Not so very long ago, Kuja had grown to love the desert. He had loved its changing heat, its warm isolation, and the harsh sting of its winds. Kuja had never had a home, but this had proved the closest. He had put more love and work into his masterpiece of a palace than he had in anything else that wasn't necessary for his survival. Yes, that place had almost been a home. With its marble halls, brooding statues, and cryptic poems lining every hallway, gallery, and library, that place had been an absolute expression of himself. It was the only place Kuja had ever been able to live without pretense. He did not have to worry for cries of treason in those silent halls. The stained glass eyes did not judge his plotting.

This new desert shared a superficial likeness to the almost-home he had loved, but its core was different. Rather than a refuge, this place had proven itself a hostile enemy. So it was that Kuja found himself agreeing with the boy's final thoughts on the subject: “If I ever come back here, it’s going to be too soon.” Though, of course, knowing his luck Kuja would be bound to return someday. Perhaps there was some magical relic that had fallen through dimensional planes with him. Perhaps he would discover some ancient ruins hidden deep within that would call for his exploration. Still, Kuja couldn't help but reflect the sentiment. 

If he ever came back to this godforsaken desert again, it would be far, far too soon.

But the boy had not lied. Beyond those empty cliffs, the sands began to thin as rocky wasteland took its place. Farther still lied an expansive grassland. Kuja wondered how the two of them looked -- a burnt and exhausted pair coming stumbling from a deadly desert. It didn't take long to fight a road. Then it was a long march towards civilization. Kuja cursed the disappearance of his dragon. Further, he wished that teleportation came to him as easily as it did his creator. Just a touch of magic and -- Poof! -- he would arrive at his desired location without all of this hellacious walking. But that magic had only just fallen into his grasp. It had taken him years to master, and still required days of preparation to create a stationary teleporter. To do so instantaneously would require enough magic to incapacitate him. Kuja would never do something so reckless -- not while his life still meant so much to him.

So walking it was. They followed the road past wild flowers and long grasses. They passed expansive fields, woodlands, and other travelers (Who gave him quite the interested looks. He supposed he would never cease to draw the eye of strangers). Kuja recited poetry to pass the time. His mind hadn't quite recovered from its fatigue, but his thoughts were sharp enough to recall lines he'd recited breathlessly time and time again. Whytman, Blake, and of course, Lord Avon. As his eyes wandered to the darkening horizon, it was Avon's words that first came to mind.

"So, the sun is our enemy, too. The western sky grows bright. Will we not spread our wings, as yonder birds in joyous flight?" He had needed to tweak the wording a little for his purposes, but it proved fitting none the less. Kuja glanced at his unwilling companion and gave him a bitter smile. "Are we nearing our destination? Or should we consider our options as we approach the setting sun?" How strange it was that he should consider the boy's thoughts on the matter. Stranger still that Kuja hadn't killed him as soon as they'd left the desert. Still, the boy proved somewhat knowledgeable of the world, and without any direction on this strange planet, Kuja considered that most valuable. Though Kuja thought himself incapable of gratitude, it was also true that without the boy's ether and guidance, he might not have made it through the desert so quickly. The boy had proven himself useful, and thus extended his life. It was the natural order of things, and Kuja had no reason to revoke his polite persona to those lives he did not immediately plan to take. 

"Should we be caught in the dark, monsters will undoubtedly pursue us. If you are not absolutely certain that we will reach civilization in time, then we should consider what position would be most advantageous."

The boy confirmed that the curative spells had not simply been tossed down upon Kuja from the Heavens as a payment for tragedy. For all of his uselessness, the boy was in fact a white mage. Kuja didn't know why he'd been surprised. White magic was the only type that the Gaians had ever truly gotten the hang of. This boy was pale and scholarly enough for it, surely. He had the shriveling disregard of someone more comfortable with books than people. His attitude reminded Kuja of several magical archivists he had met during the course of his Gaian research. All of them had been so shocked that someone of Kuja's age and anonymity could possibly have learned even the simplest cure spell. They had dismissed him, as was their nature, for not having obtained the proper certificates and pedigrees. Yes, if Hope had to remind him of anyone, it would be of someone like that. Though Kuja doubted the boy had even so much as heard of Daguerreo. 

"Looks like your flashy spells are worth something as well," the boy conceded. Kuja laughed. Given previous events, it was the worst attempt at dismissal he had ever witnessed. 

"Well, I do have a penchant for the theatric," Kuja lamented, but how silly he was acting. His spells were not meant to attract attention, but to be efficient. They struck sharp and deadly without any unnecessary flourish. That their power drew attention regardless was only proof of his capability. Had the monster not been granted magical defenses against him, Kuja would never have opted for such an overpowered spell against it. He preferred to conserve magic when possible (he so loathed the mental sluggishness that came with magical fatigue) but survival was a petty thing that often came with sacrifice. He trailed his finger across the sand. "All joking matters aside, I'm afraid that this is twice you would have been slaughtered alone. You should thank whatever deities happened to toss me in your path. Believe me, I was anything but complicit." His musing was like a sigh on the wind. He opened his fingertips and let the sand fall through like the granules of an hourglass. Once released, they were swept away. "Upon the pharoah's gilded lands are winds that shift the ceaseless sands. Gaze upon it and despair, for naught but ruins tremble there." A pensive quote for a pensive mood. He had read it somewhere or another in one his countless volumes of Gaian poetry. He tried to remember the second stanza, but it had left him as quickly as grains of sand. His head was too muddled for it. 

But wasn't this boy a surprise? It seemed he carried a cure for every ailment. The bottled ether was tossed carelessly towards him, and he snatched it from the air as though swatting a fly. The glass was cool in his hand, kept chilled by the magic inside. Kuja looked upon it and laughed again. "Perhaps fortune has not been so unkind to me," he said and uncorked the bottle with his thumb. The ether burnt his tongue, but filled him with a pleasant warmth. It spread through his blood until it tingled at his fingertips. The aching of his soul dulled, and Kuja sighed in relief. His thoughts had sharpened. It seemed this boy was both his burden and something of a salvation. How deeply and horrifically ironic.

“We should reach the tree line soon, after clearing this hill. After that it’s a kinda-straight shot Torensten, just have to clear a river, but there’s a bridge we can take.”

"Torensten?" Kuja echoed in a way that could have meant anything. He assumed it to be a settlement of some sort, though he had never heard of it. As he had already confirmed this to be an unfamiliar planet, he was not surprised. "Hm. Well, if you are sure, then I suppose there is no point in lingering here." Revitalized by the ether, Kuja slowly rose to his feet. Once standing, he straightened his skirt and brushed the dirt off his sleeves. Though hidden from sight, he felt his tail flick an uneasy rhythm. "Well? Shall we?" Kuja smirked and glanced at the boy. "I believe I've had more than enough of the desert."

[[OOC: Totally stole that poetry quote from one of my favorite fanfictions. xD I'm terrible at coming up with poetry, and it's what sprang to mind. Since I don't want to take credit for the line, I'll cite it here as Phobic by Greyrondo. It's a really good Dissidia fanfiction and everyone should read it sometime. But yes...]]

“Stuff it for a moment, please," the boy muttered in disdain. Kuja spared him a cool glance and crossed his arms carelessly over his chest. They had stopped moving, but there wasn't much to see. As always, the desert expanded in every direction offering nothing but wind, sun, and sand. Hope dug through his many pockets in search of something. First he pulled out a notebook, then a thin device that have been for writing along with several notes. Finally, he unearthed a miniature spyglass and held it to his eye. He focused in on the distant caves. His eyebrows furrowed as he stashed the tool away.

"Something uncovered it. Looks like there were caves buried under all that sand, and the ants had dug into it and made it their home, but that doesn’t explain why—"

The boy didn't have the time to finish his thoughts, but they proved quite redundant when the source of the trouble revealed itself only moments later. As if summoned by his words, the ground beneath them began to tremble. Sand loosed itself from the earth and was sent flying in silent whirlwinds that stung open mouths and eyes. Kuja coughed a little at the roughness on his throat and squinted through the approaching dust storm at the rumbling caves. There was a sudden feral cry preceding a flash of light and the terrible roar of fire. The caves had come alive with the skittering of claws and muffled screams. There was another explosion and then a ten-foot, furry something was sent flying from the cliff-face like a cannonball under fire. It landed not twelve feet from where they stood and brought a wave of sand and debris around it as it skidded to a stop. A closer look revealed it to have once been an antlion. Its head was missing as well as several legs and the lower part of its abdomen. All that was left was a hulking carapace in the sand. 

Antlions were the apex predators of the desert. Yet this one had been torn apart like a defenseless lamb. It did not take long to discover its killer. There was another roar before the walls burst open at the force of swinging fists. As the gravel settled, it emerged, towering above a pair of antlions that it had taken in its claws. It opened its mouth to reveal yellowed teeth and sharpened incisors. The antlions could do nothing but flail their legs in terrified spasms. The monster flattened them against the cliff face. Then it turned and focused its heavy-browed gaze upon them. Kuja had never seen -- never even heard -- of such a monster. It bared its fangs and stomped its clawed feet. Beside him, the boy gave a sigh of exasperation. 

"Oh come on! How can something like that be around and no one care to mention it?" The boy sounded angry, and for once, Kuja agreed. A monster like this should have been the stuff of legends. The people of this planet should have feared its name and not allowed any of their people so much as a glimpse of the desert it lived in. Yet here it was. And here they were. Though Kuja was not one to believe in gods, he cursed them anyway for whatever strike of unbelievable circumstance had stranded him on this forsaken planet. He cursed them doubly for offering him nothing but hot sand and an unskilled, smart-mouthed burden in return. The fates were nothing if not cruel.

To compound matters even further, the mysterious beast did not seem the least bit interested in continuing its tirade against the antlions. For whatever reason, it eyed them, and in that single instant seemed to deem them more a threat than the colony at its back. It charged, fists flailing, mouth gaping, and took incredible speed across the hellscape that separated them. The antlions scattered at its feet and scrambled in every which direction to escape. Perhaps to them, the arrival of the two seemed an utmost miracle -- a sacrifice sent by the heavens to appease their slaughterer's wrath. Kuja grit his teeth and took a step forward to face it. He stood alone with his survival hanging in the balance. It was nothing new to him.

"If you cannot defend yourself, then you are unworthy of the life I have given you." Those words had once ruled his early life. They had taught him to swallow the icy fear of failure and stare down death with a cool eye. Under its philosophy, Kuja had stood his ground against spitting marlboro and bristling dragons. He had learned that when one's life could be taken in an instant that fear was weakness and mercy was a lie. His body settled into its combative stance as though called upon by instinct. Magic swelled within him and sparked between outstretched fingers. It gathered from the depths of his soul and burned at the dry air. With a sharp swipe, he let it release and directed the greatest forces of fire upon the charging beast.

Kuja knew his mistake at once. Even as the air super heated and flashed with light, he saw it -- a sharp red spark upon the creature's skin. Kuja's eyes widened as he felt the magical polarity reverse. As though reflected by a mirror, the forces of magic redirected their focus. It swept upon him like an invisible wind. Kuja tried to dodge backwards from its power, but he was too late. His body erupted with heat. His vision was clouded in flames.

The force of it threw him backwards into the sand. Surrounded in flames, Kuja could only barely catch himself. He landed on one knee, head bowed, gasping for breath that did not burn his lungs. His body was resilient to magic and did not blister with heat, but the force of it left his head spinning. Looking up, he saw that his attacker had not slowed. With swinging arms and gaping mouth, it dashed across the sand, clearing more distance with every second. Swallowing curses, Kuja raised a hand and shot dispelling magic towards it like a projectile. This, too, proved futile against its scaly protection. His magic glanced off with a spark of red and fizzled into dust. The monster would be on them in seconds.

This was not the first time that Kuja had faced down the eyes of death. They had hounded him since the moment of his awakening. From the howling monsters that stalked outside the gates of Bran Bal, to the shadowed abominations that followed him within the palace of the damned, to his creator and personal executioner, it seemed that death had never been more than a stone's throw away. Yet Kuja had always fought, and above all, survived. As the monster raised its hardened fist, Kuja felt a deeper magic stirring inside of him. It fed on panic and strengthened on fear. It was a spell of his own personal making -- a magic that was undeniably his. It rose from the depths of his soul and surrounded him in an aura like fire.

Before the monster could strike, he raised a hand, and in that motion, the very flow of magic shifted. The air crackled with dormant power and then burst like a thousand stars erupting to life. The magic pulsed in still air and brought swirling winds that dashed at open sand and pulled at loose hair and sleeves. The light held no heat, but struck in blinding flashes of pure energy. It surrounded the monster and pierced past the bounds of magical protection. The monster screeched in fury as it was thrown back into the sand. The spell surrounded it, bursting and flashing as it spread from its caster until the air had erupted from his hand to the broken cliff-face. Scrambling antlions were stopped where they fled and tossed backwards in screaming death throes. Kuja rose to his feet and faced the destruction he had unleashed. The monster was not yet dead.

Kuja raised a hand and cast the spell again and then again until the expanse before them was cleared of life and the sand rose above them in spiraling cyclones of rising wind. The monster did not stand a chance. It gave a final, trembling cry and then went limp with arms outstretched and skin flayed and raw. Kuja felt a smirk play across his face as he eyed the destruction he had caused.

Then his vision cut to black. He heard his gasp as he felt himself stagger. The magic that left him had been too much. His soul flickered from exhaustion. He fell back to his knees, where he had started. His thoughts quickly abandoned him to be replaced by ringing ears. He rested his forehead against the cool metal of his greaves and closed his eyes. His breathing was heavy. He focused on it and tried to remain conscious.

Was this how he would die? Exhausted and alone in the middle of the desert? The thought was so ironic that soon he was laughing. He laughed at the gods he didn't believe in and at the forces that had brought him to this forsaken place. 

The fates had always proven as cruel as desert heat. Now, he found them scalding.

It was a general rule of society that if one is shown courtesy that the courtesy should be returned in kind. It was one of the first lessons that Kuja had learned upon taking to his new planet. No matter the insult given, a certain amount of civility could lead to a returned kindness. Even if that kindness was not particularly desired.

"Here." The boy had pulled a water flask from one of his outfit's many pockets, and after taking a long drink from it, offered it to Kuja. “If you need it, then take it," the boy said with a voice that very much suggested that he didn't wish anything of the sort. Kuja accepted the offering more to satisfy his curiosity than his thirst. Even from a glance, the container had seemed odd to him -- too perfectly shaped and without blemish. As he took it in his hand, he noticed that it was remarkably light for the use of so much metal. A tap along its side proved it durable as well. Biting back a grimace, Kuja drank quickly from the rim. The water was still cold.

This technology was not Gaian. The Gaians were so backwards that they considered steam engines the greatest height of the future, but here was a bottle made of lightweight metal with an almost perfect insulation. Likewise, the make of the boy's clothes were too well-fit, too clean to have fit in among the Gaians. Then there were the boy's mannerisms. The boy took to Kuja's name with only the slightest furrow of his brow and a minor glance of confusion. It was a reaction that Kuja had witnessed many times before, but this situation was unique. From that glance, Kuja knew he could not be anywhere near Gaian society for one reason and one reason only.

The boy did not fear his name. 

No, any Gaian would have flinched at the sound of it. They would have looked at him in slowly growing shock and horror. Here was the man who had single-handedly reaped the decimation of every civilized nation on the planet! Yet, from this boy, Kuja received nothing but silent scorn over a foreign word. So here he was, in a desert that should not have existed with a boy who did not know him holding technology that had not been discovered. It left him to only one conclusion: This planet was not Gaia. 

Nor was it Terra, clearly. So that led to a further question. Where was 'here' and how had he come to it? Had he been whisked through another dimensional portal like that of the Shimmering Island? The possibilities were staggering. 

He considered them as they began their trek through this unfamiliar land. True to his word, the boy stayed in front. From the direction of the sun, it seemed they were heading West. Kuja followed behind, keeping the godforsaken carriage floating beside him as he walked. It was held by a peculiar magic of his own device. It was a sort of refined float spell, given extra power and propelled by his will. In this way, Kuja could carry anything within reasonable size while keeping his arms and mind busy. The boy did not seem much for conversation and Kuja reflected that sentiment. While the boy kept himself occupied with teenage brooding, Kuja wondered as to the composition of the universe and what magitechnology might have allowed him to cross the barrier between space and realities. It was as Kuja was pondering the possible use of the crystals and condensed memory that he was given pause by a strange new intrusion on his consciousness.

Kuja had always been partial to monsters. As a genome, his body had been constructed to accept souls, and with it came a certain sensitivity to Mist. Though he had not seen any Mist upon this land, something of the sort still dwelled in the heart of monsters. As they approached a series of desert-born cliffs that had risen from the Western horizon, this uneasy sense strengthened. Kuja had already taken care of several more sandworms and antlions on their way (using strictly fire and ice elementals lest the boy start his whining again), but this felt quite different. It was not isolated as the other monsters had been, but rather buzzed with an irritable sense of community. Kuja glanced at the boy as they approached. His mouth angled into a frown.

"There is danger ahead," he said. His voice played on the lilted tones of a bird's song. "Are you quite certain that you know your way?"

If the boy had been mistaken and wasted his time, Kuja would not hesitate to dispose of him. The thought made his tail thrash, and for not the first time, Kuja was thankful it was confined behind its shroud. "My now, wouldn't it be embarrassing if you hadn't the slightest idea what you were talking about?" he mused, "You would almost appear a hypocrite."