brash. Kuja’s lips thinned at the words before he realized that they hadn’t come from some distant shadows, but rather, from right in front of him. ”Although, functionalities aside, a dragon is quite an interesting pet.” His eyes landed once again on the cat. He watched it carefully, uncertain. But it couldn’t be…
But it was. The cat had already opened its mouth again, and with it came that voice, barking in time with the cat’s movements. ”Pair that with the whole skulking-around-in-cursed-ruins thing and well, don’t you just scream nefarious?”
Kuja stared at the thing, frozen, mouth almost slack. For once, he was without words. The cat was speaking to him.
It padded around him, looking him up and down with an almost haughty air. Its eyes caught on his hand. ”My, my. Were you honestly going to blast away a little girl with that? How cold.” Kuja blinked and glanced down at his fingers – still sparking with magic. Either he’d forgotten to extinguish it or they’d flared with his own unease. He quelled their power before looking back to the cat and—
Gone. Kuja stared at the empty space where the cat had once been. What on all Gaia and Hell was going on here?
Kuja let out a breath and touched at his forehead. Was he seeing things? He’d heard terrible rumors about the effect of this fog – how it induced ghostly visions in those too engrained in it. He’d dismissed it all as superstitious nonsense, but perhaps it did carry some hallucinogenic properties? It wasn’t Mist after all, and he couldn’t speak to its potency. This would require further tests. Many further tests, and he’d need to make certain the effects weren’t dangerous before he continued work here. But what on earth had he seen?
Footsteps. Kuja jerked to attention, hand raised defensively, but he saw no monster, no cat, no threat. All that approached was, in fact, a young girl. ”Clearly, you must know what you’re doing around here.” Her voice was the same as he’d heard before. The same he’d heard from the cat. ”Or you’re just really, really dumb. Care to tell me what shadowy dealings you’re doing down here?”
Kuja’s lips pursed. There was too much to unpack here and too little he understood. She certainly didn’t seem threatening with her girlish face and garish outfit decorated with far too much ribbon. At a surface level glance, she looked no more dangerous than a child but for the crystal hovering in her hand. Kuja eyed it carefully. He couldn’t be certain as to its properties, but he knew magic when he saw it. Whatever this girl was, whatever was going on, he thought it best to tread carefully. At least for now.
”Shadowy dealings?” Kuja blinked his confusion. ”I have my own reasons for coming here. Scholarly curiosity, for instance.” He waved a hand towards the runes etched into the wall behind him. He’d cleared them of debris purely for aesthetics’ sake, but they at least seemed ominous enough to catch anyone’s interest. ”I came to research the source of this strange fog. To be honest, I’m vastly more concerned for you.” He tilted his head at her, eyes wide with the most genuine concern he could muster. ”Do you need help getting back or can you manage it yourself? I wouldn’t want any harm to befall you.”
The temple ran deeper than he’d expected. Without a clock or the light of sun, Kuja couldn’t say how long he’d been at work – exploring, clearing, cleansing, -- but it mattered little to him. He worked to the light of his magic, tireless and unceasing. He discovered cracked mosaics behind walls of ivy, indecipherable runes carved into stone columns, and offering-lined altars that had long since crumbled away. It was all rather mundane for his line of work. He found no secrets, no magic, no legends lurking in long-forgotten shadows. In this place that time had forgotten, there was only shadow, decay, and the ever-present stench of lost souls.
Kuja had always hated Mist. He hated its sickly scent, he hated the tepid taste of it on his tongue, and he hated the touch of it the most – whispering its wordless desires. On Gaia, it was said that exposure to Mist could lead to sickness, insanity, and even death. It was all ignorant nonsense, but Kuja knew the true nature of the evil that idiots thought was natural. Mist was the worst part of souls stripped away and then left to rot. Its whispers could bring out the violent impulses of any human, and that was without the curse of artificial life. For Kuja, the Mist was suffocating. It wanted shelter. It wanted control, and while it didn’t speak in words, he could feel it like a thousand tendrils clawing at the walls of his body. His tail bristled at its touch – disgusting, vile, dead – and while he’d long learned to resist its call, he felt it surround him with every breath he took in this forsaken place.
Perhaps that was why he hadn’t noticed that he was being watched.
He’d seen, heard, and felt no one in the darkness of this place. His dragon hadn’t alerted him of any intruders following behind. And yet, as he inspected the structural integrity of a support beam inside the temple’s lower chamber, there came a voice behind him – insistent and barking in all the wrong ways.
”What are you wearing?”
Kuja tensed at the voice. A dozen questions ran through his mind at once, mostly starting with ’How?’ though occasionally with ’Why?’, ’When?’, or ’What?’. He cursed his own distraction and the obscured psychic link between himself and his dragon. He wondered what on earth someone was doing here (a young girl, if the voice was anything to go by, didn’t she know it was dangerous?) and why they thought it wise to interrupt him. Magic sparked at his hand, but he didn’t dare cast it – not yet. Instead, he straightened, cleared his expression, and turned to face the intruder.
To find…nothing. Kuja blinked, glancing first to his left then to his right, wondering if he’d perhaps imagined it or if the Mist was playing tricks on him before his eyes landed on something lurking in the shadows at less than a foot in height.
Kuja was, in fact, being watched but not in a way he’d suspected. Standing at the other side of the room with its hackles raised and its eyes blazing was a small tuxedo cat.
Kuja raised its eyebrows at it. The thing was obviously someone’s pet from its collar to its bell (how had he missed the sound of it?) to the fat and rather ridiculous bow tied gratuitously around its neck. Kuja glanced around again for its owner, but found nothing hiding in the shadows. His lips thinned. How had a defenseless housecat managed its way this far into a monster-infested forest, and why would anyone have brought it here only to abandon it now?
”Is there someone there?” Kuja tried to keep his voice light and nonthreatening. If there was a lost child somewhere, she certainly wouldn’t show herself if he seemed intimidating. And if she did show herself, well, he’d deal with those consequences when the situation called for it. ”This place is dangerous. You shouldn’t be hiding.”
Just a post opener. Feel free to disrupt him or leave it open for him to find you. His dragon's still lurking outside, but she's cool.
Why should the world exist without me?
The time for scheming had come to an end.
Kuja couldn't say just how long he'd been trapped in this nonsensical world. He could say even less how he'd gotten there, but unlike the other aimless puppets dragged alongside him, Kuja wouldn't stop until the situation had been rectified. He'd spent months gathering information. He'd traveled to every corner of the country researching its every place of power, and with that, he'd secured for himself both transportation and a haven safe from distractions and enemies alike. His home base was more or less livable. He'd gained some manner of wealth from his menial jobs selling charmed trinkets to traders at the edge of the desert. After all of that, there was nothing else he needed but power.
And Kuja knew exactly how to get it.
"Lower." Kuja edged over the side of his dragon, peering at the forest below. A sea of trees rose up to meet him, dark, turbulent, and bristling. His dragon snorted at his command and began her descent towards the treetops. Even from this distance, Kuja could feel the dread of that infernal fog. He saw it creep past branches and pine needles in an all too familiar haze. His neck prickled just looking at it, and Kuja quickly pulled away, scowling in distaste. Kuja had failed to discover the source of the forest's cursed fog, but he knew Mist when he saw it. Somehow, for whatever reason, this place ran thick with the dregs of human souls.
"There." Kuja's eyes caught on a shadow in the distance muddied with fog and crowded by foliage. He directed his dragon towards it, urging her descent as the structure grew closer. She landed delicately in a patch of ivy then lowered herself so that Kuja could slip from her back. Before him stood a structure battered, weathered, and lost to time. This was where the Mist ran thickest, and he'd combed its halls once before in search of the source. He'd never found it, but the structure itself offered him shelter and a certain kind of protection isolated from any would-be heroes who might discover him.
Kuja approached the building cautiously. It was crumbled, certainly, and home to more than a few species of moss, brush, and ivy. From its classical pillars and ornate carvings, Kuja thought it might have once been a temple before the forest had taken it. Now it was nothing but ruins primed for the taking. Kuja raised a hand and muttered a spell beneath his breath. His magic released, and the foliage burned away before him. He stepped through the entrance cautiously, eyes sharp on every shadow and corner. If he wished to make this his new workshop, he'd first need to clear it of any unwanted life. It was, after all, the perfect hideaway for monsters.
By the end of the hour, the ruins were alight with controlled flames and magical residue. Clearing it would take patience, time, and efficiency. Thankfully, Kuja had an abundance of all three.
