Part I: Penance (2)

Kain pressed himself up against the wall of stone, feeling his hair snag on the jagged edges. He kept his breathing slow and steady, so as not to give away the faintest hint of his presence to the creatures he knew stood round the corner. The putrid scent of their rotted flesh was clearly discernable even at this distance: there was more than one, he knew, and they were still at some distance away. He had a moment or two to catch his breath and formulate some sort of attack plan before the foul beasts picked up on his own scent and attacked him.

Kain almost laughed. He wanted to laugh. He'd been weary of battle and carnage even before he set foot on the sacred mountain, ready for a peaceful journey of solemn contemplation as he climbed to the summit. But he'd been wrong. The guardians of Mount Ordeals were embodiments of battle and carnage themselves: gruesome caricatures of the dead and decaying, clothed only in ancient, dilapidated armour which made no pretence of hiding the rotting flesh underneath. He'd been sick at his first sight of them, walking stiffly across the sacred stone of the mountain toward him like dead soldiers out of his worst battle-nightmare. Kain had even tried to avoid fighting the ghouls at all - but though their armour and flesh had decomposed their swords and spears bit well enough. He'd had to defend himself, as he was potionless, and the slick sound of his spear slicing through the undead skin and bone, the sight and smell of the juices as they splattered - Kain had been quietly ill after that first battle, apologizing profusely to the spirits of the mountain for his stomach's weakness.

He'd learnt quickly that the zombies weren't just mindless beasts. It would've been easier to slaughter them had they been monsters, like the creatures of the wild; but the ghosts of Mount Ordeals seemed just that, ghosts of people who'd once lived and walked the mountain's trail themselves. The sounds they made were uncannily like human speech, in an utterly inhuman way that plagued Kain's nightmares when he slept. Although he did not sleep often; there was little difference between the nightmares of his waking hours and the troublesome dreams of his resting ones. The last time he'd taken an actual rest he'd been perched on a small alcove of rock, trusting his Dragoon instincts to keep him from falling as he leant wearily against the smooth cliff-face and closed his eyes. He dared not sleep long; the inhabitants of the mountain were always prowling - and always hungry. He'd learnt this the hard way. The ghouls of the mountain were as intelligent as they were fearsome.

Holding his breath carefully, Kain shifted his body and slowly craned his head. Bit by bit, painstakingly slow, he turned until his gaze fell upon the first zombie warrior. He moved a fraction more - three, four, five. Five warriors. Kain was still holding his breath; the slightest movement, the smallest sound, and the creatures would be upon him. Five warriors he could take, were he careful and cautious about it. The last pack he'd faced had left him with a single potion, a valuable prize; he could not count on such luck to last. Behind the cluster of fiends, Kain could see what appeared to be the beginnings of a path. Thank the heavens, he thought, sighing in relief. Thus far there had been no sign of direction on this blasted mountain. A path was the sort of signal he'd been waiting for.

In his hand, the Holy Lance suddenly flared with bright white light for a single moment. Cursing, Kain ducked back around the corner, wincing as the sharp heat of the weapon burnt his palm - but he did not want to drop his spear, for the clatter would alert the creatures behind him. He heard the rough shuffling of rusty armour and old bones, however, and knew it was too late. The lance had been doing this since their experience at the gate of fire: at times it would light up, as if on fire itself, only to die out before the power of the light could even be explained, let alone useful. Kain had ignored it, as he didn't know what else to do. But never before had the lance betrayed him like this. Kain set the thought aside and gritted his teeth; the ghouls were coming towards him, and he had precious little time to prepare.

A moment of listening told him that only one zombie-creature was moving at the moment, and that it was close. He gripped his spear tightly, edging away from the corner of the cliff to give himself room to manoeuvre. He heard the creature's uneven step catch on a rock, and then the gruesome face appeared, peering around the corner itself in an almost human-like gesture.

Don't look, Kain told himself automatically, even as he threw himself into a lunge, striking the ghoul's sword away with his spear. But he couldn't help it; they all had faces, faces which had once been human. This one had been female, he thought, even as he slashed it in the stomach with the tip of his lance; female, with long straggling hair still attached to the few pieces of spotted scalp its skull bore. Its eyes were vast caverns of nothing. The fiend was already weakened, but it lashed out at Kain again, the sword catching the edge of his armour; fumbling, he thrust back, skewering the zombie through its decayed stomach even as it warbled at him. Don't look, he told himself again, but he couldn't help but watch the thing as it fumbled pathetically on the ground, its non-eyes somehow fixed on him. Once, that had been a real face. Kain watched as its movements slowed to nothingness, and the body crumbled into the dust of the dead.

The blow struck him from nowhere, the staff cracking him right where his jaw met his neck; Kain was thrown to the ground by the force of it, rolling awkwardly through the dusty remains of the first zombie before he could come to a halt. He quickly got to his feet, ignoring the pounding of his head and the stinging sensation where the staff had hit - if he remained on the ground, the creatures would have him in an instant. Another blow came at him, knocking him to his knees; almost blinded by pain and dust, Kain threw his spear up more on instinct than anything, blocking the sword stroke that was coming at him. His ears were ringing, and his vision throbbed between blinding white and very dangerous blackness.

Panicking, Kain took off into the air. The rush of fresh breeze against his face allowed him a brief second to clear his mind - although, once clear, the pain of his neck wound only hurt more - and he repositioned himself, tumbling downward with spearpoint first towards the nearest ghoul. The blow struck true, a heavy slash through the undead monster's chest. Kain braced himself against the ground and pulled the lance free, taking a few cautious steps backwards.

The creature turned to him, roaring in its pain and rage. This one was ghastly; it was apparently newly undead. Much of the skin of its face was still in place, for all that it was a sickly grey-green hue. It rumbled towards him, weapon forgotten as its outstretched arms reached for Kain's throat. Its hands were almost completely intact, still, and Kain found himself distracted by the tatters of clothing the creature wore: had it been human? Had it, perhaps, failed in its pilgrimage as well? Rage and disgust overtook him: he would not fail here, at the base of the mountain itself, to become a twisted inhuman fiend like this...

Its hands had almost reached his neck - cold, clammy fingers brushed against his skin, and the touch brought Kain back into reality. He shuddered, leaping backwards immediately and swatting the creature's rotted fingers away with the butt-end of the spear. The ghoul groaned, and for a moment it almost sounded like Kain's name: they were calling him, the creatures of the undead, calling him into their own haunted oblivion. It was a disgusting, bone-chilling noise, and Kain instinctively slashed at the beast before him, desperate to stop the sound. The zombie gave a gurgle as it crumbled onto the ground.

The noise continued; Kain whirled around. The remaining three zombies approached, each one making that eerie keening that filled Kain's spine with dread and disgust. It was almost as if they'd seen their comrades fall - as if the creatures understood concepts like loyalty, and vengeance. Kain shook his head, adjusting his grip on the lance and bracing himself to jump. The ghouls of the mountain brought forth all of his many weaknesses, as if on parade; he could not bear to think of a zombie understanding loyalty when he himself had lacked it. He had to remember that they were just monsters, mindless creatures which stood between him and his goal. They were not human.

He leapt, feeling the cool wind on his face like a blessing. It was easier to deal with the zombies from the air, when he couldn't see their faces and wonder their names. He shifted the spear in his hand, preparing a mighty blow; he'd have to take one out with a single strike to stand a chance. His armour could withstand damage from two of the creatures; three-on-one was perilously close to the danger line, as he'd found out previously. And with only a single potion to his name, he could not afford the risk.

Kain let himself begin to fall, channelling the force of the wind and the earth's pull on his body into himself and his spear - the weapon was an extension of himself, as any Dragoon knew, and as Kain aligned himself he felt the familiar feeling of metal and wood becoming part of his own centrifugal force. He stuck the nearest beast a mighty blow, feeling the energy pull out of the spear and into the body of the ghoul. It exploded into a scattering of dust, clogging his throat and causing his eyes to water and smart. He blinked once, twice, and then muttered a soft curse as he scooted backwards, away from the clutches of his fallen enemy's vengeful companion. It moaned at him, the sound more a gasp of incoherent pain than properly formed words. This one had been a woman once, he could tell. Tatters of soiled white still clung to her decaying flesh, revealing her former trade - a Mysidian, a white mage. Even with her flesh rotting as it was, Kain could still see the echo of beauty that clung stubbornly to her features. Her eyes were hollow sockets, but his imagination easily filled them; all too easily the creature shifted and morphed before him, her arms outstretched, an expression of pain and betrayal on her face. Her mouth opened slowly, and his ears strained to hear the words that dropped from her lips, even as the dread curled low in his stomach.

"Why?" she whispered softly, her guileless blue eyes filling with tears of pain. "Why did you take her from me, Kain?"

He broke into a sweat as she reached for him. "We didn't know..." he said weakly, the painful grip on his lance loosening as the sudden constriction in his chest tightened. "Gods forgive us, we didn't know!" He felt moisture dripping down his face, and for a wild moment he wondered why he had not felt the blow to his head. But when he licked it away, it was not the bite of rusted metal that blossomed in his mouth, but the tang of salt. The creature reached for him again, and he could almost make out the careless sweep of her hair, those ridiculous tufts of feathered ornaments she decorated it with.

"Why did you take mother from me?" she asked again, and Kain found himself unable to speak. Each expelled breath was becoming more difficult as the weight in his chest solidified.

"Rydia," he croaked out, and despite the emotion that lined his roughened voice, he honestly had no idea what he could say to her. "Please..." It was more than a simple attempt at a trite apology. He tried to ask her for all the things he knew she would not, could not give him. His feet remained planted on the ground, immobilized by the force of his regret as her fingers ghosted over his face, lightly brushing away the tears. It's not her, he told himself, even as his eyes tracked the smooth, pale curve of her cheek, the familiar twist of her lips, the haunted, wild look in her eye that no amount of time or coaching from Cecil had managed to erase. Those same eyes looked into the depths of his soul and reflected its ugly truth back towards him. His neck was on fire, his head pounding. The once-gentle fingers suddenly bit into his cheeks, leaving bloody tracks in their wake as he jerked away more from instinct than conscious thought. It was enough, though, to dissolve the illusion that had plagued him; almost at once Rydia's features melted away, only to be replaced by the dull glare of the creature whose grasp he was struggling in. "Forgive me," he breathed, even as his hands thrust forward, "But I cannot fall, not here, and not now."

The creature let out a wordless scream as his lance tore through her stomach, the sound soon reduced to a wet, bubbling gurgle. And then, he was almost thankful as he watched her crumble upon herself, transformed to nothing more than dust which was blown away leaving only the whispers of his memory. Kain stilled, watching the remains of the once-woman dissipate into the darkness of the cavern, even as his mind remained focused on the eyes of blue he had imagined himself to see.

His hand clenched at the lance unconsciously as he struggled to understand why he saw her face. Kain did not put stock in coincidences; his ill fortune on Mount Ordeals was simply too great for him to conclude it anything other than a test. Surely it had to be a test; to believe that this dogged misfortune was destined to follow him for the rest of his days was to relinquish his already wavering grip on sanity itself. Rydia, then - she was the key, or at least a part of the key, to overcoming the mountain's trials. But why her, he wondered, and not Rosa, or even more obviously, Cecil himself -

Kain's thoughts were cut short by the whistle of a blade cutting through the air. The last one! There was no time to curse his lapse; he ducked instinctively, forcing his body into a defensive roll even as he felt the swish of the blade pass dangerously close to his neck, nicking a few hairs off of his lengthy braid. Looking up, Kain almost grinned in relief to see his opponent was one of the more malformed residents of the mountain; the only reason he could discern that it was once human was from the tattered armour it wore and the sword held tightly in its black-fisted grip. The moment cost him, however; the thing was more agile than it looked, and it leapt once again, sword outstretched in murderous intent. Kain ducked to the side, wincing as the rusted blade smashed against the wall beside his ear, shattering and sending metallic splinters flying everywhere. He grunted in pain as the thing followed through on its hasty charge, crushing him against the rocky wall and sending a wash of sour air pushed from half-rotted lungs which no longer truly breathed into his face. It was stronger than Kain had realized, and he wrestled with the creature desperately; his lance was all but useless when disabled by close-quarter combat. He opted for smashing his free hand against what he guessed was the thing's jaw, and grimaced in disgust as the flesh separated from his assailant's face where he had struck. The creature's struggle against him did not slow in the slightest, and its hand clamped around his neck, slowly and inexorably crushing his throat.

Even as he struggled, light-coloured spots began to dance before Kain's eyes. He felt as though he were drifting, a mere observer rather than participant in the life-and-death struggle occurring before his very eyes. His lungs constricted, screaming for air, and he found his mind wandering dangerously off course as the whisper of silky green hair brushed against his consciousness. Why Rydia, why now, of all times? What was it that he had to understand about her in order to succeed?

Kain's arms grew slack as his eyes dimmed, even as his struggling consciousness sent one last, stray idea floating through his jumbled thoughts. Perhaps it wasn't truly about understanding Rydia's needs. Perhaps it was about understanding his own. Kain knew he sought absolution for his many sins, but it was with a faint, weary sense of surprise that he realized that his failings - all those things which he found necessary to set right - began not with his betrayal of Cecil. Nor did it begin with the jealous, festering love harboured in his heart despite his mind's best attempts to deny his feelings for Rosa. No - it began with the tear-stained face of a young child, kneeling by the still form of the mother he had slain as fire consumed them all. And it continued in the haunted blue of her eyes, which had aged even more rapidly than her body. Eyes which, despite the meaningless platitudes which fell from her lips, had never ceased to regard him with scorn and mistrust. Unlike Cecil and Rosa - who had the bonds of friendship and a mutually shared past to balm their wounds - Rydia had never truly accepted his apology.

Rydia. I must have your forgiveness first.

With a surge of awareness, Kain forcibly pushed the confusion from his mind and brought his lance forward, trying to simply beat the undead creature off of his body. And then, almost impossibly, Lady Fortune smiled upon him, as if in benediction of his sudden realization. The lance in his hand flared to life painfully once more, stinging his palm as it radiated an intense white light. The ghoul screamed in anger and inhuman pain as it crumbled and collapsed upon itself, unable to withstand the blessed light emanating from the lance in powerful waves.

Kain slid down the wall, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he greedily gulped in the stale mountain air. The ashes of the ghouls that surrounded him soon drifted away, leaving nothing but scattered bits of metal, dried blood and his raging headache as a reminder of their presence. Wearily, he attempted to push himself to his feet. The sound of armour scraping against rock broke the silence momentarily, but it soon ended with a clatter as Kain's knees gave way and he landed heavily on his backside once more. With a resigned sigh, he tilted his head up and contented himself with simply breathing quietly and willing away the pain in his neck. He took the moment of unavoidable rest to consider his options.

Scaling the mountain had proven more difficult that he'd even begun to imagine. It was as though the path to the summit was purposefully hiding itself from him. He considered the glimpse of a trail that he had thought he spotted earlier, but couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and examine his surroundings. If it was simply another dead end, another path that led to nowhere - he choked out a bitter laugh. Knowing that no good would come of staying immobile on the floor of this mountainous death trap, Kain managed to lift one heavy eyelid. Rather than study the cavern, however, he chose to let his gaze settle on the lance held loosely in his hand. He was sure his palm would be permanently scarred from the repeated burns the shaft had given him. It took a conscious effort to loosen his fingers' grip on the weapon, and he studied it ruefully. The powerful light had faded away with the last ghoul, and it looked deceptively innocuous, nothing more than cool metal and carved wood glinting in the darkness. The weapon was a strange partner for him - it should have been familiar in his grip, his most trustworthy ally. But it was proving to be notoriously fickle, sometimes emitting a frightening amount of power at the most desperate times, and at other times leaving him to fend almost completely for himself against near-impossible odds.

"You are a reflection of myself, aren't you?" he told the lance, and it remained dark and silent in his loose grip. "How do I bring out your power?"

As if on cue, the lance pulsed once again, this time filling the cavern with a gentle, soft wash of pure white light. Intrigued, Kain clambered heavily to his feet and held the lance before him. "Do you mean to say all I needed to do was ask?" he muttered with an air of disbelief. It was a ridiculous notion - nearly as ridiculous as the fact that he had begun to address his own weapon as though it were sentient. Somehow, though, Kain realized it was not as simple as he would have liked to pretend. He was certain that the lance was reacting to him. Its sudden 'cooperation' with his desires had less to do with his verbal demand, and much more to do with his vision of Rydia and newfound understanding of his own guilt. He took a wary step towards the direction he had recalled seeing a path, and nearly stopped when the light from his lance pulsed once, brightly.

Kain's fingers twitched around the shaft of the weapon, and he shut his eyes and held his breath. It was almost too much to hope for, this sudden blessing, this tiny reprieve from the directionless wandering he had been forced to endure. Fearfully, he opened his eyes and expelled his breath upon realizing that the lance was, indeed, still glowing with the soft white light.

"Guide me, then," he said softly, and holding out the lance before him, advanced towards the rocky path leading upwards to the mountain's summit.

.x.x.x.

Cool wind brushed against his face, stirring the beard that had begun growing on his chin, and whipping his braid out behind him as though it were a length of thick, yellow rope. Kain smiled stiffly, his chapped lips unused to the motion as his muscles of his face stretched in ways that had very nearly been forgotten. How long had it taken him to reach this point? He could no longer remember. Time seemed immutable here; it was only upon exiting the depths of the cavern that he had even realized that his journey was comprised of more than one long, endless night. The sunrise had taken him by surprise; the ghouls waiting at the entrance of the cave, not so much. He was becoming accustomed to the residents of the mountain, almost managing to approach their attacks and subsequent disembarkment with clinical detachment.

To be honest, much of his accomplishments he owed directly to his lance, which seemed to be increasing in power as he approached the summit. Perhaps it truly was a holy mountain; the lance was practically vibrating with power in his hands now, as he stood before the deceptively small shrine with its plain stone doors.

"The end of my journey," Kain breathed, barely even aware of his own sigh of relief. He approached the doors, bowing his head before them in supplication as he stopped a mere step away from the doorframe, waiting.

Nothing happened. The entire summit was eerily still, as if wind itself had trouble reaching the temple; the gust which had seemingly led him here had vanished, leaving him with no sort of direction or guidance. After waiting for what he deemed as a respectably-long moment, Kain looked upwards. The doors before him were simple: slabs of rock, with no ornamentation or decoration, worn down in uneven spots by time. Two simple handles sat, waiting for him; they might have been brass, for all Kain knew, as they lacked any sort of embellishment or insignia - one, he noted wryly, was actually bent. And yet... the door ached with some sort of ancient grace. Despite its simple appearance - or, perhaps, because of it - the temple of Mount Ordeals radiated power.

Still tentative, Kain reached out and knocked gently on one stone door. The sound was flat, and his gauntlet vibrated strangely against his hand as he pulled it away. Kain continued to wait... and, again, nothing happened.

He tried to swallow the feeling of frustration building up in his throat. It was as if invisible eyes all around the summit were watching him and laughing, as if there were some secret trick to opening the door that Kain knew not. He removed his helmet slowly, taking the opportunity to furtively glance around him. As he'd thought, the mountain-top was empty; so why, then, did he feel his spine prickling? Why was he suddenly filled with embarrassment, humiliation, as if he'd failed in front of the entire world?

I come to this mountain in supplication, Kain reminded himself fiercely. I come humbled, seeking only forgiveness and guidance. He still felt ashamed of himself, yes, and his past; but his presence on the holy mount was nothing to feel shame for. Perhaps if he wanted to earn his absolution, the first step was to reach out for it. He tucked his helm firmly under one arm, reaching out with the other to grab the handle and give the door a resolute tug.

The door did not move. Kain tried the other handle; the door did not budge.

"Well," he said aloud, taking a few steps back to try and quell his frustration. "This is an interesting development."

His voice sounded as ragged and weary as he felt, after weeks of nothing more than grunts and an occasional snore. "I am Kain Highwind," he tried, addressing the door for lack of a better audience, "from Baron. I come to..." To what? His voice faltered. "I come seeking absolution," he said finally. "I have come to see the Light."

Nothing happened. The mountain-top was still, motionless, and Kain was still surrounded by the feeling of hundreds of judgemental eyes boring into his back.

"I was sent by the Elder of Mysidia," Kain continued, aware now that his voice was becoming more hoarse and urgent with every word. "He told me - there would be answers here." Still nothing - no motion, no movement, not a sound. Kain felt a fool: standing here unshaven, with a braid down his back, speaking to a set of closed doors in supplication. If there truly were - beings - watching him, he could almost feel their cruel laughter.

"I am friends with Cecil Harvey, newly King of Baron, who found his own forgiveness on this mount when he became Paladin," Kain said desperately. "Have you forgotten Cecil? One you called 'my son'?" He swallowed. "Will you not open your doors for a friend?"

Kain waited for a response - something, anything to let him know that the grace seeping from the temple was aware of his presence. Was his soul so tarnished that he was not even worth a response? "OPEN!" he bellowed, finally letting his frustration get the best of him. He approached the door again, banging on it with his free hand - and then, in a flash of insight, he pressed his spear to it as if the sacred lance were some sort of mystic key. "Open the door!" he cried expectantly. The lance did not change, however; neither did the temple.

His arms fell to his sides, and Kain eyed the lance with angry contemplation. "Will you lead me here, only to abandon me in the face of my goal?" Nothing happened, save that his feeling of wretched humiliation increased.

Kain stepped away from the temple and deliberately set his lance and helm on a nearby rock. He'd seen no zombies anywhere near the summit, and as infuriated as he was with the shrine at the moment, he was relatively sure that it was the power of the temple that kept the beasts at bay. He needed to walk away for a bit, to calm his temper and gather his wits.

He'd climbed this far - nearly lost his life countless times, without even including the literal trial by fire he'd faced at the mountain's base - only to be ignored? It stung, as he thought about it; stung truly, as not many things had. Kain hadn't quite realized how much he'd been hoping for some sort of - Light, forgiveness, answers, anything. Recognition - even refusal, at this point. To simply be cast aside, as if he did not matter, was wounding. Knowing that Cecil had been accepted with fanfare and open arms only stung worse, like salt on a cut, or an aching bruise. Kain had received plenty of bruises of his own on the way up here - bruises of the flesh. This particular bruise on his psyche, however, was the worst of them all.

Kain stared off into the horizon. From his vantage point, he could see the mountains surrounding them, and in some cases the lands beyond: here the dark-green of a forest, there a broad plain, and far to his left a sparkling glint that could only be the sea. He looked downward, curious, but the rock-face of Mount Ordeals was silent; there were no signs of the ghouls and zombies which had plagued his ascent. The stillness of the place was alien to a Dragoon, trained his entire life to listen to breeze and wind. Slowly Kain felt his anger and frustration ebb away, as if the feelings were soaking into the mountain itself. In their place came a curious sense of resignation - and peace.

Perhaps the summit itself is holy enough for sinners like me, Kain thought. He'd made his way up here; it would not hurt to rest in this place for a few days to gather his strength. Maybe a sign would come if he waited long enough - he had no prayers, but Dragoons often meditated during their training. He could meditate, and look off the summit of the mountain, and take what he could from it. The Sage had said there would be answers here; he could afford to wait, and think, and rest.

.x.x.x.

That night, Kain dreamt. The dream came to him almost the very instant he lay his head against the dusty stone of the summit, as if it had been waiting for him in the rock of Mount Ordeals itself. It was dark, and somewhat cold; he was surprised to feel a throbbing pain in his left side, from his ribs all the way down through his leg. He hadn't been wounded that badly since... since the day the mountains fell on Mist, he thought, suddenly knowing what the dream was to show him. He'd blocked this day from his memory.

It was as if he was watching from one of the balconies in the King's Throne Room; Kain saw himself walking the brilliant red carpet, as he had been. He walked the slow, steady walk of an invalid summoned to his King: slow enough to not cause pain, and graceful enough to be respectful. He remembered trying to imitate the many wounded soldiers who he'd seen in his long years behind the throne, with Cecil, as the King's Wards. Kain remembered, and cringed for it.

"King Odin," Kain said, inclining his head and slowly, surely, bending his knee in supplication.

"No, Kain," the King said, his voice surprisingly friendly. "Do not kneel, today. You have been wounded in my service, and I honour that. Do not pain yourself further for the sake of propriety."

Kain stood upright, gratitude and relief easily read from his face. "Thank you, my liege."

"We have been waiting to hear the story from Mist," King Odin declared. "The entire village of Baron felt the tremor as the town collapsed, and when I sent my men to investigate, they said half the mountain range had crumbled! You and Cecil have done good work, my boy, good work indeed."

Kain's head bobbed, a little unsure. "My lord," he said quietly, "we brought the package to Mist as you had asked. But the - the mountains - the earthquake was not our doing." He swallowed. "I cannot take credit for that. I am sorry."

"A noble admission," King Odin commended him. "Pray, tell us the story, then. We must know what happened."

Kain, from his high vantage point, wanted to yell out to his past self: Do not speak! His heart throbbed in anguish, and the phantom pain of his wound increased.

"There was a child," Kain said. "To enter the village, Cecil and I had to defeat a great monster, the guardian of the village. In doing so, we killed its Summoner." He paused, trying to choose his words very carefully. "Her daughter somehow survived the - the package - the initial fire. When she saw us, she summoned forth a great horrible beast from the earth. Cecil and I tried to battle it, but before we could land a blow, it tore the mountains asunder."

Baigan's eyes were wide. "A mere child?"

"Now you see," King Odin said. "The Callers of Mist are very dangerous - too dangerous to survive. You have done well, Kain."

"Is there any sign of Cecil?" Kain blurted before he could stop himself.

King Odin shook his head. "We have found no sign of Cecil, Kain. He did not appear to be with you." The words were chosen delicately. "Had the two of you separated?"

Kain, in the balcony, covered his face with his hands. He remembered this all too well, now, the memory he'd forbidden himself to think of for months now. He'd been filled with so much pride at the King's recognition - never before had the King had eyes for him; the gratitude, the praise - it had always been for Cecil. Standing alone before the throne of Baron, Kain had found the attentions much more rewarding.

He looked back up, over the railing and down at his past-self, his dream-self. He watched the indecision on his face, the loyalties torn between best friend and king and country; he watched his guilty worry over Cecil battle his own desire for renown and recognition. Already he knew how it would turn out. Kain steeled himself to watch, to relive the memory he'd blocked from his own mind.

This, then, was the reason he'd climbed the mountain. Everything had started that day, with Rydia.

Kain looked up, his face set and determined. "Cecil was leaving with the girl," he said. "He could not bring himself to kill her - not at that point in time, anyway. Perhaps he was going to bring her back to you, my liege," he added, almost hastily. "But when he approached the girl, she screamed, and the beast appeared."

King Odin's brow furrowed. "This is terrible news indeed. Is it possible that Sir Cecil has betrayed us?"

Kain opened his mouth to protest, but Baigan interrupted smoothly. "Remember the reason you sent Cecil on this mission in the first place, my liege," he said. "This is not your Champion's first act of defiance."

"If he has turned traitor," King Odin said thoughtfully, "he will stay far away from Baron. Send guards to Kaipo, and tell them to look for survivors from the earthquake. Bring them all back to me."

Traitor. The word ached in Kain's heart; in the end, it had been he who was the traitor, traitor to his friends and to the good of the world. But back then, it had been Cecil who Baron shouted against.

"Kain," the King continued. "I reward those who serve me best, and you have proven yourself more than worthy. We appreciate your unwavering loyalty to the throne, especially in these trying times." There was a long pause, and the sound of a door swinging open. "I am, therefore, promoting you to a special command."

Kain wasn't able to keep the smile from his face. "I am honoured and thankful, my liege."

Heavy footsteps approached the throne, and King Odin looked up in anticipation. "Kain, this is Lord Golbez. His quest for the crystals is very important for Baron's future. I would raise you to his second-in-command, his right-hand man, to do his bidding. Will you accept, for Baron?"

The ritualistic words of a knight's-vow ringing in his ears, Kain looked down at his old self. He'd never been recognized before the throne - not even as he rose in rank with the Dragon Knights. He had wanted this, had yearned for it. He knew exactly what his dream-self was feeling at the moment: idealistic hopes and dreams, thoughts of using his new power to send search-parties after Cecil, idle excitement at the thought of a celebration with Rosa. He'd been so damn proud of himself at that point.

"Of course, my liege," Kain said, bowing as best he could. "I accept, for Baron."

"If you would serve me," said the dark man called Golbez, in a voice as deep as Cecil's: "Kneel."

Kain blinked; he looked at the King, whose face was strangely serious and focused. Unevenly, he bent one knee, lowering himself to the ground and trying to ignore the hot stabs of pain running through his side. He bowed his head before Lord Golbez.

Even now, Kain could see the thin dark tendrils of the magic Golbez worked, tracing up his legs and fusing into his body. It had been his first step into the web of deceit and lies Golbez had worked in, through that mind-controlling magic he'd used so easily against Baron and the world.

Kain's eyes opened. It was morning, and the summit of Mount Ordeals looked as it had the night before. Kain brushed the dust from himself, wearily, noting as he did so that the doors to the temple were still closed.

.x.x.x.

Days passed. Kain filled the daylight hours with meditations and Dragoon training exercises; he was finding a new strength in familiar moves, as if he'd gained experience in his ascent up the mountain. The training was a welcome outlet for the frustration he felt with himself and, though he was loath to admit it, with the temple's continued rejection of his presence and pleas. It made him feel that perhaps, if he trained hard enough, one day he would be a great enough Dragoon to be worthy of his friends and companions. It was something he could work towards, an actual goal rather than the tender and nebulous path to forgiveness he'd walked up the mountain. Training was something he could do, and Kain chose to do it.

His nights passed quickly, in the deep sleep of physical exhaustion. The feeling on the mountain-top was peaceful, but Kain still felt as if there were eyes on him: watching him, expectantly, as if waiting for something important to happen. The doors remained closed, and Kain spent his days a little distance away from the temple itself.

Then, one night, he dreamed again.

Once more, it was as if the dream had been waiting for him to fall asleep that night. This time he felt the stinging ache in his side much more clearly; he was inside his dream-self, looking out of his own eyes at a familiar scene. He was hobbling his way down a corridor in Baron, making for the staircase which led to his quarters. He'd just come from his meeting with the King, and his side and leg were paining him from kneeling so long at Golbez's feet. His body was weary, and his thoughts were muddled and confused.

And then Rosa appeared, as if from nowhere, a ray of golden light in the dark corridor. Kain stopped immediately. She paused before him, her eyes searching his face beseechingly, and Kain noted the tracks of tears on her pale cheeks. His dream-self reached out, brushed its fingers against her face. Kain, inside the dream-self, felt nothing - as if Rosa were a ghost. He watched the scene unfold, feeling the same wrench in his heart he felt every time he thought of Rosa. He'd lost Cecil and Rosa both, that day.

"Rosa," he said, concerned. "Are you well? What is wrong?"

"You have just come from the throne room?" Rosa's eyes may have been full of tears, but her voice was steady and calm, as any White Wizard was trained to be. "Is there news of Cecil? Oh, Kain..."

Kain ducked his head. "There is no news, Rosa. They have not yet found him."

"I-" Rosa swallowed. "Kain, what will we do?"

Kain reached out and took Rosa's hands; they were slightly chilled and shaking a little. "We will go to find him, Rosa," he said. "Tomorrow morning, we will leave, both of us, if he has not yet been found." There was a pause, and he squeezed her hands awkwardly. "I've just been promoted, actually, and so we can have a legion of men to-"

"Tomorrow?" Rosa repeated, and he felt her hands jerk slightly. "Why not now, Kain? Cecil could be - he could be wounded, he could be dying! I - I can't sit around here if Cecil might be injured. He may need a healer."

The words caught in his throat. "I must stay tonight," he said slowly. "There is a banquet, for my promotion. I must be there to receive my new honours, Rosa. On the morrow, we will go, and..."

Kain kept his eyes closed as the dream faded; he could feel the warmth of the sunlight on his face, but it brought him no comfort. The feast that had been prepared, the long-awaited recognition of the Dragon Knights, should have been his crowning moment of glory, the pinnacle of all he had strove for up until that point. But the fine fare and drink had tasted like ash and bitter vinegar in his mouth; she had not joined in the festivities, of course. By the next morning Rosa had already been gone; he'd never figured out how a solitary White Wizard had managed to find her way through the collapsed mountains of Mist and into the deserts of Kaipo in a single night. He'd never asked. All he remembered was that morning, when he'd found her room empty and her bow missing, and simply bowed his head in mourning. The report of Cecil's treachery had come in at breakfast, from the one remaining soldier who had found his way to Kaipo, and Kain had been silent through the rest of his meal. In his head, that day, he'd said goodbye to two close friends, believing them both traitors who had turned their back on their throne and king.

In reality, however, he knew he'd been the traitor. He'd betrayed their friendship, something which should have come before promotions and thrones. He'd betrayed Cecil's good sense and Rosa's compassionate heart, which had known that Baron was part of a greater evil. He'd been loyal and true - but to the wrong thing, in the end.

It all comes back to Mist, Kain thought. It had been that day which had separated him from both Cecil and Rosa - both his actions, and those beyond his control. If only the earth had not rent him apart from Cecil; if only the Summoners had not chosen to work their strange magics; if only Rydia could have controlled that powerful manifestation of her fear and anger. Honestly, it had been young Rydia's doing which -

Kain's eyes flew open. There was an odd, awkward feeling in his gut. Had he honestly just thought that? Was there truly any rational way that this was Rydia's fault? No, it couldn't be; Rydia had been but a mere child, no more than five or six, and she'd been both terrified and angry. Her summon had been a thing of chance, a young girl's desperate attempt to save herself and lash out at those who had hurt her. And yet... he identified the feeling readily, one he was intimately familiar with. The feeling of guilt, of tired resignation and hopelessness, only this time, it was not directed at himself. Even as he cringed away from the dark, disgusting part of himself that he was trying so desperately to purge on the mountain, he could no more shut out the whisper of malicious doubt from his thoughts than he could erase his memories. It was not my fault. I was powerless to stop it. Had he really been blaming this entire mess on circumstance?

Yes, he realized with horror.

He sat up on the mountaintop, eyes unseeing. The sun poured down onto his skin like balm; he shook his head, feeling the solid weight of his braid at his back. The sick feeling in his gut increased. He remembered fretful nights in Golbez's tower, surrounded by the evil, sticky magics of the Four Fiends, cursing at the fate that had led him into Golbez's clutches: cursing it and yet revelling in it, taking pride in the fact that it was he who still remained beside the throne of Baron, he who was the more loyal. It had been a most confusing time - and Kain knew now that his confusion had only made Golbez's job that much easier.

And yet... had it not been for Rydia's summon, he and Cecil would have remained together. It had been the argument about young Rydia's fate that had set him against Cecil in the first place. Kain rubbed his palms into his eyes, trying to clear his mind, but the thoughts persisted. It had been Rydia's summon who had injured him, made him weak - it had been Rydia's doing that had placed fallen mountains between Cecil and himself. It was because of Rydia that Baron's knights had found him, too weak to move, on the pathway home from Mist -

Kain swallowed, his eyes focusing on the unassuming shrine across from him. The doors were still closed. Nevertheless, Kain sensed some sort of change in mood - something tingling in the air, like anticipation.

"You are testing me, are you not?" His voice caught in his throat from lack of use. "Or are these thoughts truly my own?" He paused, desperately waiting for a response - but nothing happened.

His vision on the mountain had shown him Rydia, begging him for answers; he'd asked for her forgiveness, and the lance had responded to his plea. Now the mountain was showing him more, through dreams. Everything revolved around Mist, somehow - Mist, and Rydia, were the key. But how?

Kain bowed his head, more frustrated than before. He had more questions now than he had at the foot of the mountain - and yet, the doors remained closed.

.x.x.x.

Kain almost expected the final dream. He came to surrounded by darkness and mist; the mist was spotted by millions of tiny stars. The stars cast a shadow against something - the wall of a building - a great temple, crowned with marble pillars and golden medallions - a whisper, pale in the night:

That which you seek is not here.

Kain shook his head in the darkness; his hair hit his cheeks, and he realized suddenly that it was short again: short, and dark blonde as it had been, before the fire had bleached it long and pale. This is me as I was, Kain thought. Not as I am now.

You will not find your peace here, the voice said again, and it was full of shadows and smoke. I cannot give you that which you seek.

"Why not?" Kain's voice was strangely soundless, yet he knew the voice heard. Was this KluYa? Cecil's father? Was this the Light the Sage had mentioned? "Am I so wasted in your eyes that I do not deserve a chance at forgiveness?"

The forgiveness you seek is not mine to give.

"Give me a chance," Kain insisted. "I have come this far to strengthen myself on the trials of Mount Ordeals. I have faced the trials, and I have learnt. Please, open the doors."

Even the Light of Ordeals cannot give you answers, the voice replied. Not for the questions you bear.

The tone of voice - the voice itself - was strangely similar to the dreams Kain had had at the base of the mountain. "Who are you?" he whispered.

I am KluYa, the voice replied softly. Keeper and Bearer of the Light of Ordeals.

Kain took a deep breath; the mist smelled like smoke and metal. "For the sake of your son, then, let me feel the forgiveness of the Light."

KluYa said nothing, and Kain wondered whether he'd made a mistake, begging in Cecil's name... but he was grasping at straws here, truly. The silence deepened, and Kain felt an almost tangible weight in the air - was it frustration? Pity? He sucked in his breath sharply - as pathetic as he knew he was, something jagged and sharp inside of himself tore and bled at the thought that he was to be pitied by the Light, but not saved.

Can you not see? KluYa said finally. The sacred mountain does not have what you desire.

"I do not understand," Kain said, frustration beginning to colour his voice. "Are all pilgrims on this mountain discarded so easily? Your trials and dreams have left me with more questions than I came with," he continued angrily, "and you deny me the chance to earn my forgiveness in your name?" He took another ragged breath, feeling the cold air rush into his lungs. "Open the doors," he demanded. "Let the Light judge me. It is my right! This much I have earned!"

There was no response, and the mist grew slowly, a blue-grey cloud surrounding him. It blocked the stars from his view, and Kain felt suddenly and strangely disoriented as his entire vision filled with grey - and the rock to his back vanished, somehow, and he was falling - plunging through the mist, caught in free-fall, unable to move his arms or limbs as he plummeted -

Kain opened his eyes to warm sun. A breeze tickled his face, the first he'd felt since he began his vigil at the summit. It smelled like fresh things, and spring. He sat up, realizing belatedly that the light wind had done unseemly things to his braid; he brought it forward, over his shoulder, and began picking at the tangled strands which had come loose. The friendly wind bumped his face again, and almost idly he turned to look across the summit.

The doors to the temple were open. The gaze of thousands of eyes fell upon his back once more.