The Cosmos Report
The Final Chapter

"Well," The Chronicler says, "We're done."

"And we are cruel beyond measure," says The Wanderer. "To send a son to strike his father."

"We do what we must," I say, "Jecht is defying The Gods. As angels, it is our duty to do what we must to stand against him."

"Still,"

"Yes," I say, "It was a horrible and cruel decision. We have made terrible choices this day. We must move now, though. We cannot be found here."

We take our leave of The Source, not sure what we could do for him anyway. We make our way as far away from that place as possible. We move so quickly that we are near to the exit when Cosmos' angels finally find us.

"Ah, Cids. We have been searching for you. Chaos has left! The battle is ended!"

"So i' woul' seem," says The Engineer. "If ye'll escuse us, though, we be late fer a meetin'."

"We cannot," one angel says, "The Lady demands you rest here, if only for the night, and then speak with her in the morning."

"Please, though," the other angel says, "give me the dockets. I will take your final choice to The Lady."

"Very well," I say, wanting some rest. "Our work is done. We will stay here the night and then bid farewell to The Lady."

"A most excellent decision, Oh Scholar," says the first angel. She leads us out of The Grand Cellar and back into the Palace.

"We will take you to your rooms," says the second. "It would be our pleasure."

The night comes, and we rest in our rooms. The others celebrate for a small time before retiring. Before he goes to his bed, I call The Messenger aside. He gives me a puzzled look, but concedes. What I ask is important.

"Do you still have Cosmos' Crystal?"

"Yeah, I do. I'd completely forgotten about it. Do you think I should call an angel and have them take it to her?"

"No. Give it to me. Let me hold on to it. I'll give it to her tomorrow morning. I would sleep easier if I had it, though."

"Alright, that's not a problem. Make sure you get some rest, though, Scholar. Tomorrow night we'll be out of here, and then we can celebrate for real. I shall be glad to be gone from this place."

"As shall I. Goodnight, Messenger,"

"Goodnight, Scholar."

The Messenger takes his leave after handing me the Crystal, and I sit down at my bed with the object in my hands. Absolute power is contained within. The object by which they who are not Gods may work miracles. The gems which Gods decorate themselves with. Unlimited Potential is The Source of this stone. The power to change anything and everything, right here in my hands.

And I know what I must do.

The morning comes, and we are dressed in our travelling robes once more. They are fine robes to behold, white, edged with red, each one bearing blue stripes to signify our office. Our things have been sent ahead. The angels of The Lady come and knock one after another on our doors to fetch us.

We assemble outside the doors and offer our smiles to each other. Things are at last over. We will soon go and see The Highest at his Counsel, but more importantly, we will soon be free to relax again. Maybe we will go and relax at a resort when we are done. No real need to think much about it. All that matters is we are almost done.

"This way, please," says the angel, and we file after her.

There are things which bother us, yes, things we have seen and heard which haunt us, and choices we have made, but for the moment, those don't matter. Over our heads seems to hover that familiar aura of a job well done. We have finished our work, and we have finished it on time. Our record remains perfect, and we may now move on with our afterlives.

The Palace is being repaired swiftly. Cosmos could, of course, wave her hand and make it better, save those things destroyed by Kefka, Ex-Death, and The Cloud of Darkness, which are beyond the realm of The Gods. Things are being repaired this way, though, because it is better that people have things to do. Sure, one can spend eternity relaxing and doing nothing, but many, many souls prefer to spend it working, being busy, having something to do.

We pass by the pools again and see several demons have been held here. Apparently Cosmos intends to open a new prison in light of the Cleft Jail Break. Several Seraphim incline their heads as we pass. But as I glance back after we have passed them, I see that they are being called elsewhere.

Eventually, we reach the room where I scored the ninth dockets. The room has been refurnished. The angel stops us here and says, "Please, have a seat. We will call you up to join The Lady in a moment."

When I am quite sure she is gone, I turn to The Chronicler. I reach into my robe and produce The Crystal. The Chronicler takes it and gives me an odd look.

"What's this?"

"Cosmos' Crystal," I say, "keep it safe. In it rests my entire record of what has happened here since we arrived. I remember these things perfectly, but I want you to hold on to that in case I forget, or in case The Gods demand a back up at The Counsel of Cids or if they wish someone to confirm my words. Hide it. Cosmos cannot know we are taking it."

"I will," he says, "gladly. It will be my pleasure." The Chronicler hides the Crystal inside his robe, and we shake hands. The others come to us, then, and we stand side-by-side as the angel comes back down.

"The Lady will meet with you now."

Ladies and Gentlemen:

Ascending the stairs, we enter the daylight that shines about the palace. We follow the angel to the center of the amphitheatre. The seats are packed full of angels, and there, center-stage, stands Cosmos. Not the Princess, but the Goddess. Her light does not freeze us this time, however, and we are still fully able to move.

Around Cosmos, thrust into the floor, are our swords. The Goddess turns to face us, and with a wave of her hand, dismisses the angel to go and join the crowd. The Scholar passes me and approaches The Goddess.

Looking about, he asks, "What is the occasion, Goddess? We have done only a small thing for you."

Cosmos smiles her beautiful smile, then motions to the veil. Would you like to see what is beyond? she asks. The Scholar looks at her in confusion. He shrugs, supposing only fields lay beyond the veil. Cosmos parts the veil, sending it flying to the sides, and before us opens a scene we had not expected.

A vast lake stretches out before us. The lake's color glows softly, and we recognize the fluid which makes it up immediately. Our suspicions are confirmed by the great crystals which rise up from the lake. This is . . . not what we had expected.

Interesting, Cosmos says, you are the first to behold this sight silently. Why is this, Oh Cids?

"The color reminds us of the tanks in The Great Cellar," The Scholar says, waving an arm, "the memories of the villains are fresh in our minds. We are reminded of those foes, that is all."

Is that all? Cosmos asks, I see. You may take your leave, now.

We incline our heads to the Goddess, and then turn. We begin to leave, each of us frightened by what we have seen, horrified by it. But we do not turn back. We cannot. Just as we prepare to turn toward the stairs, though, we are stopped.

One small question, first, Cosmos says as several Seraphs block our path, Where is my Crystal?

The Scholar turns to face Cosmos, "Ah, that."

Yes, that. You went into the Crystal Room yesterday, and now my Crystal is missing. Where is it?

"You're sure Sephiroth didn't take it when he cut down the door?"

Don't try to deceive me, Scholar. Do you think the lack of a Crystal is all I have noticed?

"Absolutely. I can't possibly see any other crime you may have perceived committed against you."

Very well then. says Cosmos, a whisp of light flying from off of her person and into The Scholar. The Scholar doubles over and gasps, but as he tries to clutch at the wound, several more whisps shoot out of Cosmos, as though they were tendrils, and into The Scholar.

The Engineer shouts and runs forward, but is knocked back by Cosmos' aura. The Seraphs restrain us, pull our arms behind our backs, and we are made to stand still. The Wanderer shouts something derogatory, and he is hit by the Seraph. What has become of us? Where was the strength we wielded against the villains?

"W-why?" The Scholar sputters.

Why? Cosmos responds, firing several more light-tendrils into him. Let me tell you why. A counsel is being held by The Gods for the Cids. And no one told me about it. I don't need to be told though. I know you have been writing some kind of expose, Cid. You intend to have me dethroned.

"I-" more tendrils, and now The Scholar is lifted upward.

I am not done. You stole my Crystal, Scholar, or lost it to my enemy, I don't care which. You did incredible damage to my plan to regrow Crystals and use them to break free of this Endless Cycle. You have seen Cidian Lief. I cannot let you give this report, so I am stopping you now.

"You can't kill me," lashes back our leader.

I have no intention of killing you. And I am not finished. More tendrils, and now we begin to notice. The Scholar's skin is filling with these vines, like foul veins they emerge under his skin. Worst of all is that you dared to KISS ME. You, you foul, scheming little fiend. You will cost me my crown, my kingdom, my hope of being free of Chaos, you will cost me everything, trap me in this Endless Cycle, and yet you have the audacity to KISS ME!

"So many Cycles," The Scholar spits, his tongue now swelling with Cosmos' power, "And yet you Gods have all forgotten that one which once was dearest. A Trillion Stars a God. Ha! What lies. You Gods no longer raise new Gods, who in turn should make new. Improvement and Progression are no longer your Endless Cycle. Sloth and Stagnation are now your creed."

You hate The Gods so much, and loathe this work. I have seen some of the pages stolen by agents of Chaos. Do you despise us so? Cosmos turns The Scholar around, lifting him over the edge of the balcony, out over the Crystal Lake. Behold! She cries. Ten bright lights fall from the Heavens and downward, into the great reaches of the Lake. The War is begun.

Why are you still here? Cosmos asks us, as her power chokes The Scholar's throat and begins to fill his eyes. He tries to turn his head to face us, but cannot. We stand firmly rooted to our spot, despite the Seraphs having released their grip.

"We will see the end of this." I say, "That is our master, you hold, our Scholar. We will see this come to it's end."

Is this yours? Cosmos asks, pointing a hand at The Scholar. Your Scholar? No, no longer will he be The Scholar. I take that from him now. The man you knew is mine. He hates this war, and so he will see it all. His sin is a record, a report, and so he shall record the war he built. If I lose my throne because The Liar chose Kefka, The Scholar will stand by and watch Kefka fight.

"Ye can say wha' ye wish, madam, but this is ar master. We will see this."

THIS IS NOT YOUR MASTER. Cosmos shouts. The Scholar's body writhes in agony, and his eyes are now laced over with the light-tendrils of Cosmos' will. Behold The Narrator! He is mine, and not yours. He used his lips to defile the divine, and now, as punishment, he must use his lips for my purposes. A shout issues from within The Scholar, and then his body seems to go limp for a moment.

Cosmos lowers him to stand on the balcony, and then the visible tie between them vanishes. Despite this, his eyes are still hers. "I am at The Lady's service," he says, "May I assist you gentlemen?"

And so it ends. Cosmos has taken from us the man we loved. There stands the body of Cid Previa, whom we would have followed anywhere. We had hoped that when he became a God, we could minister for him. We four had talked, and were going to make such a reccomendation when this was over.

But there Cid Previa does not stand. "Scholar," I say, "Your Mid, my friend. What shall I tell him?"

"Mid?" Answers The Narrator, "Who is that? I am sorry. You must be confused."

"Yes," The Wanderer says, "I suppose we do. Let us go, Cosmos. We have nothing more to see or say here."

Begone, Cids. I have no further need for your services.

Here follows the end of this tale.
EPILOGUE

Some small time later, The Counsel of Cids was held. The Grand Hall of the Sacred Nebula housed this mighty gathering. All the Cids from across the Heavens and from the depths of Hell came, and even those Cids who had been cast into the Void. Cids not yet born attended, and The Highest himself presided.

The Four, Cid Pollendina, Cid del Norte Marquez, Cid Kramer, and Al-Cid Margrace were invited to speak. Other Cids who had been at Cosmos' Palace of Order bore witness to things they had seen. One by one, Cidolfas Orlandeau, Cid Randell, Cid Highwind, Cid Secondus, Cid Haze, and Cid Fabool IX testified of the things which had happened.

Cidolfas Demen Bunansa was brought before the court, and he delivered what was called The Chaos Report. It was a detailed account of the story from the side of Chaos. He fell under heavy attack from many for his decision to wake Kefka and Sephiroth, and for leading Chaos to the prison on the Cleft of Dimensions. In the end he was returned to Hell, The Highest believing that punishment enough for the man.

Cid Al Bhed took the stand and informed The Counsel of another side to the tale, of the struggle of a spirit named Benjamin against Queen Remedi to recover stolen pages of The Cosmos Dockets. He presented these files, which in addition to those stolen which had been scored by The Scholar and his fellows, included dockets from Altana and Faram, who had consented to send Cosmos aid in an attempt to get agents into her palace.

And in the end, Cid Kramer returned to the stand. He reached into his robe and produced a single Crystal. A hush fell over The Grand Hall, and every Cid present lent his ear to here the man speak. Cid was quiet at first, but, after clearing his throat and wiping his eyes, he spoke louder.

This, he said, was The Cosmos Report itself. All the things which had happened as they happened, as recorded by The Scholar. It was, in essence, a record of his memories. The Chronicler cleared his throat one last time, and then began.

"I am The Scholar," he said. "I am the fore of Lady Cosmos' selection team . . ."

Upon the Balcony, all alone, The Narrator stood. His voice echoed out across the Crystal lake. It was a simple thing this Construct of Order spoke, yet the words seemed to be infused with a special power, a special meaning. They were the words which woke the Heroes.

"The world is veiled in darkness," he says. "The wind stops. The sea is wild, and the earth begins to rot."

From the shallows of the pool rises a warrior in black armor. Bright gold horns adorn his helm, and a long yellow cape. In his hand, a holy blade. The Excalibur. This warrior has no idea where he is, or how he got there, but he does feel something has changed within him.

"The people wait, their only hope, a prophecy."

A man in red, decorated with ribbons and sashes pulls himself out of the waters elsewhere. He is carrying many weapons. Within him there is an urge awakening. An urge to seek and to search.

"When the world is in darkness, ten heroes will appear."

A child runs his hand through his hair, his helm resting on his knee. Far and wide there is nothing but crystal and sea.

"After long adventures, the Ten have arrived."

A warrior in black stares down at his hands. He touches the helmet on his face, stares down at the reflective waters, and buries his face in his hands.

"And in the hands of each, the fate of the Crystals are held."

The brown haired youth stares out across the expanses. He cannot tell if he is here alone, or if there are others out there. He is not aware of where here even is.

"Unaffected by the weight of their tasks, the Ten will protect The Crystals."

A woman bursts from the waters, gasping for breath. She shakes her head to dry it. Her lungs labor, forcing her breaths in and out again and again as she strives to breathe freely.

"It is said that, in the distant past, radiance dwelt in these Ten."

Another man rests upon a great crystal. Nearby lays his sword. The man adjusts the pauldron on his shoulder, but does not get up. He is not sure he wants to yet.

"Now begins their journey, to save the light."

This man lifts his blade, looks around, and simply begins to wander. He cannot see the good in staying where he is. He will seek intelligence then.

"Will they vanquish the darkness, restore peace, and bask in the light?"

A man with a tail. He hangs from a crystal by this tail, thinking of what to do next. He isn't sure why, but he knows he must go on. It will be sad, though, to part from this treasure-stone.

"Or will they give in to their lusts, their desires, their natural selves?"

One last man takes his first breath, then another. He rolls onto his back and lies in the crystal waters. This place is pure and clean, and he wishes to enjoy it a moment.

"Together they will stand, alone they may fall. A war they now must wage. A grand conflict to resolve."

A white hot space, beyond description. A man stands in it. He walks a while, no reason nor purpose at all. He simply enjoys the motion, the movement. Walking, he finds, is some manner of physical poetry, and he enjoys the feel of his muscles moving as he walks.

The man is slowly aware of himself. His body is almost completely naked, save a simple white robe he feels rub against his arms and legs while he moves. The fabric is soft, but not excessively so. It is perhaps made from cotton, though the lack of any trees, soil, or ground seem to bring that into question.

Eventually he hears a sound, and makes his way toward it. It's a soft noise at first, but it gets a little louder when he comes near to it. He realizes, as he walks, that he has heard this sound before: This is the sound of someone crying. Who, though? Perhaps no one he knows. No, not perhaps, it's very certain. He cannot, after all, say for certain who he himself is.

The source of the sorrow is found. A child, a little girl, no more than seven years of age, by appearance, sits on the ground. Her body is also naked, save for a white robe. Her head is covered in a beautiful red-gold hair, and her eyes, as she cries, are the most moving shade of blue. Like the sea, sparkling in a tropical sun, the color is.

The man sits down before this child and speaks, "Hush, hush," he soothes her. The girl throws herself into his arms, crying all the more violently. "Why do you cry, little one?"

"She is going to make me fight," the girl responds, burying her face in shoulder. "She'll take my mother and father from me, make me a killer, and force me to fight. My life is decided, and I am not even born."

"I am sorry," the man tells her, holding the girl as tight as he can, trying his best to soothe her, to calm her, to cease her violent trembling.

"Why couldn't you stop her? Why did you let her do this?"

"I am sorry," the man says, resting his own face in the girl's back. He does not know how, but he knows he has failed this child, this innocent little girl. He feels shame, but is not willing to give up entirely.

The man reaches into his robe and pulls out a tiny sphere of light. He holds it out for the girl to see. Presented with this strange development, the little one stops her crying for a moment.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Hope," he says. "Take it."

The girl reaches out and takes from his hand the offered light. She holds it in her own, and in surprise, sees that the same light remains in his own hands.

"See how it spreads, from one person to the next?" asks the man. "That is how hope works. It goes from person to person, filling each with as much hope as they will allow themself to hold. Take care of it for me, share it with as many as you can. Let's make this our Endless Cycle. Hope begetting Hope."

"I will," the girl says. She embraces the man again, and whispers in his ear, "Please stay with me until it is time."

"I will." he answers.

The End.