Disclaimer: All characters and locations belong to their respective owners, ©2004-2008.

A/N: Welcome back, fellow readers, to Round Three of the Pre-MLR Project! The fanfic you're about to read is the most serious of the saga and, if you see it that way, quite a shocker. I won't say why, but I'll leave that up to you to find the answer to this peculiar riddle in the first half of SGS. (I would like to quickly mention the time-skips in this story were inspired by a Sonic the Hedgehog fanfic called "ÆdS", so kudos to cornwallace the author for coming up with such a brilliant piece, lest I forget.)

You may have noticed the new title I've given to Pre-MLR. I concluded that the Project will be split into two major arcs: the first is titled "The Bygone Years" and the second being called "Magical Lyrical RANdom!". (Yes, I have given to you the answer you've been dying to hear! It has been revealed! As for why it's called that, you'll know when you read the later installments . . . starting with "Pieces of a Mosaic".) On my profile page you'll find a brief list of the stories I plan to post under that name in the near future. Ten are shown, one of which needs further conceptualizing before it can be added onto the page.

Also, there's a poll concerning which multi-chaptered story I should write alongside one of my epics outside this fandom. Two of the choices on there are "Eternal Phoenix" and "Inner Feelings From the Unfathomable Deep", which are MGLN fanfics. Not I'm not ASKING you to vote for them, but it would be nice to see what the readers would to see being worked on.

"Steel Gray Soul" is the FIFTH piece in the TBY timeline, set four years before StrikerS, three years before the first MLR fanfic.

So please enjoy. Constructive criticism and feedback are welcomed and appreciated.

The Bygone Years:
Steel Gray Soul

"Esse quam videri bonus maledat.
(He preferred to be good, rather than to seem so)."
-- Sallust

Canto I
FALL

"I never meant for this to happen," she says, hands reaching up to hide the sorrow on her face. She reminds herself not to show weakness, any weakness. Do not be weak, do not seem weak. For six years that has been her motto.

Her superior frowns. "It wasn't your fault." Like she knows it could have been avoided, could have been different, more worse than expected. "There was nothing you could do."

"It shouldn't have been this way." Everything is cold, dark, distant. She feels trapped, caged in her prison of good will and virtue. The waves are breaking ever harder, the sun shining ever hotter. (The ghosts are breathing down her neck, whispering testaments torn and fragmented-- You could have saved us! Why didn't you save us?-- glass shards cutting at wings carrying more burdens than it should be.)

"We couldn't have known, with or without intelligence," tells the superior. "They were clever. They knew where to hit, where to premeditate. We were sorely outnumbered."

(Blood leaks from wounds too few and far, spilling tears unchecked like sins from a fallen angel. Blood leaks and fades into dust that never was.)

"It should have been me."

PAUSE.

There comes a time when life takes a one-eighty and dumps the world's heaviest burdens upon your shoulders. The weight of all the emotions exuding from the very heart of the matters playing at hand becomes too much, and when the needle lands on the stack it comes tumbling down in a climatic fashion. The time in which one grows to who one wishes to be has its extenuating circumstances.

Children believe they are prepared for anything. They like to think they can leap over every hurdle the gods like to throw at them every step of the way on the road to adulthood.

That is not so. That cannot be. It is not reality.

Reality is the cold, hard truth. Reality is everything people do not want it to turn out to be. Reality is harsh. Reality is cruel. Reality is damning.

Reality is the wake-up call, and without it one can never earn the strength to carry on.

REWIND.

The day is June fifteen.

Fifteen-year-old Nanoha Takamachi, Tenth Regional Officer and combat instructor-in-training, is called to the S.S. Asura's Central Command. Having returned from an emergency mission on Mid-Childa, she confronts the voice of authority.

Chrono Harlaown, Captain of Asura and Supreme Commander of the Time-Space Administration Bureau, has received information of dire urgency. According to reports, there was a planet on the edge of a binary star system reeling in the iron grip of absolute despotism. Riots were on an uncontrollable level and spreading across the globe. In the center of the violence a group of refugees escaped the horrors of slave trading and fled to the confines of an enclosed mountain range, where they managed to relay an S.O.S.

The mission sounds simple: go to the planet and retrieve the refugees via corvette. But this mission requires more than just Nanoha. Chrono sees to it that he send Moon and Sun Squads (Riot Forces Three and Four, to be precise) under her command. It comes as a surprise that he would even consider giving the mantle to a wet-behind-the-ears rookie, but Chrono says he trusts her. It would do her well to corporate real-time strategy in warfare.

The troop is to launch at nineteen-hundred; one hour, so it gives Nanoha enough time to acquaint the Riot Forces and prepare. Harlaown directs her to East Wing, Corridor C, Room C67, where the Squads are located. Officer Takamachi nods and takes her leave.

Several minutes later finds the Earthling in a spacious locker room. Twenty men and women prep themselves for battle, adjusting barrier jackets, armor, and devices to ease unsettled nerves. Nanoha introduces herself to each and every soldier and listens to them speak of themselves, their accomplishments, their duties, their devotion to the officer presented to them. It doesn't surprise her that they come to her before their calling. What does come as a surprise is that she's quite a popular subject among the ranks, a hero who fights for good and triumphs over evil in song and yarn.

It isn't a surprise when Fate, Hayate, the Wolkenritter and various other people she's known are mentioned, but it is a surprise nonetheless when they describe her as 'one who brings all and none to a final bind'. She's afraid to know what they mean by that, but she likes to think they're saying something praise-worthy, like she's more than just the infamous White Devil sending chills down their spines.

(Though she doesn't know it, years from now, when this whole mess blows over and is nothing but a faded memory in snow and static and darkness, the White Devil will mean more outside of combat.)

As the minutes lessen, the tension thickens. The people are getting antsy. They're fidgeting in their seats on the benches and double, triple, and quadruple-checking their equipment. Nanoha watches them from a corner in the room, and it takes a great amount of will to not do the same thing. But her hand reaches up to finger the ruby red orb that is Raging Heart, slowly and unconsciously--

"If they see you like that, they won't follow you."

She blinks, startled out of her reverie. Nanoha looks and finds the source of the voice: a young man with viridian eyes, a handsome, angular face and cropped black hair. He seems to be the head Enforcer for Sun Squad, as he is decked in a yellow cape and green armor bearing a sun-shaped sigil on his vanguards.

His lips bear the tiniest hints of a smirk. "Name's Tsuzakun Horiyama," introduces the soldier. "I've heard many a great tale about you, Officer Takamachi."

"Ah, is that so?" says Nanoha. She forces a smile in an effort to ward off wayward troubles. There's a certain tone in his voice that she's heard on numerous occasions, a kind of subtlety one likes to exude without appearing harmful.

Tsuzakun nods. "Yes, indeed. These people look up to you. They want to be someone who can change the world with the power of courage and kindness. They want to perform heroic acts and have their names in the history books. They want to be remembered as someone who will never let others down."

(Somewhere in the trenches of her psyche, Nanoha feels those last words engrave themselves with a scalding iron tip. It will still burn even when she becomes wrapped in that dreadful, dreadful cloak of nihilism.)

But Nanoha sets aside that irritable itch for another day (today). "I've learned much over the years. It takes a lot of strength to keep moving forward. No matter how tough or bleak the situation may be, one must look at it as a trial to overcome and make it to the next challenge."

"That's true," agrees Tsuzakun, "but the meaning of strength is the thought that counts."

"What do you mean?"

"One needs to uphold an image for people to understand, to know that they can be just like that person and gain the confidence to be as strong as they can be. If it means that they must sacrifice something of utmost value to carry on and grow, then so be it. If it means to prove themselves they can perform their duties to the fullest, then let it be. But you must never show fear, be it known or unknown. You must never quaver in the midst of danger. If you fear, they will doubt. And if you fear, they will never grow."

His gaze meets hers, and suddenly Nanoha feels small, very small, beneath those piercing green orbs; they that seem all-knowing, otherworldly, a newborn star in the cosmos. It is under this stare she thinks on those words she said years ago, a time when the Book of Darkness was no more and the road to the future lay open and unpaved. To protect the weak and become the strongest she can be to defend the people precious to her . . . .

If you fear, they will doubt. And if you fear, they will never grow.

(In the days to come, they will ring so true.)

FAST-FORWARD.

"Don't say that!" she rebukes. The facets of a gem that is her face reflect the emotions from the overhead lights. In anger, for her brow creases; in confidence, for her eyes narrow; in fear, for the red muscle in her chest drums erratically; and in loss, for her hopes have fallen to the pits of her stomach. "You and I both know there was nothing we could do!"

(Come shadows, let me be your friend. Drown me in your fathomless depths and never let go.)

"It wasn't your fault!"

(Don't let go don't let go don't let go don't let go don't let go . . . .)

A period of disestablishment, an etude to chaos. She wishes to remain here forever, lost in a dreamless eternity.

If only . . . .

SKIP.

"So that's what happened, huh?" She scratches the back of her neck, looking out at clusters of heavendust and cosmological schema. They're the lights of God's megalopolis, the souls of innocents departed from the mortal realm, and their purity shines hope upon desolation. "And she hasn't come out of it since?"

Fate gives a somber nod. Those blood-red orbs are holding on for dear life, clinging to the edges of a crystalline pool ready to overflow. Tough exterior aside, it hurts her to see such a lovely face succumb to sensitive wounds. "Yes. We tried everything, and I can't stand to see her like this. I'm her best friend and she refuses to talk to me. What else are we supposed to do?"

She puts her chin in her hands and begins to think. And think. And think. And think.

Her fingers snap to a conclusion. "Got it." She gets off the bed and walks to the door, stretching as she goes. Fate watches her pick up Graf Eisen with both hands.

"What are you doing?" she asks, a startled lilt on her lips.

She glances over her shoulder and arches an eyebrow. "What's it look like? I'm going to help Nanoha."

REWIND.

They come out of nowhere. They strike with the manic power of submachine guns and do not relent.

Four soldiers and one refugee have already fallen to their wrath. Blood cakes the hard, jagged earth in pools and limbs fly aimlessly across the sky. In the chaos that is hell, Nanoha has to wonder how the terrorists could have known they were coming. There's nowhere to hide, nowhere to take cover. The nearest outpost town had to be miles over the horizon.

How the hell did they find them?

There's no time to wonder. Don't think, just act.

So Nanoha tightens her grip on Raging Heart, knuckles turning white. She swings the device forward, commands the Riot Forces to attack, and opens fire.

SKIP.

"--I could fade away."

She blinks. Confusion paints a grey-green mosaic in those sapphire orbs, a one-way mirror into the murky land of right and wrong, sin and virtue. "What?" A pathetic spell uttered by the greatest of minds. This is her meaning of the universe.

"I want to vanish off the face of the earth. I want to drift among the stars and never come down."

A tiny, tiny smile. A crack in the soul.

Yes.

This is it.

SKIP.

Their screams are horrible. Loud, long, undeserving. Their blood is on her hands, in her eyes, in her body . . . .

". . . . . . . . noha!"

She clutches her head, covers her ears, shuts herself from the world. She can't hear them, she won't hear them, she doesn't hear them. She refuses to hear them!

But she does. She hears them and they don't stop. They ring, terrible knells of doom. They ring and ring and ring and ring.

"NANOHA!"

A hand claps her shoulder. Nanoha whirls around and stares into Tsuzakun's gore-splattered countenance. (One of his eyes is gone, a black hole on the verge of collapse.)

Over the din of battle he yells, "We're being overrun! Give the order!"

She does, but before she can she sees a female Enforcer of Moon Squad get mowed down by a sporadic spray of bullets right behind Tsuzakun. The Enforcer, who looks to be no older than Nanoha, crumples to the ground like a broken marionette. Her mouth hangs open in a rictus of pain and surprise, her brown irises glazing over, and her amber-colored locks pulling the curtains on an opera cut short of its expectations.

Andgodohgodshelookslikehershelooksjustlikefatemakeitstopicanttakeitanymoregodhelpmemakethemstopmakethemmake
themSTOP!

"NANOHA!!"

SKIP.

"Nanoha . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all that's happened. I'm sorry it turned out like this. I'm sorry for all aches and pains you suffered on that day. If fate were to have it I would take it all away, but--"

"No. You can't. You can't take away the pain. You can't cure this itch. You can't take back what's already done."

"Nanoha--"

"I failed you, Hayate." she grinds out woodenly. "I failed Fate, I failed Chrono, I failed the Wolkenritter. I failed everyone and failed in my duty as a mage!

"Most of all, I failed myself."

SKIP. SKIP. SKIP.

"Go, Nanoha!" cries Tsuzakun as he runs his device, a knife named Vulcan, through and out the chest of an enemy. "Get to the rendezvous point!"

"No! I won't leave you!" Stab him in the gut and let off Divine Shooter. Watch him disintegrate. "I won't let you die--!"

"I already am! I don't have much time left!" Turn around and slash across the man's forehead, just above his eyes. Watch him scream and fall. "Don't worry about me! Just go!"

He's tired. He's weak. He's dying. In his voice, in his stance, in his steps.

He'll (won't) make it. He'll (won't) live. He will (won't)!

Rain starts to fall with steady pellets.

"Hang in there, Tsuzakun!" Rain smacks the ground in scattered rivulets. "Just hang on! I'll save you!"

"It's too late for that." Backhand the guy and puncture his carotid artery. Watch him choke and stumble in his own lifestain. "As Head Enforcer of Sun Squad Riot Force Three I, Tsuzakun Horiyama, shall protect and serve Tenth Regional Officer Nanoha Takamachi with all my power, even if it means my very life!"

"Tsuzakun--"

"Live, Nanoha!" He grunts as a crossbow bolt lodges in his left arm. Hunched over, vomiting blood, wilting but still keeping his feet firmly rooted, he tackles the man and eviscerates him in a quick, clean swipe. He rears up and places a crushed hand over her rattling heart. "LIVE ON! AND NEVER GIVE UP!"

And the Breaker Point, Tsuzakun Horiyama's trademark reflecting barrier, knocks Nanoha out of the crowd. The terrorists that are within the range of its circumference are instantly ash and smoke and steam.

The last words she hears from him as she makes a break for the TSAB corvette are forever etched in her soul.

"NEVER TURN BACK!"

SKIP. SKIP. SKIP. SKIP. SKIP.

She rises from her seat, doesn't bother to look Hayate in the eye. Pale blue light splashes across features somber and pale, a lonely phantom chained by the plagues of excommunicated morality. Russet locks curtain the tragedy unfolding in those chaotic oceans.

"I'm done talking." And she walks away, leaving Hayate with a very sour and certainly unpleasant taste in her throat.

She starts to move after her. "Wait! Nanoha--"

"Don't call me that!" The voice is sharp, bitter, and the edge of her sword is gleaning white and terrible. Yagami stops, and that alone causes her to recall older memories (fonder memories) untouched by icy, anguished robes. Those days which they did graze fingers along the smooth, silk fabrics unrequited (for never can they do so, the numbness unbearably less mitigated) are soft and subtle, a queer rustling in leaves of faded green.

Hayate wishes for those days to return.

Nanoha wishes for time and shadows to let her be.

They are too engrossed to notice that each have gone to their own worlds.

STOP.

"I hear waves crashing,
Rough monikers in the stars.
Where now do I go?"
-- Takamachi Nanoha

"Tears reign in the dark,
Lord over me in despair.
Why do you hurt so?"
-- Fate T. Harlaown

"Sun sets in the west,
Nightfall looms in murky grey.
What heralds the day?"
-- Yagami Hayate

Thus begins the Metamorphosis; a time of change, a time of awakening. Open your eyes, listless child, and you shall understand.