Van didn't want to blink, for fear the vision before him was merely an illusion; a taunting ghost of hope that sprang from his heart. Hitomi shouldn't even be here; rather she should be lying at death's door in a cot surrounded by foreign machines fighting to keep her alive. And yet, as Merle playfully sniffed her and tugged at her clothes, she looked real. "Hitomi?" he asked again, unable to form any other words within his numbed mind.

She looked at him blankly, irritation beginning to cloud her features. "Hitomi, Hitomi, that's what everyone keeps calling me," she answered, green-gold eyes sparkling with annoyance. "Who *is* Hitomi?"

/Who is...?/ Stunned, Van couldn't even hazard a reply, silently staring at the person who resembled his love to the last detail.

"She arrived about the time you left," Allen interrupted, sapphire eyes never leaving the girl who looked like Hitomi. "We've been questioning her ever since." Van sensed a note of anxiety in Allen's voice, yet when he looked at the face of the perfect knight, he couldn't see through the expressionless mask.

"Questioning?" Van asked, puzzled.

"She seems to have some sort of amnesia," Millerna gracefully rose, eyes on her patient, voice clinical. "It isn't like anything I've encountered or read about before. Her mind is like a blank slate; almost as though her memories have left her leaving her personality behind. She remembers nothing except what has passed from the few hours we stayed with her."

"The problem is, we can't be sure that *is* Hitomi," Allen mused, finally withdrawing his gaze from the tawny girl to the king of Fanelia. "She could be a Zaibach spy."

"That's impossible," Van said. "Zaibach was destroyed completely by that huge explosion..." his voice trailed off, the memories of the encounter still horrific even two years afterwards. He could still hear their screams in his mind when they haunted him at night; crying out their pain in the seconds it took for a blinding golden light to erase them from the world.

"Not the capitol," Allen corrected, drawing Van back to the present problem. "Only the outskirts of Zaibach were demolished. The castle and its surrounding area, though ruined, were left untouched in the war.

"Recently, the kingdom of Seri has taken a great interest in the ruins of the castle. They seem to have employed some of the former Sorcerers of the Zaibach Empire for, 'experiments'." His eyes drifted from Hitomi towards his sister. "They have ways of mind control. Or, should I say mind adjustment."

"Mind adjustment," Van whispered, trying to come to grips with this new information, his eyes never leaving Hitomi as though trying to imprint her solidly in his mind. A movement to her side drew his attention away for a moment as Serena shifted her weight to a more comfortable seated position. Serena. She had lost her memory thanks to Zaibach science. Could this Hitomi be one of their cruel jokes as well? He studied the familiar face, her poise as she scratched Merle, looking for some hint of a fake. Could she be a child of Zaibach's twisted magic?

Van shook his head, refusing to believe the information. "Allen, Hitomi is... she's in bad shape on her world. I can't feel her, but she-" he gestured towards her, "-*feels* like Hitomi. I can't explain how I know, but she can't be a spy."

Allen's gaze softened a bit as he looked at Van, sympathy spreading towards him. "I understand what you want to believe, Van. I want to believe it too, but if she is a spy..."

"Stop it!" Hitomi burst out, rising angrily to her feet, upsetting Merle from her lounging position. "Stop talking about me as if I'm not here! I don't know who any of you are, but I'm not going to just sit here and watch you accuse me of something I'm not! If you don't trust me, then put me to a test! Otherwise, let me go!"

"No one is accusing you of anything, Hitomi," Millerna assuaged, approaching her maternally as if to deflect the weight of the implications surrounding her. "We're only trying to help you."

"I don't even know you!" she cried, her frustration twisting her voice into a higher pitch. "How can you...? How can you...?" her voice failed her, trembling a halt to her words. Dropping her gaze to her hands, away from their scrutinizing worry, she let the question linger among them. "What am I saying? I don't even know who *I* am."

Van wanted to hold her, to comfort the worries out of her. She reminded him of when she had first came, confused and a little scared, but determined not to let events just happen around her. But, she had lost her memory; if he made a gesture towards her, it might seem hostile. "Can you remember anything?" he asked, stepping nearer to surround her with a comforting aura, the only thing he felt he could do.

She flicked a glance at him, then to Merle, who was watching with wide, supporting eyes from the floor. "Only when Allen came and took me here. I remember," her eyes unfocused, brows together with concentration. "I remember a blur of red, then light..." she blinked, then frowned. "It's no good. I can't remember anything else."

"Hitomi." She snapped her eyes towards him, caught in the overwhelming bond of love that washed over her. He gazed deep within her green-gold pools, finding her familiar answer buried within the haze of confusion glossed over her eyes. He wanted so much to believe this was Hitomi, a reality in his world come to join him. His heart knew her, could feel her though her presence within him was faded to a dim flickering candle. This *was* Hitomi, and yet...

"Perhaps that's enough for today," Serena's cool voice broke the undeniable bonding force between them, scattering the tension to the corners of the room. She gracefully rose, placing an understanding hand on Hitomi's shoulder, allowing the young girl a respite from Van's intense emotions. "You must be tired," she soothed, her voice washing over Hitomi like a spring rain, allowing her to relax. "I think a good night's rest will do some good."

"We have guest rooms available," Van said, encompassing all of them in his statement. "I... Merle can show you where."

Grinning, Merle tugged on Hitomi's hand excitedly. "Come on, Hitomi! Once you see the castle you'll remember me in no time!"

Hitomi opened her mouth to protest when Serena interrupted. "Come, we *all* could use a rest," she gently prodded, assisting the cat-girl in her task, fanning Hitomi towards the door. Giving Van a reassuring smile, she left with the two. Van watched them disappear down the dimly lit hallway as the doors swung shut, heart longing to go with them.

"Van?" Millerna brought his gaze back to the three surrounding him. "What exactly happened to Hitomi on the Illusionary Moon?"

Swallowing down the lump of pain still lodged in his throat, Van explained what he had observed, eyes occasionally drifting towards the floor. When he had finished, a shocked silence engulfed them for a time. "How can Hitomi be here and on her world at the same time?" Allen mused.

"Dryden would know," Millerna said, more to herself than the others.

Allen prickled a bit at the mention of his name. "Dryden?"

"He has so many books on ancient lore," she explained, eyes never drifting towards Allen. "If anyone would know, it would have to be him."

Van mulled this over. He owed Dryden much; his country would still be in shambles had the shrewd merchant not given him solid advice; and Van still hadn't repaid Dryden for his own life. He was reluctant to add another debt to the ever-growing pile. But, it was for Hitomi's sake. "I'll contact him immediately."

"No, let me do it." Millerna requested, refusing to look Allen's way as he tried to mask his irritation. "If anyone can persuade him to do something, it will be me."

"Millerna," Allen started, worry etched on his perfect face.

She silenced him with a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Don't worry, Allen. Besides, it's for Hitomi's sake, right?" She turned to Van. "Uran would know how to go about these things, wouldn't he?" At Van's affirmation, she quickly exited in a flurry of pink, her dress swishing excitedly on the polished castle floor.

Allen and Van waited together in the room, the torchlight whipping the dark shadows away, crackling loud in the stuffy silence. Neither wanted to speak, the weight of too many unanswered questions heavy on their minds.

Finally, Allen started, "I didn't want to tell you this before the others, but I'm concerned as to why Hitomi appeared."

"What do you mean?" Van continued to watch the torchlights' ministrations, his mind still numbed from shock.

"Hitomi arrived during the Zaibach takeover," Allen explained. "She was present during a crucial event in Gaia; even Donkirk feared what she might do. Now, we're experiencing a war again."

Van caught the threads of Allen's statement, eyes widening in comprehension. "You mean..."

"She was sent to us when we needed her help, though we didn't know about it at the time." Allen's eyes drifted towards the door. "We may need her help again."

* * *

Zaibach was alive again; groaning as humans prodded it back to life again, trampling the dust off its floors, filling the empty halls with chatter. However, when one lone figure roamed the halls, silence was his partner. All hushed at the sight of his tall, foreboding form wrapped in a concealing black cloak as he seemed to drift noiselessly along the floor, his iron eyes searching them for the slightest imperfection or laziness in their work. He understood they nicknamed him Death for the merciless way he disposed of those that were useless. Vladir Ptetrov cared nothing for their worthless thoughts: they were worker ants in his hive, there to obey.

The workers were all the poor of Zaibach, the remaining population that had decided to try to rebuild themselves again. How easy it had been to appeal to their simple minds with mere promises of food for work! They were like ghosts when he had first saw them, flesh folding over bones as they thinned from starvation. Now they slaved for the Seri Empire, bent to the will of the King and his daughter, Ilka.

Vladir scanned the lines of working humans, all attempting to work as fast as bodies would allow, churning the mysterious liquids that bubbled through the hollow ribs of Zaibach. Young and old, even children were put to the task, all dutifully working for the good of the Seri Empire, the good of the Great Machine who's name was so powerful it could only be intoned in whispers.

That stupid, worthless Machine that destroyed their empire and ripped life from Zaibach itself. And killed Donkirk, their one time savior and god.

Vladir had no interest in the Great Machine. It was a dead iron dream that had been popped two years ago by a young girl from a blue moon. It was useless to try to revive that seed of hope again, seeing how it failed the first time. However, it kept fear placed in the hearts of the Zaibachians; fear that spurred them to work faster than Vladir himself could. And it kept the Princess occupied, without her meddling in his affairs.

Yes, Vladir thought as he continued his inspection on his way to the Guymelef housing facility. It has some use, however trivial. As long as the princess was tucked away in that chamber, he could do his job and conquer Gaia for the good of the Seri Empire. His empire.

* * *

"Well, look at who decided to drop in!" Chekov grinned at the taciturn shadow that floated into the engineering room where the Guymelefs rested. "Come for an early inspection, General? I can guarantee you you won't be disappointed. We're on schedule, despite all the little inconveniences along the way."

General Vladir continued his silent walk towards the balcony, ignoring the robust general that occupied it with him. Chekov simply smiled. The General's silence had never bothered him; he could do enough talking for the both of them. And he was assured of an attentive ear when he spoke. Putting his mouth to work, he turned triumphantly to the resting metal shells before them. "Just look at them. Aren't they beauties? The sleekness of the frame, the decadence of the capes, the burnished quality of the metal; it's enough to warm your heart. And not mentioning the new deadly weapons built in. The scientists took a little 'persuading' to furnish them, but it was well worth the trouble."

Uninterestedly, the General critically examined the new metal corpses in the room, eyes roving over them. "When can they be launched?"

Chekov gave him an anticipatory grin, pearly teeth white against his ebony brush of a beard. "By tomorrow they should be all done. We could use more persuasion to get the work done faster if you need it, but, seeing as how they're working so hard at it, it's probably better to give them a little rest. Are we launching tomorrow?"

"Yes."

Laughing, Chekov leaned over the railing. "As they say, ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. Well, that's fine by me. I've got pilots aching to try out their new toys, they'll be glad to get the chance. Myself included." He presented Vladir with another wisecracking grin. "These things have more weapons on them then we'll know what to do with; or should I say *they'll* know what to do with. We've got a few surprises up our sleeves as well. So, what's the target?"

There was a pause for a moment, the crackling of the blowtorches on the machinery echoing loudly in the chamber. Chekov was about to ask if the General had heard him when the answer came, "Stanigway."

"Stanigway? In Asturia?" Chekov's jaw unhinged. He glanced askance at the looming figure beside him, searching for a hint that the tall man was joking. Not that the General ever cracked a joke, but there was always a first time.

The General caught his eyes sternly. "Is that a problem?" The question promised demotion with the wrong answer. Demotion, or death.

Nervously, Chekov scratched his beard, chuckling to mask his shaking voice. "No, no, of course not. It's just that the other kingdoms would be easy to conquer, kind of like getting rid of all the worker bugs before you attack their queen." His eyes drifted towards the six-legged insect with which he graced the metaphor that was skittering along the railing.

In a rush of motion, the General had crushed the bug flat underneath a gloved finger; the tiny crunch of the execution echoing in Chekov's ears as the smattering of crackles in the room paused. Uninterestedly, the General wiped the remnants of the insect coating his finger off on the railing. "Kill one bug, and the queen comes for revenge. Kill the queen, and the workers bow in servitude."

Licking his dry lips, Chekov withdrew from the General's stare, relinquishing his stance for the time being. "It's a bold strategy, I'll give you that. Though I think our forces can't handle Asturia's army..."

"Your opinion wasn't asked for." Chekov could feel the penetrating glare of the General in the back of his head, a steel sword aimed for his heart.

"I didn't say I wouldn't carry it out," he demurred quickly, avoiding the General's face. "If that's what the Princess wants, I'll do it. I'm all for a battle; it's been too damn quiet now that peace has taken over. There's nothing for a real warrior to do nowadays except sit on his ass all day and relive glory days. No thanks." A question tickled Chekov's mind as he spoke the Princess' name, pestering him further until he blurted out, "What did the Princess say?"

When he was answered with cold silence, Chekov guessed what had taken place, hiding a smile beneath a thick hand. "You enjoy playing with fire, don't you? That settles it. I can't leave without her permission. She's the head of this development. I'd hate to face her wrath when she finds her army of robots away from Zaibach without her knowledge." Chekov glanced towards the General, feeling the prickles of annoyance darting around his tall figure, though his face remained vacant. "No offence, but I fear her anger more than I do yours."

"Oh?" Chekov marveled at how the General could make any word, even a nonsensical word, sound like a death threat.

"You kill people if they're useless," Chekov explained. "I'm not useless, except dead, being the best damn general you've got. She kills people for disobedience, regardless of whether they're useful or not. If the stakes are my life, I'm betting with her."

Tense moments that felt like an eternity ticked by as Chekov waited for the General's reply, body tense for the possibility of death. The cape rustled beside him, an ominous wind proclaiming his fate as he closed his eyes, ready to accept the punishment.

Time paused.

The rustle had passed, leaving a comforting silence in its wake. Chekov exhaled a breath of relief; the General had spared his life, and Chekov was in one piece. He guessed the General had gone to consult with the Princess, or vent his irritation on some other poor soul. Chekov was just glad it wasn't him, hoping he wouldn't have to skirmish without the Princess' consent. General Vladir may be dangerous, but he was predictable. There was no telling what the Princess' whim would blow his way should he disobey her.

* * *

No one ever entered the stark antechamber that housed Donkirk's dream aside from Princess Ilka, who frequented it often. Whether she remained unbothered was due to Vladir's diligence in snuffing out the over-curious or the fear the Zaibachians seemed to possess of the room she couldn't tell. The last time anyone else had entered aside from herself and Vladir was when she had a few laborers remove Captain Folkien's rotting body, though the dried blood still stained the floor. She enjoyed the solitude; it was a rare opportunity to drop the many masks she was required to wear being the Princess of Seri.

Distant grumblings accompanied the click of her heels as she entered, the door whisking open when she approached. Ilka allowed herself to smile at the ingenuity of the concept of a door that opened automatically, a small source of fascination and amusement for her. The chamber remained untouched by either time or nature, dust even avoiding the metal floors and chairs. Shards of glass crunched beneath her heels as she strode around the room, their tiny screams echoing like gongs in the silent chamber. When the door slid shut, it closed off any notion of time or space, as though this room stood outside of reality.

A small shaft of light boldly spotlighted the chair, slicing through the dim room, drawing her towards the towering mechanism that was the great Donkirk's final grave. She emerged from the mist of dusk into the stream of light, hands caressing the conglomeration of metal that towards the top formed a chair. Pierced through the light was the telescope that pointed to Utopia, the perfect destiny.

Or, it used to.

The very instrument that showed the future to Donkirk denied Ilka that same right, though she had employed many of the former Zaibach sorcerers to awaken the Great Machine again. Ritually, she climbed up the massive metallic melange towards the chair, and the eyepiece that could show her the future. She knew it was hopeless, that she would again see darkness as she always did; yet she still clung to the glimmer of hope that she would see it. That she could make it happen.

Her steps echoed through the antechamber in regular intervals, ticking away time as she ascended towards the top. The cushions of the seat embraced her familiar body, the surrounding metal sheltered her from the grasping mist hovering in the room. Heart thrumming both with anticipation and dread she took the eyepiece in hand, closed one amaryllis eye, and peered through the telescope.

Nothing.

Frustrated, she sank deeper into the comforting pillows, ejaculating a loud breath of wind. Why didn't it work properly? She thought she had all the pieces to the puzzle, she had even glued them together. Were there still some that still eluded her?

"Highness."

Annoyance prickled her porcelain face at the insistent voice commanding her to spar again. Was she not allowed any respite against games of power with Vladir? Steeling herself, she replaced the mask of calm and haughty arrogance, the shield she needed to deal with the General of all generals. Languidly, as proper for royalty, she descended the steps, a hand assuring the perfection of the bundle of braids wrapped around her head. She elevated her chin as she touched the bottom, confronting Vladir with half-opened eyes. "I assume you've come to bring me news."

"We are attacking Stanigway, Your Highness," he announced without the ritual preamble, eyes locking with her own in a cold gaze.

Ilka quirked an amused eyebrow. "Oh? I don't recall giving that order."

"I came to inform you."

"You need my approval," she parried, smiling as she saw her words hit home. Vladir's eyes narrowed to slits of steel, piercing to her heart. "What if I refuse?"

"You won't."

"And why is that?"

"Asturia is our biggest threat-"

"Crush it and you crush the opposition," she finished, gesturing theatrically, arms wide. "That may be, General Vladir, but you are forgetting the White Dragon, Escaflowne."

"Escaflowne will be dealt with."

"Hmmm, in it's own time, is that it, Vladir?" She tilted her head to the side, eyes unfocused as though thinking over her decision. As much as she hated to admit it, Vladir was correct; if Asturia was destroyed, everything else would fall into her hands like putty. He wasn't placed in his high position merely for competence; he had a cunning mind as well as a yen for eradicating the enemy, not content with destruction. Those factors alone made him a precarious ally, and a dangerous enemy. Though she needed to clamp reins on him, she couldn't keep them too tight, otherwise his usefulness would dwindle. Focusing back on him, she announced her decision, "Very well, do as you wish. I take it General Chekov will be leading the attack?"

"If you like," he murmured, bowing respectfully towards her in the ritual gesture.

"You may leave," she dismissed him, playing along with the court formalities. He rose to his full towering height and began to disappear into the surrounding dimness, melding with the ambiguous shapes in the mist. "Vladir?" she called after him, pausing his departure a moment. "The next time you go over my head, I will have you deported and demoted." A sliver of a smile graced her perfect face. "Remember that."

Unfazed by the biting threat, Vladir silently continued his journey, the whoosh of the automatic door the only sound of his exit.

Once again assured of a slight respite she allowed weariness to creep over her porcelain face, leaning against Donkirk's chair for support. Feathered lashes closed over her amaryllis eyes, incasing her in a restful darkness.

The machine at her back began to hum.

Swiveling around in amazement, she placed a hand on the cold steel, studying the vibrations. Lights flickered in the room, peppering the darkness with a multitude of patterns, slicing through the darkness excitedly. The thrum crescendoed into a throb, the floor shaking the glass shards until the room was a cacophony of tinkles and groans.

The Great Machine was coming to life.

Anxiously she stumbled up the stairs, anticipation spurring her faster towards the top. Scrambling over the last quarter she grabbed the telescope, yanking it from its normal position to peer through the eyepiece. For a brief moment, enough to catch a flash of light, she saw it, the substance that was unmistakably Utopia. Prying herself away from the eyepiece as the room began to die out, she raced down the stairs, needing to speak with the scientists that were controlling the Great Machine.

Two guards bumped into her when she emerged from the room, quickly snapping salutes when the door opened. "Your Highness!" they said, eyes unfocused on a point above her head.

Sighing inwardly, she paused in her flight, replacing the many masks of royalty. The Great Machine would have to wait, especially if it were an urgent matter. "What news do you bring?"

"The column of light has appeared again!"

Her face froze. "What?" she whispered.

"It just appeared a minute ago," one of them explained. "We thought to inform you of it, since when we last left, it was dissipating. We think it might be gone."

"It can't be," she whispered, eyes drawn to the now silent machine in the room. The last echoes of activity were draining away as the Machine prepared for its slumber. The last pieces of the puzzle were falling into her hands as she remembered the Column of light was associated with that pesky girl that had fallen from the Illusionary Moon. She was the key to the machine, the key to Utopia.

Ilka needed that last piece.

* * *

Gold. Mountains of it, piled as high as the ship's ceiling, with precious jewels winking through the scales of coins. It was a good start for two years' worth of gathering, Dryden mused, after all, the trade business has been quite profitable, especially with all the rebuilding kingdoms from the war. But was it enough?

It all reminded him of her, Princess Millerna, who was by now probably engaged to that charming knight Allen Shezar. A man who was every princess' dream, perhaps every woman's dream, the only man Dryden couldn't compete with had stolen her heart long before Dryden could tease its fire to life. And he had let her go. Money could buy many things, but a maiden's heart was one of the few things out of its reach.

Dryden adjusted his glasses, mentally shaking away all the memories of her. It was useless to dwell on the past; not when there were so many other beautiful woman who fell charm to his good looks and grace. Besides, he was a merchant by heart, not a king. Cramped up in a throne with nothing but papers to look at day in and day out with no escape would have driven him insane. He admired the young king, Van, his courage in taking such a big responsibility, and sympathized with him for having a love that could never be beside him.

"I suppose I should check on the shipment of Pocapoca fruits in the bin," he murmured, striding away from his beloved money. He was surprised to see his servant in front of him, for once not hauling around the account book to hold checks on his overgenerous employer. "Oh, Senik. Come to inspect the gold again? It's all there, in its beautiful splendor, and untouched."

"Actually, we received a message from Fanelia," Senik held out a roll of paper, the seal already broken, worry lining his face.

"I see you wasted no time," Dryden chuckled, reviewing the parchment. He recognized the graceful swirls of Millerna's handwriting, dread stabbing his heart. He was tempted to toss it away; it probably contained an announcement of her engagement to Allen and an invitation to a wedding he would rather not attend. However, he glimpsed Hitomi's name, and upon reviewing the letter was relieved of his worries as well as uplifting his spirits. "Oho, this is a surprise."

"Isn't it?" Senik didn't bother to hide the fact that he had read Dryden's private mail, wringing his rattian hands with worry. "What is to be done?"

"Hitomi on her world gets shoved into a coma and reappears on this world with no memory. A fascinating riddle." Chuckling, Dryden recurled the parchment back into it's original form, his curiosity piqued. "One that I mean to find out. Ever since Atlantis, a good mystery just hasn't been discovered for me to solve. I must remember to thank Hitomi for allowing me to demonstrate my talents."

Senik blinked with confusion. "Pardon?"

"What good is my knowledge and library if they aren't put to use? Challenges make the world go round, my friend, almost as much as money, and who better to solve such problems than myself?" Dryden ran a hand through his hair, accentuating his handsome, chiseled features, shooting Senik a picturesque grin. "I'll be in my study. Set a course for Fanelia."

"But, the Pocapoca fruits..."

"Will keep for a while." Dryden shook the paper in his hands. "We must repay old debts, and I owe that young woman a large one." With a wink, he disappeared down the hallway, half humming a tune to himself.

* * *

Gregory yawned, scratching the back of his hairy neck, cursing the mosquitoes that kept flying up the river to bite him there. Guard duty was imperative he was told, but nothing could have been more boring. In the past week he had already counted all the tiles on all the buildings he could see in front of him; watched the merchants paddle on the great river with everything he could imagine, and played cloud-games with himself. On a hot, stifling day such as this, he felt like doing none of the petty games that kept him awake.

"Stand straight!" Mark hissed at him, always the perfect soldier. "If Captain LePeroix sees you like that, he'll have your head!"

"Yes, sir." Languidly, Gregory stood, toying with the idea of poking Mark with his spear to see how high he could jump. "Why're we doing guard duty, anyway? We ought to be practicing with Guymelfs." And drinking and cavorting with the girls in the taverns.

"Seri could attack at any moment!" Mark brusquely answered, snapping a salute as he did so, paranoid eyes scanning the buildings. "We should be on guard at *all* times! You would do well to remember that."

"Of course," Gregory yawned. "And we'll crush 'em like we did in the war two years ago. Asturia's got the biggest army left. 'Sides, we could spot 'em a mile away."

"That is no excuse for laziness!" Mark was beginning to sound like their drill commander; always preaching about how important their work was.

"Yeah, yeah," Gregory waved the comment aside, reverting back to his lazy stance. The sun seemed to be lazy today too, languidly dragging itself towards the mountains, emitting a dim red light as if it didn't want to exert itself. He watched as it rippled the humid air before him in a last gesture of work. Only two more hours, and he could get off the balcony away from Mark and see that pretty little redhead in the Red Barrel Inn.

"What's that?" Mark pointed towards the sun, hackles raised as usual.

Gregory dragged his eyes to where Mark was pointing. A black speck sprouted on the sun, growing larger and accompanied by several dozen more by the instant. "Bees," Gregory dismissed it, groaning as he saw Mark had whipped out the telescope already. "Knock it off, already. It's just mosquitoes from the river."

But Mark was trembling, licking his lips nervously as he shoved the telescope at Gregory. "Take a look for yourself."

Gregory reluctantly grabbed the telescope, peering through it. "Guymelfs!" he cried out, jerking to a straight standing position. "Seri's attacking!"

"Sound the alarm!" Mark's voice stretched to a high-pitched wail, fear straining his vocal chords.

Gregory ran for the alarm bell as Mark shouted, hurrying to scramble the troops. The floor beneath him shattered as he ran, tumbling him down as rubble crashed around him. He stumbled downwards, flailing arms desperately searching for a handhold to keep him from striking the ground. A silver snake retracted from among the shower of rocks, quickly returning to its home in a metallic arm. Before he hit the ground, Gregory recalled where he had seen that snake appendage before: on Zaibach's machines.

Another war had begun.