If I intend to make a proper name for myself with duskshipping, I have to keep writing it then, don't I? Unfortunately, I have to say it right away that this story has a distinct lack of Karst herself, as the story flows entirely from Felix's perspective from beginning to end. In fact I hint more strongly at other pairings before the dusk comes out properly. Oops?

Avril Lavign and Hans Zimmer as usual. Good music means good results. The intent here was a bitter-sweet oneshot, but a nifty idea has turned it into a planned multi-chapter!

Painted Dreams

Prologue

Two-Faced Lies

Lazy summer breezes… the sigh of quickened leaves… The smell of yellow apples hung in the air like a sweet perfume. The spice of fresh timber could be caught on the wind now and again, but the apple orchards of Vale dominated the landscape. Glossy leaves and yellow spotted fruits; they were the pride of the tiny village now that the mighty peak of Mt. Aleph was merely stubble hardly worth the climb.

This was one of his favourite places, just to sit and watch the 'goings on' of the village from afar. It wasn't a long distance, but it was a little tricky to get to. There was a rock wall to climb, not too hard, and a short ledge to cling to and across. It was nothing too difficult, but sufficient to deter most people from following. The mountain's collapse into the ground had forced large hills to form like ripples in a pond, and this one in particular had a bit of a cave in it. Sheer rock all around where nothing seemed like it wanted to grow just yet. Eventually, but not yet.

He liked it, this little place of his that looked out across the rolling prairies and forests to the south. Vale to his right, lying to the west of him, the endless forests and spotted mountains looming to the east. Even up here, away from the trees, he could smell the apples; it was a delightful place to sit. Even at mid-day it always calm, always quiet, completely free of the dust kicked up by anxious villagers eager to go about their business of building, rebuilding, and living.

It was quiet here and nobody ever followed him. No one was ever here but him; he'd never invited anyone, nor found any signs but his own of looking around or visiting. He could be alone here, he always was.

In the village, there were people. Many people, mostly friends, all kind and good folk, if a bit misled sometimes. They were true and pure, not without sins, but it wasn't worth it to argue the point with them. That sort of thing could cause too much discord and he was tired of conflicts; he wanted peace. He had his friends now, but how any of them had managed to survive from beginning to the end of their journey was amazing to him. They were such a diverse group, separated in truth by vast distances, but connected and together regardless.

His sister seemed to be rather popular around town, something he forced himself to not get frustrated with. She had a sound head on her shoulders… for the most part… and a nasty array of skills to enforce the meaning, statement, implication, and various synonyms of the word 'No'. Besides, one of her most adamant suitors would be Mayor one day, and the other had proved himself- although he was lax to admit it- a good man and an honourable, if frugal, businessman. And a hero to boot.

They were scattered, yes, but foresight had already determined safe passage for the youngest members of their party when they'd departed several months ago. They'd learned much on their journeys, including the plight of nations all across the oceans. Nations eager to trade but knowing nothing of one another. There were still mysteries in the world, of floating isles and dreaded serpents. It would seem a ghastly lack of care and responsibility to any of the townsfolk, but he was content to let the two Clairvoyant Youths find their families on their own.

An isle of mists was working its way back into the world; that was important, wasn't it? Two branches of the same clan were coming together again, and for that the sole surviving member of the Northern Mercury Clan couldn't remain here in the temperate mountains, or higher in her glacial home. Maybe Mia would go back to Imil, but for now it was clear she was going to spend some time in Lemuria.

And that left him… here. Surrounded by his family in the village, connected with his friends through the power of the very world- they would never forget the bath of golden light which shone into their very souls. They were bound completely to one another. He was surrounded on all sides: good friends, a close family, and a strong if somewhat naïve community… But…

Up here he was alone. Here, where the strength of the rugged earth had forced itself up through the fertile grasses and leagues of forest and meadow. He was alone here. No one came here to see him, probably because he didn't want them to.

Every element had two faces, if not more. The winds, they could carry the sweet scents of the apples to him here, or blow with the fierce and icy cold to strip the very flesh from his bones. Water, warm summer showers here and farther and farther to the south, where the oceans ran crystal and blue like a bed of sapphires. But still water, water which could turn to ice, blackened with sin and anger, or could roil strong enough to toss a man's soul about like a toy and shatter it across the cliffs. Cliffs of earth, barren and grey, mournfully silent, or filled with the rush of sighing life, content and quiet always in the background, a cushion, a great bed. And fire…

Fire… which could banish away the cold of the wind, shine as a light in the distance of the storm. Be it to guide a ship or a soul, to kindle warmth and life in icy limbs where the body had frozen itself shut. Fire which could scour the world and turn the stones all black, but wasn't it always true that it's the darkest soils which reap the fullest crop? And yet fire is the one they all feared… Fire which is dangerous, fire which is deadly, evil and angry with its bloody red light.

Yes, every element had two faces, if not more. So like people. All seen for what they are on the outside, never removing their masks to be who they are on the inside, behind the smiles and the laughter. Or otherwise they simply drown under the cover of silence. On the outside, the wind is always cheery and light, bearing fruits of the calm and sober earth. And the water is always singing and dancing, no darkness or hidden currents pulling from below. And the fire is always dangerous; the fire is always evil, evil and angry, with no remorse or conscience, no hold on reality.

No hold on reality, nothing worthy of knowing because it is all inherently evil. Those of fire aren't proper, and unless raised to certain principals, under certain laws, there is simply nothing to them. Only those born in the village below him to the west were worth the shirt on their back, only they were worthy of being called human.

This was one of his favourite places, at one of his favourite times of year. Lazy summer breezes… the sigh of quickened leaves… The smell of yellow apples hanging in the air like sweet perfume… Because it was the only sanctuary and respite from the world where everything was a lie.

The world around him was so full, so startlingly, blindingly full. Full of colour, and sound, and people. Endless forests of greenery and life, of the earth giving forth its bounty, ripening in the warm breeze and under soft summer showers. It made him feel hollow, how could he ever take pleasure in such a lie…?

The fire in the belly of the earth; the raw power of it churning the world from within. A beacon of light, standing tall against the wind and flaring brilliantly in a storm of frozen water; the earth barren and dead beneath the ice and frost. No where else did the world know the true grace of the flame; of Mars' hot breath giving life where otherwise there was naught but grey and black?

He'd left behind him a land of truths for a life of exploration and adventure. And now his adventure was over, and all that was left to him was this world of lies. Only there, at the very edge of the world was their truth and peace, with water freezing the life of all in its embrace, the wind there to blanket and hide any remains of the death. The earth silent and mourning, giving forth nothing more than the icy brambles already coiled around his heart. A place where fire is all that it ever can be; the only respite, and thus, the only kindness.

"You filthy weasel! I'm going to be the one to kill you…"

The only respite, the only break in the monotony.

"And I look forward to it, you angry bitch."

And the only kindness.

"I'll take care not to die before then."

He could feel it slipping, feel it breaking away, as though the tears from his eyes could work through the tact holding the mask of his nurturing persona in place. Because of course, to this entire world the earth could never be anything other than the womb of all life, the dark stone protecting all from the terrible flames beneath the surface, caressed by the soft spring breeze, cradling the pristine ocean…

"You'd better not! Now get lost! I can't stand to see your snivelling face any longer!"

Because in this world around him, nothing of the outside world could really exist, or if it did, it was always to be exactly as the old stories described it. With oceans of sparkling sapphires, winds with calming lulls across fertile prairie and thriving woodland. Dragons to the far north, pushed nearly off the edge of the world, where savages alone may thrive and exist.

"Your… hands… they're…"

Savages to the north, without any sort of human feeling, capable only of death and destruction. Seeking only to destroy, and encase the world in ravenous flames. No family bonds, no moral values, no ethics or honour, or any manner of order and society. Just savages with dragon skin and war-mongering habits. Savages. Monsters.

"…so warm…"

He pressed his hands over his face, hiding himself from the garish life and its narrow graces. He hid himself, doubling over onto his stomach as there was a sharp pain in his chest, burning up from the point where the bones fused together. Like the flames locked within the living earth, but he knew that not to be the case. Whatever had lain inside of him for years was dead now, it had died long before he'd first sat here and looked out across the village and the forests and the life. The final embers of it had long since cooled when he'd lain in bed recovering from a bath of golden light and a bought with death itself. Those flames had been squelched within him before ever the final aerie had materialized before him; it had just taken him many weeks for life to calm down enough for him to realize the void that had been left behind.

Only in that harsh land was there any truth to the world, so like himself. He was not the nurturing soul of the world to give life; he was cold and grey inside, dying. His tears had no sweetness of joy in them, only bitter remorse, and he could find no whisper of laughter in his heart, only choke on his own breath.

"I had… forgotten…"

Sweet Venus, but that he could have done the same…

So SHORT! How appalling, I always prefer at least eight pages, not four.

I snuck in lines from my Felix/Karst one shot, Power. It'd be funny to call this a 'sequel' to a one-shot, so it fits better to just call it a brief prequel. Yay.