Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Scattered in the Sky ❯ One ( Chapter 1 )

Fandom: Final Fantasy IX

Date Finished: April 20th, 2003

Classification: Angst, PWP, not-quite-sort-of Romance

Keywords: In-Game

Pairing: Zidane/Kuja

Rating: NC-17

 

Scattered In The Sky

By Elsewhere

elsewherecw@shaw.ca

 

Disclaimer: The characters and story of Final Fantasy IX are not mine. Oh well. ;)

 

The lyrics are from `Vanilla' by Gackt, and were translated into English by Mina-P (http://www.senshigakuen.com/). I'm just quoting `em…I intend no infringement to either party. ;)

 

As an aside note, Michiru Sakamoto also used the lyrics of `Vanilla' to wonderful effect in her fanfic of the same name (http://home.sailormoon.com/kuja10/fics/vanilla.html), and I've associated the song with Kuja and Zidane (mostly Kuja *vbg*) ever since. I couldn't resist also using the lyrics (in English rather than Romaji), but I think you'll find my story very different from hers in every other respect.

 

Distribution: If you want this story for any page other than the ones I've sent it to, please ask me first, so I know where it goes.

 

Spoilers: If you haven't played FFIX, you might not get it. ;) Come to think of it, even if you have, you might not get it…

 

Kuja/Zidane Disclaimer: In case you look at the pairing and wonder why I don't have an incest warning…It seems obvious to me that Kuja and Zidane are only `brothers' in symbolic terms. My reasoning? Take a deep breath… Garland created the Genomes to be able to carry on an entire race. Therefore, the Genomes must be able to reproduce. Therefore, the Genomes must not be identical in genetic structure, because the offspring, within only a few generations, would be royally screwed up. THEREFORE, if it's logical and perfectly moral for male and female Genomes to get it on with one another, what's the problem with Zidane and Kuja? They are *brothers*---as all Genomes are *siblings*---in the sense that they were both created---created, not born---by the same man, the same 'father'. In other words, in all the ways that count, Zidane and Kuja are no more related than are Cloud and Sephiroth. *shrug*

 

Note: Having said that (see above disclaimer), there's enough of the brotherly love in this story to please the incest lovers (of which I am not one, I'm afraid *shudders deeply at intense personal squick*). Just an additional warning. ;)

 

Thanx go out to my beta readers Jean and Adara…you two are the best. ;P

 

Summary: A chance encounter in Memoria leads to some intriguing revelations…

 

*****

You keep yourself at a distance
Ah, before I get lost in myself

Is it okay to love, too?

In the shaking night
It's good as it is

*****

 

I remember…

 

Such soft skin, so pale and creamy smooth…I couldn't keep my hands off it, I wanted to touch it all the time.

 

I remember the sweet sound of his laughter as he would draw my hands away, chiding me to leave him be as he continued with his work. I could never understand what he was doing. I was so tiny…he seemed so big, important like an adult. He must've been just eleven or twelve years old, but he sat there, day in and day out, on his bed, legs curled beneath him, reading books. Big, important books.

 

What was in them? What held him so enraptured? I wanted to find what it was that kept his attention in those books and steal it, make it a part of myself so that he would pay more attention to me.

 

I must've been no more than a baby! Why were my feelings for him so intense? He seemed to see me as nothing more than an annoyance, occasionally reaching out to absently brush a hand through my hair, but rarely looking up from his books. But once, just once, I remember glancing up from where I was playing with something on the floor---a coloring book, I think, something he'd given me to keep me occupied and out of his hair---to find him watching me, his lips pursed and eyes narrowed slightly as he considered me. I remember feeling shocked at the way he was looking at me. He seemed so…angry…

 

That's when it all started to go so wrong.

 

*****

You're an honest moralist

You trace me with your pretty finger
I'm a pure terrorist

Your thoughts are rising like a revolution

*****

 

Zidane took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. The battle with Lich had been hard, but somehow he knew that there were worse things yet to come. Much worse, if the nagging feeling at the back of his mind was any indication.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

He turned, his lips curling upwards in gratitude as he heard the gentleness in her voice. He brushed his fingertips lightly over the back of her hand where it rested against his shoulder.

 

“Yeah, Dagger, I'm fine…it's just…I have this awful feeling…”

 

“We all do, Zidane,” she answered in the same soft, breathless voice, and he realized that she was scared too. His grip tightened on her hand, squeezing briefly before he let go. She smiled at him, trying to look brave.

 

“Let's get moving; this place gives me the creeps,” Eiko said quietly. Next to her, Vivi adjusted his hat and then nodded to show his agreement.

 

“All right,” Zidane said, turning around to face all of the others.

 

Freya was standing stiffly off to one side, her javelin resting against her shoulder. Her eyes, as usual, were hidden beneath her hat; it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. Next to her, Amarant stood casually, shoulders slumped and arms crossed lazily over his chest. Quina was at the base of the stairs, sniffing the lichen on the stone, searching for something edible. Steiner was standing uneasily behind his monarch, looking nervous but as though he was trying desperately *not* to look nervous.

 

“Listen up, everyone. This is the point where we'd better make sure we're all ready for whatever's up there, `cause I really think this is absolutely the last frontier, if you know what I mean. There is absolutely no chance of turning back now, and heck…I think we all know that we have about as much chance of being incinerated to hell as we do of winning.”

 

Zidane paused, watching as Amarant smirked and Freya turned her head, probably giving Amarant a displeased stare. Steiner shifted place slightly, and the ensuing extremely loud creak from his armor broke the tension, causing several faces to break out in helpless grins. Steiner blushed, and tried to hide it.

 

“But that's not gonna happen,” Zidane continued more softly, grinning as he focused his eyes on each one of them in turn. “We're gonna make it through this, and when we're done…we're gonna have a hell of a banquet back in Alexandria. Isn't that right, Dagger?”

 

“Right,” Dagger said with a returning grin, and the others seemed to relax, a few of them chuckling softly, aware of how badly they were disturbing the preternatural silence of the balcony.

 

“We gonna get going anytime this century?” Amarant asked disinterestedly, turning to eye Zidane from beneath his shaggy red bangs.

 

“There speaks the voice of confidence,” Zidane said wryly, and then he lifted his hands, his trademark gesture for every feeling from confusion to cockiness. “All right, let's go!”

 

He turned to jog up the stairs, and the others followed him. There was no hesitance now; this was it, the moment of reckoning, so to speak, and rather than being more nervous than before, a strange calm seemed to have come over them. Zidane in particular had never been more sure of anything in his life.

 

This was right. It was time to end this.

 

He reached the door, and stepped beyond…into the deep, inky blackness of space.

 

“WHOOOA!” Zidane yelled, pin-wheeling his arms. It took him a moment to realize he wasn't falling. He was standing on solid ground, and yet…there was nothing there. He was in *space*, stars shimmering all around him…where was this place? “There's nothing...Is this it? Is there nothing else?”

 

This is space, Garland's dry voice informed him, and Zidane set his jaw.

 

“Space…?” he said, trailing off in the hope of some better explanation. Not that the hope was that great. After all, dead men tell no tales…even dead men who've spent the last several hours talking quite clearly into a living man's mind.

 

Your journey is not over, Garland said simply. Do not fear. Step forward, and you will be closer to the truth.

 

Zidane hesitated. This was it. This was the moment…

 

Go, Zidane… Garland's voice said, growing softer.

 

“That's easy for you to say,” Zidane said quietly. Then he gritted his teeth and nodded, glancing back once towards the others. They all had similar looks of determination on their faces. It was time.

 

/I'm coming, Kuja./

 

Wherever he was, waiting for them to come to him, Kuja must have heard Zidane's silent vow, because a moment later, just as Zidane was wandering forward into the star field, he heard a very familiar voice whisper in the back of his mind.

 

Not yet, angel…not yet…

 

That was the last thing he heard before he blacked out.

 

*****

Ah, if we welcome how many mornings

Ah, will the nights probably stop
Ah, scattered in the sky

Ah, white flowers surround us and die

*****

 

I remember…

 

I watched it all…my child's heart felt so huge in my chest, it was beating too hard…I felt like I was going to burst apart. What was happening?

 

I turned, clutching desperately onto the purple fabric of my big brother's robe, blindly searching for his hand. My eyes were transfixed by the horrible scene before me.

 

It was burning. The village…was burning. All those people…what would happen to them?

 

I whimpered; he must have heard it, because his hand dropped to rest on my head, gently stroking my hair. It calmed me, but not enough. The village was still burning, fire arcing into the sky. I couldn't comprehend this; why had he brought me here? Didn't he love me? Why would he show me this? I was so young…

 

A gasp caught in my throat as I saw something else, something different. I stepped closer, leaning over the railing, staring down through the portal. It was a boat, a little boat, rocking in the waves, and there were two people…a woman and a little girl…they stepped onto the boat and cut the ropes, moving off into the sea. It churned and tossed around them, trying to overturn their boat.

 

I realized my brother had followed me. He was standing just behind me, watching. I reached out to tug the skirt of his robe again, my other hand reaching into the portal, chubby finger stabbing towards the images of the woman and child.

 

“Look!”

 

“I see them, little one,” he murmured. He sounded troubled, and his hand was over his mouth as he watched their boat drift in the violent waves.

 

“What are they doing?”

 

“Leaving,” he said softly. He glanced down to me, his blue eyes making me shiver. “Let them go in peace.”

 

I didn't know what he meant; what could I have done to stop them?

 

He seemed to see my confusion, my distress, because a moment later he bent to his knees, so he was my height. I couldn't help myself; I spun around and threw myself into his arms, burying my face in his neck. I felt his hands come to rest against my back, rubbing in slow, soothing motions.

 

“Don't tell Master Garland what you saw just now,” he said into my ear, and I nodded, feeling the tears on my cheeks. He leaned back and gave me a slight smile, reaching out to brush away my tears before he stood up again, towering over me. I watched, lower lip trembling, as he moved slowly back to the portal and leaned over it, his hands bracing against the railing. After a moment, I noticed his fingers had tightened around the rail so that his knuckles had turned bright white.

 

“Not enough,” I heard him mutter. “Not enough…fools…”

 

His tone was low, dangerous…He was frightening me.

 

“Kuja?”

 

He spun around, and his eyes were narrowed, his lips tight, just like that time before. He looked so angry! What had I ever done to anger him like that?

 

“Not enough…” he muttered again, to himself, as his eyes came to rest on my face. He must have seen the fear there, because suddenly his expression softened and he gave me the sweetest smile. He walked forward, and I took a step back. He stopped, the smile wavering on his face, and I swallowed back my fear. This was my brother. He would never hurt me…

 

He saw my change of heart and came forward, bending to one knee in front of me.

 

“Zidane. Beautiful Zidane. My precious, beautiful little Zidane,” he murmured, and I held my breath, confused. He was still smiling as he reached up to trace a finger down my cheek. “Innocent little Zidane. What do you dream of, Zidane?”

 

I didn't really understand what he meant, but I knew the word `dream', so I latched onto that.

 

“I dream about you,” I said boldly, loudly, and I wasn't sure why I felt crestfallen when he laughed. There was something different in that laugh. It wasn't sweet anymore…it sounded almost…cruel…

 

“Then I hope you continue to dream of me,” Kuja said gently, grinning now as he ran his hand slowly through my hair. “Dream of good things, Zidane…”

 

Then his hand was against my forehead, and I saw a white light…and then I was sleepy, so sleepy…

 

I remember only flashes after that. I remember him drawing me into his arms…I remember resting against his hip as I had so often before, in the times when he deigned to notice me. Then I remember being in a dark, cold place, and his lips seemed icy cold when they brushed over my forehead, his hands seemed cruel as they placed me down against the chilly, hard ground. I heard the sounds of people shouting somewhere nearby…a city, a city full of people…

 

Kuja, don't leave me here!!

 

“Farewell, Zidane,” he whispered one last time into my ear.

 

And then he left me there. Left me alone, there on the surface of Gaia, in the cold, in a strange new world, with nothing to remember him by but a last, fleeting, cold touch against my forehead. And he knew. He knew that I would forget.

 

But I remember…

 

*****

Your distorting face is
Ah, I'll do it myself

Is it okay to love, too?

In the shaking night
It's good as it is

*****

 

Zidane dreamed that he was falling, falling through the vast vacuum of space, trying and failing to reach out and clasp a star. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, but he didn't care…this was it, the very pinnacle of existence, and it was beautiful. He tried again to touch a star, and hissed out with pain as he felt it burn his palm. Then he watched, fascinated and horrified, as the star he had touched broke into a million pieces, and the fabric of space around it started to peel away, revealing…

 

Zidane bolted upright, hands smacking down against cool, smooth black marble as he fought to catch his breath, eyes darting around, seeking an explanation for where he was, and why.

 

“What the hell…?” he muttered, as memory started to return to him. Where were the others? They'd been behind him just a minute ago…they were heading to the Crystal World, to stop Kuja…Where was he?

 

“It's my turn now, Zidane.”

 

He froze at the sound of that voice. Kuja. What the…!?

 

He spun around, his eyes questing over the darkness until he finally found light.

 

Kuja was standing several metres away. He wasn't in Trance anymore; he looked as he always had, immaculate and effeminate, his hands against hips clothed in nothing but the barest of cloths. His lips held their usual arrogant smirk, and the red shadow painted around his lapis lazuli eyes seemed more prominent than ever.

 

“My dream,” Kuja continued in the same quiet, undemanding tone. It still struck Zidane as amazing how a man of Kuja's stature and bearing, wearing clothes better suited to an exotic dancer than a warrior, managed to be so entirely threatening without even the slightest effort. “Welcome to the heart of Memoria, Zidane. Or at least, the heart of your own memories. The physical confrontation can wait…now, here, in this place, is the time to face me as you know you must.”

 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Zidane almost snarled, jumping to his feet.

 

“Oh, but you do,” Kuja countered simply, smirk widening slightly as he wagged a chiding finger at Zidane. Then he laughed, ever so softly, so unlike his usual triumphant guffaw that Zidane flinched. What the hell was going on here? What did Kuja want?

 

He had no more time to ponder; Kuja had dropped his hands from his hips and was walking towards him, with that smooth, lilting, not-quite-feminine not-quite-masculine gait that only made Zidane's annoyance increase. He stepped away, the sour expression on his face making it quite clear that he wouldn't allow Kuja to come any closer.

 

Kuja stopped, and his smirk softened into an almost-smile before re-solidifying into its usual disgustingly smug state. There was something coiled around Kuja's right leg from thigh to ankle, something slender and grey. Zidane didn't recall that ornament, but he didn't have time to think about it.

 

“Don't you remember, Zidane?” Kuja asked, and when Zidane didn't respond, Kuja lifted his hands towards the sky, his trademark dramatic gesture. “But it's all here, Zidane! Your memories…”

 

“What the hell are you talking about!?” Zidane snapped. He was tired of this…beyond tired. Tired of the games, the cryptic comments…and above all, he was exhausted by the fact that he knew Kuja was right. It was all there in his memory…the life he had thought he'd always wanted, only to find that it wasn't what he wanted at all…

 

“Look,” Kuja suggested, gesturing towards him, and Zidane narrowed his eyes. Kuja laughed again, a rich, somehow harsh sound that grated on Zidane's ears. “I won't hurt you. Come and look, Zidane.”

 

Slowly, warily, his tail twitching with agitation, Zidane made his way towards where Kuja stood. A glowing portal had appeared in the air next to Kuja, growing from a tiny shimmering orb slowly into a full-sized, round window. It looked exactly like the one inside the Invincible…

 

Gritting his teeth, Zidane made his way up to the portal and stood before it, careful to keep on the opposite side of it from Kuja. He tried desperately to keep one eye on Kuja, to make sure that the older man didn't try anything unexpected, but his eyes were drawn instantly to the scene in the portal.

 

He could see a village…a village in flames. And a boat, a tiny boat tossing on the waves.

 

“Dagger!” he whispered sharply, his hand reaching down, smacking against solid glass. He growled quietly, helplessly as he watched the boat toss against the waves.

 

His eyes were wide as he took in the entire scene. In his mind's eye, he was picturing the desolation of Madain Sari today, superimposing that image and one other, the image of Dagger's beautiful, smiling face, over the scene of destruction in the portal below. He watched the Summoners' village burn, and slowly his anger drained away and became desperation.

 

/I did this,/ his mind whispered to him. He knew it wasn't true…he had been nothing but a small boy then, no more than four…

 

/But it's part of who you are,/ his mind accused him. He was aware of calculating blue eyes on him, waiting for reaction, but he wouldn't give Kuja the satisfaction, he was stronger than…

 

/Oh God…/ his mind whimpered, all other thoughts lost in the torrent of sadness that swept through him. The boat…the boat was shaking in the waves, and the woman…she had fallen overboard…

 

What is it? a voice, quiet and calm, asked in his mind. He knew who it was, but some part of his mind had shut off as he watched the scene unfolding below, and he felt nothing but intense sorrow; there was no anger at the invasion of his hated enemy into his mind.

 

The woman was fighting to stay above the waves, but they were too strong, batting her back and forth like a doll. Zidane's hand was against the glass again, fingers splayed. His eyes were transfixed on the horror taking place before him.

 

The girl was at the edge of the boat, screaming, her words lost in the wind, her hand reaching desperately towards the woman. He almost believed he could hear them…

 

He didn't notice the presence behind him, didn't notice that he was no longer the only one watching.

 

“Sarah!”

 

Zidane jumped; he'd heard that, clear as a bell inside his mind…the woman's desperate plea to her only child, hand reaching out…but it was too late…she was drowning…

 

A whimper, that of a scared child, fell from Zidane's lips as he watched her head disappear below the waves. And for some reason, it didn't feel strange to him when hands closed over his shoulders, gentle and strong, pulling him back against a warm chest, holding him. This was familiar…this was…

 

And then he remembered. He remembered everything, all those tender moments, moments when he had felt safe, as a child…he had been called `little one' back then, and he had felt secure in his big brother's arms, sure that the world would never intrude on his innocence…

 

The waves parted abruptly, and the woman broke the surface of the water, grasping desperately for something to hold onto…and her hands found the side of the boat, clasping tightly. The little girl's hands smacked down over her mother's, giving her what little strength she had left. A moment passed, an intense struggle, and then the woman was inside the boat.

 

Zidane let out a long, slow breath.

 

But the woman was winded, tired, and cold…so cold…he could feel it in his own bones, the deep blue of pain, a soul rending under the pressure…it was too late…she was…

 

“She's dying,” he whispered, and he felt a tear slide down his cheek, wet and mercilessly warm.

 

“I know,” the gentle voice said against his neck, soft breath puffing out against the back of his ear. He shuddered at the warmth…and the moment broke. His eyes snapped up, away from the view through the portal, and his hands tightened around the railing so hard that abruptly, the bubble burst. The illusion snapped, the portal dissolved into nothingness, and there was only black, just as there had been before.

 

He tossed his shoulders, ridding himself of the warm touch of the hands that rested there, and then he spun around. He was so close, within an inch…he found himself having to look up, and when he did, his eyes met the other man's startled blue gaze. It lasted no more than a second; Kuja turned away, lowered his eyes as though in shame, tightened his lips into a look of displeasure and looked as though he was about to leave. But Zidane wasn't about to let that happen.

 

“You bastard,” he gritted. His hands had closed around the fabric of the front of Kuja's half-tunic, keeping Kuja in place, and Kuja didn't resist. His eyes remained cast downward, and his breathing was coming fast against his lips, as though he felt something…as though his heart wasn't ice.

 

Zidane wanted to scream, wanted to shout out all his frustrations and all of his anger…he wanted to make this man *feel* his hatred, through to his very soul, the soul given him by his Master, a soul not his own. He wanted to make sure that Kuja realized every moment of the pain he had caused Zidane and all the others…

 

But none of that came. None of it happened. Instead, when Zidane opened his mouth, another quiet sound of sorrow escaped his lips, much to his own surprise. He saw Kuja flinch, watched Kuja's hands twitch against his sides, almost as though he was about to reach out.

 

“Why?” Zidane whispered. He sounded so lost, so confused…he knew how he sounded, but he couldn't stop himself. He wasn't controlling this. The words just came. “Why would you show me this? Why, Kuja?”

 

Kuja remained silent.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Zidane demanded, and this time he accentuated it by pounding a fist against Kuja's chest. Kuja flinched again, but did nothing to defend himself. “Why? Damn it, why are you doing this to me? Why did you…?”

 

Something changed again; something broke. Memories flashed across his mind, perceptions were lost, altered beyond repair. Suddenly his desperate handhold wasn't enough, and he was pulling Kuja forward, his hands bunching bits of armor and fabric as he buried his face against Kuja's chest.

 

“Why did you leave me?” It wasn't his voice that spoke. It was the voice of a frightened little boy, alone, abandoned on an unfamiliar world. “Why would you…?”

 

Kuja whispered something incomprehensible against the top of Zidane's head, his breath stirring Zidane's hair as his hands gently caressed Zidane's back.

 

And then it was gone, as suddenly as it had come. Zidane used his hold on Kuja to shove the other man away, so forcefully that Kuja stumbled before regaining his balance, his eyes flying up to Zidane's, then glancing away again. Zidane stood stock still, hands pulled into fists, his eyes blazing as he stared.

 

“Why?” he shouted, finally feeling the hatred boiling within him again. “Why are you doing this? Why would you be…?”

 

“Be what, Zidane?” Kuja snapped, so abruptly that Zidane was caught off guard. The blaze in his eyes flickered a moment indecisively before it refocused.

 

Kuja laughed again, but it was harsh and low, not his usual terrible snicker. He had turned away, walking swiftly across the blackness, his hands once more at his hips.

 

“Kind?” Kuja suggested, turning to glance back. “Is that what you were going to say? Why would I be kind to you?”

 

Zidane glared at him, grinding his teeth.

 

“How do you expect me to behave, then?” Kuja asked with another mocking laugh, his eyes still fixed on Zidane, but not quite on his eyes. He seemed to be looking at Zidane's throat, but there was something different about his gaze. Not predatory, not cruel…but cold. So cold Zidane couldn't see past the ice.

 

“Like this?” Kuja said harshly, and with a sweep of his hand he drew away the white fabric of his half-skirt, revealing the pale flesh beneath. His buttocks were bare, only a sliver of fabric between them---the invitation was clear---and as Zidane watched, unable to help his fascination at the sight, the silvery-grey ornament he had noticed coiled around Kuja's leg slowly unwound itself and waved in the air, obviously trying to entice Zidane.

 

It was his tail, Zidane realized with a start. He'd seen Kuja's tail once before, when Kuja had been in Trance, but this…it was entirely different. He knew…he remembered…that right from the time Kuja had been a little boy, he had *always* hidden his tail, ashamed…

 

Or afraid.

 

“You wish me to behave like a whore?” Kuja said in the same low, cruel hiss, and then he dropped the fabric so it covered his flesh once more. Low enough to brush the ground, the half-skirt even concealed his tail from Zidane's view, and Zidane's eyes slowly traveled up, back to Kuja's face. But Kuja had turned away. “Well, I can play that role. You wish me to be cruel to you? I can play that role too. But I can also play the doting older brother…don't you remember?”

 

Kuja spun around, and lifted a hand, and before Zidane could react he'd been hit by a blast of white light that sent him reeling to the ground. He blinked his eyes against the starburst pattern behind his eyelids, shaking his head to try to clear it, but it was too late…he was falling into memory again…

 

*****

More

Faster
The almost painful lips I've gotten used to are just words
You and I are

Not Burning love

*****

 

“Kuja!!”

 

His childish voice was screeching, tears streaming down his face as he darted into the room, running as fast as if the hounds of hell were after him.

 

“Zidane!?” Startled, Kuja dropped his book to the bed and scrambled to his feet, just in time to reach out his arms and catch the toddler up as Zidane threw himself at his older brother. Zidane buried his face in Kuja's neck, his chubby fingers desperately clinging onto the flimsy fabric of Kuja's robe.

 

“Zidane, little one, what happened?” Kuja asked, in the calmest voice he could muster. His anger was already boiling; he knew the answer, knew what it had to be.

 

“Master…he…the tests…I can't…not another…” Zidane cried, his tears creating a moist waterfall down Kuja's neck.

 

“Shh…it's all right. No more tests,” Kuja assured him, hand gently stroking his back. “It's all right, little one.”

 

Zidane cried on in silence, and Kuja held him against his hip, rocking him until he had cried his last tears and fallen silent. Then Kuja moved over to the bed, and quietly hushed Zidane's protests as he lowered the child to the bed. With deft hands, he tucked the covers securely up against Zidane's chest, then ran a hand gently over Zidane's hair.

 

“Get some sleep, Zidane,” Kuja said softly, and Zidane found himself nodding sleepily, trying to stay awake. “Sweet dreams, little one…”

 

And then Kuja was gone. Zidane had a last, fleeting impression of Kuja leaving the room, hands balled into tight fists and eyes flashing, and then he fell into sleep.

 

Hours later, he awoke to the sound of yelling, somewhere far away, but he could hear it echoing through his mind. He tried to get back to sleep, but it wouldn't go away, so he waited in silence, in the dark.

 

Not long after that, the door opened, light streaming in for a moment before it closed. He watched as Kuja crossed the room cautiously, then stepped into the blue light streaming in through the window. Kuja looked different…he didn't look angry anymore, just tired and sad, and so much older. His eyes were dull, and it frightened Zidane to see them that way.

 

When Kuja noticed he was awake, his expression softened ever so slightly, a gentle smile turning up the stern corners of his mouth. But the smile didn't reach his eyes.

 

“It's all right, little brother,” Kuja murmured to him, shaking his head slightly. “It's all right now. Go to sleep.”

 

But somehow he knew it wasn't all right. Something wasn't right…something was changing…

 

*****

 

END PART ONE