--THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED--

Hey everyone, it's Ringbearingreasergal. This is the sequal to 'Karma Chronicles I--The Spell'. The following is a brief 'what's gone on before'. Thank you. I advise reading it though, before this. Just a thought.

When we last left off, seven-year-old Marlene had tried to raise Aeris back to life using Materia and a spellbook. It was too much for her and she almost got herself killed, had it not been for Kadaj healing her. Yep. She woke up to the SHM very alive in that forest clearing outside of Seventh Heaven. They said Aeris had sent them back about a week before and proudly declared that they were here to help people. She became friends with them as they live in the forest. She hides them from Barret, who lives with her, and Tifa and Cloud. They have no idea that the SHM are alive.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the Final Fantasy characters, or settings. I do not own the lyrics to 'Temples Of Gold' which this story is based off of. I do, however, own the plotline, and any OCs I decide to incorporate.

DEDICATION: I dedicate this story to Sean Kinney, a 17-year-old who left a legacy behind at our high school that no one else could. You're a beautiful boy Sean, and I'm going to miss you. I love you and I cry for you and I hope that one day I might see you again in Heaven. In the mean time, this is for you and I can only hope that I do you justice. With much love, Lorie.

Prologue:

It should be noted, first and foremost, that on the night of December first in Sector Seven's downtown area of Midgar, the air was very still.

There were few passer-bys on the streets at the late hour, but those who did find themselves striding curtly down the slum's sidewalks were solemn and quiet, their footsteps clipping shortly against the concrete.

No cars or vehicles rolled down the streets, leaving a silence too awkward and omniscient for talking, so no one did.

Something, or someone was coming.

They just didn't know what or when.

A black sky billowed over the city—mysterious, bruised, and unhappy. Clouds unseen against the night sky swirled and centered and misted over the dim city.

The atmosphere was tense and constricting, leaving the people with a nervous and distrustful aftertaste of the odds. Every-man-for-himself attitude.

It was all quiet; except for the continuous caw of a single gray crow circling overhead, in harmony with the clouds.

This was a bad, bad night.

There was an almost physical feeling of tension and unease in the stone-cold air. Every living thing outside that night was unbearably alert.

A small child tugged at his mother's coat and whispered a plea to go home. The teenagers didn't dare mention the dread to their friends. The old men and women grew shifty-eyed and braced themselves.

But nearly every head swiveled as headlights glared like suns through the mist and a long, dark-blue travel bus stopped with a squeal and a groan in front of the small booth-like bus station.

With a hiss the door was opened and a looming silhouette stepped into the streets.

A soundless, jagged streak of blue lightening flashed. The bus door shut and the vehicle slowly rolled off, creaking and old.

The people were unable to keep their gaze from the shadow, still shrouded in chilled mist. It stooped down, picked up its small suitcase, and emerged slowly, enjoying its entrance.

The people stared in dull expectation.

And Vincent Valentine chuckled to himself as he strode deliberately through the frozen group.

It's a good, good night, he thought to himself.

And the air was very still.

XxXxXx

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