The young girl ran home, laughing, as soon as her playmate had to go home.  She burst in the door and joyously yelled, "Mommy!  Mommy!"
	The somewhat aged woman gasped, startled.  She put her hands on the ends of the stove and clenched them, realizing it was only her daughter.  She turned back soon, smiling.  "What, Celia dear?"
	"Today Jazz told me a funny joke!"  She giggled after she said it; Jazz was such a funny name.
	"Oh, really?"  She sat down and beckoned her to her knee, and she ran over and jumped on her lap, laughing again.  The woman smiled; Celia was in a good mood today.  "What was it, dear?"
	"Why did the Monjar cross the path?"
	It was one of the oldest jokes in the history of time.
	Her face contorted into one of surprise and curiosity.  "I don't know, dear, why?" she asked.
	"To get to the other side!"
	The two of them shared a long laugh then, even if Celia's was more heartfelt.
	"That was very clever, Celia!" she praised, a wide smile on her face.
	She edged in her seat a bit.  "Well, it was Jazz's joke," she admitted a bit forlornly.  Then her face brightened, however.  "He also taught me a way to remember how old we are."
	"Oh, really?" she said.  "How?"
	"Well," she responded, looking very serious, "We've got five fingers."  She held up her hand; her mother nodded thoughtfully.  "And we're five years old."
	"So you're as old as you have fingers on your hand," she guessed, looking very pleased with her daughter.
	She looked up at her quizzically.  "No, silly," she said, as if she were the dumbest person she knew.
	"Oh?  Then what?"
	"We're as <old> as our <hand> is!"
	For in instant, just an instant, she slipped, her eyebrows raising and a frown appearing on her lips.  Then this vanished, as she contemplated it with a warm smile on her face.  Finally, she simply stated, "Celia...you know you won't get more fingers as you get older...."
	"Of <course> not, Mommy!" she agreed, laughing.  "Your hand never gets <older!>"
	Celia's mother, understanding her daughter about as much as she understood a lima bean, laughed right along with her.  "Good," she said, smiling.  Then she sighed.  "So, that Jazz boy teaches you a lot, doesn't he?"
	"Yeah," Celia answered, sighing.  "He's neat, Mommy."  She looked up at her.  "Do you think we'll be together forever?"
	She smiled and hugged her daughter close to her.  "Well, Celia, I don't know.  But I hope so, dear.  I really do."  The child smiled up at her, satisfied, and hugged her back.

                          "Celia"

	Celia wrapped her cloak about her tightly, hoping one of her tugs might actually keep out the cold.  She wished she hadn't worn only her dress and this thin cloth; this bitter winter night called for a blanket!  The sky shone above her with a great darkness.  She saw no moon nor any stars as she looked overhead; it appeared that rain would be upon them soon.  That was probably why she didn't see anyone wandering around town, though she stood in a bed of flowers in the very center of it; of course, she did live in a small town.  Some would have called the scene ominous.  She, however, thought of it as romantic, mainly because of the meeting she had scheduled for that night.
	Finally, he emerged from his home.  He was dressed in the blue tunic and red trousers she often saw him in--along with a large coat.  <Lucky,> she thought, shivering.  She almost ran up to him, but decided she would spoil the scene if she did.  Instead, she decided to simply call out to him.  "Jazz," she softly spoke.  The voice carried across the bitter wind, and he turned to see her smiling face.  He smiled back.
	"Hello, Celia!" he answered, waving and rushing over.  He stopped running at the flowers and took careful steps, not wishing to trample them; Celia giggled at his movements and embraced him.  As they broke away he looked at her and put his hands on her arms.  "Gee, you're cold.  You've been out here a while, haven't you?"
	"Well, yes," she responded.
	"Gosh.  Sorry to keep you waiting.  Here, try this."  He unwrapped his coat and put it over her; her chill went away far too quickly for the coat alone, however.
	She sighed and leaned against him.  "How thoughtful, Jazz.  Thank you."
	He laughed, a trace of nervousness in it.  "Er, any time, Celia.  Now what did you want to talk about?  And, out of curiosity, why here?"
	She looked up at him, then up at the sky.  "Look up there, my friend."  He craned his neck, and she moved her head to the side of his.  "What does it mean to you?"
	"Looks like rain," he observed.
	"You're right," she agreed.  "But does the sky make you feel...kinda different, Jazz?"
	He stared upwards for a bit of a time, then looked down at her.  He put his hand on her shoulder.  "Yeah, actually.  It's kinda nice being out here looking around with you."
	She beamed at him.  "Really, Jazz?"
	"Yeah," he said, smiling.  "Any time with a friend like you is nice.  Not much to see, though...."  He shrugged.  "But sometimes, there doesn't need to be."
	She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned against him, and he accepted her warmly, looking about him.  It was going better than Celia could have hoped!
	"Come on," he said soon.  "Why don't we sit down, eh?"
	"All right," she agreed.  They did so, Jazz still being careful to the flowers.
	He looked at her.  "So...what did you want to say, Celia?"
	"Well...."  No matter how well he had fit into her plans, she still didn't know how to put her next words.  "Jazz...we don't have many other friends."
	He shook his head.  They couldn't have many friends--there weren't many other children in that town.  He looked at her, wondering what she was getting at.
	She smiled.  "And we don't have any friends as good as each other, right?"
	"No," he readily agreed, clutching her hand.
	"Well...how about we be boyfriend and girlfriend?"
	Silence.
	"Jazz?" she said, after a moment.  He had frozen.  He had neither moved nor changed expression since her words; she wasn't entirely sure he still breathed.  She reached for his arm and clutched it, a bit relieved to discover he had a pulse.  "Why don't you answer, Jazz?" she said, concerned.
	Finally, he shook his head as if chasing off a trance and looked at her.  "Celia...aren't we kinda young for that?"
	"We're already twelve," she argued.  "Besides, we're both best friends, right?"
	"Of course we are," he responded.  "I just dunno...."
	He thought back to everything he'd heard from his mother and father on the subject.  A long time ago, he'd heard from his father that he and Celia spent a lot of time together.  Then he'd said he and Jazz's mother had started that way.  He thought about it and saw how different his mother and father were from he and Celia; he asked him that and he said that they loved each other and didn't just do "friend stuff," as he'd put it.
	Now Celia was asking him to stop doing friend stuff--and he didn't want that.
	At least, not right now.
	"Are you sure you don't want to just be friends?" he asked cautiously.
	She blinked.  "What do you mean?" she asked back.
	He explained to her what he learned from his father; afterwards, she looked a bit confused.  "Daddy and mommy aren't friends," she told him.
	"That's what I mean," he responded.
	"They're a lot better than friends, Jazz," she said.  He raised his eyebrows.  "They do a lot more with each other than they do with other people!"
	"What do they do?" he retorted.
	She thought about it for a moment.  Her mother and father were together a good deal of the time she saw either of them--especially now.  They said they were nearing an older age, and her father had stopped working at his job.  Taking people back and forth through the mountains and forest to Branca had gotten a bit strenuous for him, and they had plenty of money.  He didn't look that old to her, but he did seem to be tired now.  Since he was home now, they were always together--most of the time holding each other, talking, and kissing.  Except for the last part, it seemed to be just what she did with Jazz now, and she told him so.
	He shook his head.  "But do they go outside and do things?  Like climbing around the hills, and walking through the forest, like we do?"
	"Of course not, silly," she said.  "They're too old."
	He smirked.  "That's probably not why, Celia."
	She blinked again, and they remained silent for a moment.  Finally, she spoke.  "What do you mean?" she repeated, softly.
	"I don't want to be boyfriend and girlfriend.  I want to keep doing stuff together!"
	Silence.
	Celia considered his words.  Though he seemed to be a little misguided--she figured they would do a whole lot <more> if they were boyfriend and girlfriend!--he meant well.  He didn't want to lose her as a friend, as he obviously thought he would by being her boyfriend.  She couldn't think of a way to disprove him, either.
	So, she sighed, then smiled.  "All right, Jazz.  We don't have to be boyfriend and girlfriend if you don't want to."
	"Great!" he said, beaming.  He held her hand.  "Now we can keep doing stuff!"  She opened her mouth to tell him just what she thought of that statement, but she shut it upon hearing his next one.
	"Why don't you stay out here a little while, Celia?  I want to keep looking at the sky with you."
	Smiling, she nodded.  "All right, Jazz.  Why don't we lay down, though?  So we can see better?"
	"Sure," he agreed.  They did so, side by side.  She could feel his body shivering a bit; she sat and took his coat off, then laid it over them both.  He smiled as he stopped shivering and took her hand.  They stayed there, mostly silent and unmoving, for a long time.
	Eventually, the rain they had predicted began lightly coming down.  Quickly afterwards, Celia's mother looked outside of the house and called for her.  "It's time to come to bed, sweetheart!"
	"All right, Mom," she called back.  She stood, a bit wearily, as did he.  "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Jazz."
	"I hope so," he responded.  "I want to go to the castle tomorrow.  Want to come?"
	"Sure," she said, nodding her head enthusiastically.
	He smiled.  "Now there.  See?  Tonight was fun!"
	She blinked.  "Yeah, but...what do you mean?"
	"Well, we didn't become boyfriend and girlfriend, so we still had a good time together.  If we do, we won't anymore."  He smiled broadly.  "I want to keep doing things like that, Celia."
	"Me too," she said absently, hardly believing what she was hearing.
	"So...we don't have to be boyfriend and girlfriend, then...do we?"
	Celia didn't speak for a moment.  Then she giggled.  "No, we don't," she confirmed, giving his hand a squeeze.  They ran off, waving to each other cheerfully.
	<If we keep having nights like this anyway, we don't need to.>

	Dawn swiftly approached.  It was a day much like other recent days--leaves sprouting from reviving trees, flowers blooming; the lone distinction, though it meant a good deal to her, was Celia's birthday fell on that day.  She had spent more time with Jazz since that fateful night three years ago--just what she planned on doing with him after her question.  Jazz had turned fifteen a month ago, and his birthday present was one of great surprise--and something he wanted.  His father put him under the town's former general, Armid, and he would now learn the art of swordplay.  When Celia heard this, she rushed to her home with Jazz--and told her parents she wanted to join.  After a few moments of private discussion, they allowed it.
	She emerged from her bed, yawning.  "What time is it?" she asked, groggily, as her parents looked back at her; her mother told her dawn had just come upon them, and she woke more fully.  "Huh.  I'd better get to Jazz's, then--we're about to leave."
	Celia spent a moment getting ready--until her father told her to wait a moment.
	"Yes?" she said, a bit impatient.
	"Celia...you can't go with Jazz and Armid today."
	She raised her eyebrows.  "Why not?" she asked, somewhat angry and somewhat confused.
	Her mother sighed.  "Celia...we're going on an outing today."
	The child smiled.  "Really?  Neat!  It's been a while since we've gone anywhere together."
	"Yes," her father agreed.  "Perhaps too long."
	She nodded.  "When are we gonna leave?  Do I have time to go tell Jazz?"
	"Yes," her mother said.  "Go on; do tell him."  Celia nodded and left.
	The woman sighed.  "You're certain she's ready for this," her mother asked her husband.
	"She has to be," he responded.  "Jazz's training is beginning, and so must hers."
	"But they're so young..."
	"His parents have decided our courses for us," he retorted.  "And we know her role.  And now, so must she."
	"I know, I know.  I just feel like she...well..."
	"Hey," he said, putting his arm about her shoulder.  "We knew the day she would learn about her world would come.  We knew it fifteen years ago; we knew it a few months ago, when Jazz's parents began discussing his training; we knew it a month ago, when it happened.  We should have acted then.  You know that.  This delay cannot help her.  She needs to know now."
	"Know what?"
	They turned to find her at the doorway.  "Celia," her mother greeted.  "Back so soon?"
	"Yes.  He was still asleep," she laughed.  Then she smiled and held up a small box.  "I told his mother I wouldn't be there today, though, and she said he had something for my birthday to give me."
	"Really?  That's sweet," her mother said.
	"Yeah," her daughter agreed, shifting a bit.  "Can I open it now?"
	"How about we wait until we're out there?" her father said.  "We've still a little packing to do."
	"Oh.  Okay," she yielded.  "Can I help?"  They nodded, and the three of them spent the next hour preparing to leave.  Soon afterwards, they left.
	The three of them went out past the forest, basically blazing a trail, though not very conspicuously.  It was exciting for Celia, for recently--in fact, only a scarce month before their training in swordsmanship began--their families hadn't let them go outside anymore.  They claimed monsters now inhabited the outside world, and they were unsafe.  She had been walled up completely in her town for nearly two months; the adventurous spirit Jazz had molded her into was ready to burst.  Therefore, the trek outside the town made her quite happy; it also, however, left her a bit concerned.  If monsters truly inhabited the world around her, she feared for her parents safety--as well as her own.
	Once they got to the hills around the forest, they halted.  This disappointed Celia a bit; she had secretly hoped they might travel as far as the castle.  Still, she was glad enough to be back in the openness of the world.  The sky stretched a clear, light blue above her, no clouds there to hinder it.  The wildlife that dared not go near civilization ran and flew about her, leaving her with a feeling of contentment and danger combined--her idea of the ultimate freedom.  Except, of course, that her parents stood near her--and the one she had shared this freedom with so often did not.
	Celia snapped her fingers at this thought.  She turned back to her parents to find they had set up the picnic the three of them had packed.  Her face flushed.  "Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed.
	"Oh, it's all right, dear," her mother assured her, smiling.
	The child returned her mother's expression.  "I can open Jazz's present now, right?" she asked, hopefully.
	"Ah, yes," her mother said, remembering.  After a moment's pondering, she reluctantly responded, "Certainly, dear."
	Her daughter grinned and ran over to their belongings.  She grabbed Jazz's present from them and carefully opened the box.  She gasped at the contents.  "A headband!  With...flowers set on the front!" she finished, turning it over gently.  She smiled broadly, knowing the effort it took for Jazz to make it, if he made it--which she somehow felt he did.  The headband was made of a silky cloth, the flowers small, light and feathery; it would feel as if it weren't even there.  This trinket was made with care.
	She put it onto her head and asked her mother how it looked.  The woman raised her eyebrows and giggled a bit, then came to her daughter.  "Here.  Let me..." she said, moving the headband to sit straight on her forehead.  She smiled.  "There.  You look like an angel, dear."  The child flushed and turned a bit, quietly giggling spastically.
	The woman looked deeply into her daughter's gaze.  Truly, she <had> grown a great deal since her birth.  At that fragile time, she couldn't have handled the news she was about to receive at all; she wouldn't understand it, and she would not have ever been able to even attempt to have a normal life.  At her age, she might have even told Jazz about her path!  Now, this result wouldn't happen.  The knowledge wouldn't stunt the growth of her life--it would merely devastate that which she had started....
	The woman shook her head.  She had to know.
	Celia saw her mother's movement, and she stopped giggling and blinked.  "What...?  Mom?  What's wrong?"
	Her mother opened her mouth, then closed it, along with her eyes.  Celia blinked again; her heart and breathing quickened a bit, and she took her new headband off and began fumbling with it tensely.  Her father put his hand on her mother's shoulder.  He whispered her name softly as she looked at him.
	"It's time," he told her.  She looked at his eyes, fear and pain in them.  She found confidence...and a bit of sympathy.
	The woman turned back to her daughter and sighed.  A tear came to her eye, and Celia took a sharp breath.  "Celia...."  She was forced to pause, but took a breath and continued.	
	"We are not your true parents."
	The child stared at her mother.  She was forced to take a step back, almost falling into a kneel.  "What do you mean...?"
	"Daughter," her father began, "remember now what we have told you of the Zenithians."
	Reluctantly, she mentally abandoned the scene and recalled memories of her parents' teachings to her about Zenithism.  Supposedly, there was a being called "Master Dragon."  He was a god--very powerful--and lived in a castle in the sky, Zenithia.  A race of people resembling those on earth, appropriately called Zenithians, lived with this god.  According to her parents, all of this was mere religion--something none of those at her home regarded with much enthusiasm.  "What...what about them?" she asked breathlessly.
	"Though we have told you differently all your life, they exist."
	"Wh--what!?"  Celia couldn't believe what she heard.  The entire idea was impossible!  Another race living above them, superior to them, watching over them...."I don't believe you," she finally stated, flatly.
	"Celia, though we do not know much about Master Dragon itself, we do know for a fact that Zenithians are real."  Even the stoic courier was forced to pause at the look of shock and pain that accompanied a tear on his daughter's face.  He tore himself from stopping, however, and continued.
	"Sixteen years before today, two of these Zenithians came down from their castle in the skies.  They wished to have a holiday on the surface; it started with a race to get to it.  The bolder of the two headed straight down, while the wiser took a more cautious route that fewer saw; she lost the race but was not seen as she descended, unlike the first.  The two of them landed near to this very spot.  They spent a month living from the land in the middle of the southern forest; afterwards, they decided they would go back at the end of that day.
	"As they were heading back to their encampment to gather their belongings, they encountered two men on horseback.  Quickly, they hid and spied on them.  One of the men was healthy, but he traveled slowly to avoid disturbing the other, who was mortally wounded.  The Zenithians, however, were trained for tasks in their world, like the rest of their kind.  One knew fighting techniques and ways of keeping others healthy; the other knew a great deal of magic, including methods of medicine that could help his condition.  They approached the two gingerly and explained themselves; though the wounded man didn't trust them, the other was forced to--he had already fallen in love with the other beautiful maiden, just as she had fallen in love with him.
	"So, the men led the women to their cottage in the woods.  There, the magically-inclined Zenithian nursed the wounded man back to health.  During this time, the first pair grew fonder of one another, and the patient and his nurse grew to trust and love each other.
	"Nine months after the Zenithians came to the woodsmens' shack, the first child of a man and Zenithian was born--the child of the less knowledgeable Zenithian and the first man.  One month after this, the second was born, to the nurse and her wounded.  The first child was Jazz...and the second, Celia, was you."  The man saw the disbelief, among other emotions, spring into his daughter's face.  Wishing to finish his story before she could further object, he quickly cut her off.
	"Just after you were born, Celia, a tragedy occurred.  During the night, a group of monsters that lived deep in the mountains, known as the beetle-men, emerged from their home.  They ascended the mountains and traveled south, where they came upon your parents' shack.  They decided it would be a suitable place to hone their skills.  A large group of them entered the house, surprised all of you...and, before any of your parents could react, they murdered both of your fathers.
	"Both Zenithians were shocked.  They would have died that night; the beetle-men chose them as their next targets, descending upon the stunned women and rendering their wings asunder.  The beetle-men then saw you and Jazz, however, and started coming for you; the women retaliated quickly.  Jazz's mother swept into their ranks, taking many wounds but dealing even more, and your mother used magic spells that defeated several of them.  As the two were about to meet defeat, however, she called upon a burst of lightning that decimated all the ranks of the beetle-men...as well as her.  Casting the great spell with so little energy unfortunately proved her end.
	"The woman stayed there that night.  Without the healing magic of her companion, she would die within a day.  She wished to save both of you, however.  Without her wings, she could not bring you to Zenithia, the place where you truly belonged.  They were doubtlessly considered long dead because of their stay, so none would come down to look for either of them.  She could not bring you to any towns here, as she had learned from the woodsmen that Zenithians were considered otherworldly beings or, sometimes, myths.
	"By the next morning, the woman had decided to act against these warnings that night and bring you both to the southern castle in a desperate attempt.  However, before she could set out, a man appeared at the door of the cottage, finding the men dead and the woman dying.  He asked her who she was and what had happened.
	"Quickly, she explained the course of the past ten months to the man.  During this time, he revealed that he was the father of Jazz's father--his grandfather, of course.  She pleaded for his help, but he refused to give it to her, not believing the story.  Soon, however, he told her to go to the tiny northern village, though he would not go himself, where friends of his lived and would take care of you.  He described who you've known as Jazz's parents and us.
	"The woman went to our hometown and spoke to us.  She revealed not only what you've heard, but things she had discovered about the two of you--things your fathers did not know.
	"Already, your mothers could sense the power within you.  Both of you had the potential for great power, and both of you already subconsciously knew the difference between good and evil.  Jazz would grow to be a legendary fighter, a great hero, and you would grow to be an unmatched sorceress, destined to help him in times of trouble.  The two of you would need to have these powers nurtured, that you might combat evil should it arise.  We did not believe her story easily.  Our town is very small, and we didn't accept that such a thing could happen to us.
	"Then, however, we saw a great iron ball coming from the sky.  We all dodged its impact and it crashed a foot into the ground.  It quickly formed into flesh and blood--and we saw it was another Zenithian, a maiden curled up in a ball with more beauty than the first, green hair--and wings.
	"At first, she was very afraid about being seen in the village, but the first Zenithian told her it was fine, promising to explain later.  She explained that she came down when she saw the lightning, knowing something dire must have happened for such a spell to be used.  She had used a spell called Ironize to appear to be a piece of debris rather than a Zenithian.  The first one asked us again to grant her request; we had no choice but to believe her now, so we did.  And the women left then, the green-haired one flying them home.
	"Jazz was adopted by those you've known as his parents."  He almost paused again, as he saw that his daughter sensed what was coming.
	"We adopted you, Celia."
	Celia looked at her father for a very long moment.  She couldn't sort through the thoughts running through her head.  He had to be lying, telling her a story.  But she didn't know why he would do such a thing!  Besides, the parents she had known for all her lives would never tell her lies, especially ones that large and important.  Then again, if they told her the truth now, she didn't know them...but how could she trust them then?...
	She finally fell to her knees, wracked in sobs.
	<Who am I...?>
	Her mother rushed forward, putting her arm around the one she would always consider her child.  "It's all right, Celia," she said softly.  She moved to cradle Celia in her arms, but the child shrugged her away; she winced, fearing the worst.
	"But how can I...how..." the child stuttered, looking up at her.  "You might not even be my...real mother...."  She trailed off, again overcome.
	"My child, I am not your mother...but I love you just the same," she promised, holding her child close.  "Please...let me," she whispered.  They held each other, each in tears.
	"You can't mean this," Celia said desperately.  "How can this be true??"
	"Celia."  She turned toward her father, who looked at her compassionately.  "We can prove your identity to you."
	Both she and her mother looked now, incredulously.  Celia was as clueless as ever, and her mother now seemed bewildered as well.
	"Come here, with me."
	Very slowly, she stood, clinging to her mother the whole time.  She walked to her father, and he led her with his arm around her to a high hill that had a steep side.  "Celia," he said, pointing to a patch of grass a few yards away from them, "I want you to watch that spot."  She nodded, sniffed, and turned her head to the patch.
	The man mumbled something strange and waved his hand.  Instantly, she stiffened.  Once, when she had gone to Branca, a wounded man had come into the town, begging for help; someone had cast a Heal spell on him, and his wounds improved in condition.  She heard similar words now.  From her father.
	Quickly, there was no more time for pondering, as the spell finished soon.  Celia watched in amazement as a flame the size of a man went up over the spot she had been told to watch.  The orange fire died out very quickly, being no more than a second long; it was nonetheless impressive to one who had never seen such power.
	It was one surprise after another.  "Father--you're a <mage?>" she asked, in awe.
	He nodded.  "I am, daughter.  However, so are you."
	She blinked.  "But--I don't know magic!"
	The old man mysteriously smiled.  "But you do," he assured her.  She stared at him, questioning.  "Look inside your mind, Celia.  You <do> know the power of the Blaze spell.  You simply have to find it in yourself."
	The child had no idea what he was talking about.  If she had magic, she would certainly know about it!  Reluctantly, she scoured her memories, trying to find anything about being taught magic.  She found nothing.  "I don't remember..." she began, not knowing quite what to say.
	"Do not look in your memories, child.  Look...elsewhere," he concluded, not knowing quite what to say himself.
	Now she was even more confused.  <What is he talking about?> she thought to herself.  There wasn't any magic inside of her--she knew this, so why didn't her...father?
	She shook her head.  <This time I'll really try.>
	Celia's father held her close as she searched her mind for her powers.  He let go a bit, however, when she blinked and her face lit up.  Solemnly, she turned to the same spot.  Her father smiled as she repeated his words and movements exactly.  Her spell completed itself quickly--and she watched, utterly shocked, as an orange flame the size of a man went up over the patch of grass.
	She dropped to her knees.  "I know magic," she said, hardly believing the words coming from her own mouth, the evidence coming from her own power.  Her father moved to embrace her, but she shrugged him off.  "But how could I know magic unless I'd been taught it...some time...?"  Holding her head, either in headache or true pain, she looked up at him.  "Then..." she said, tears brimming her eyes again.
	"You aren't my real father."
	The man's smile vanished as he heard the words.  They both knew the answer now, and what it meant; anything he could say would mean no comfort to her.
	"That is right, Celia," he said, slowly.
	She shook her head, somehow still unbelieving.  "How could this...but...<why>..."
	Her mother walked up to the two of them now, as she had seen the second spell completed.  "Though we are not your parents," she told her, "we do love you as parents, Celia...."
	She was no longer listening.  "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME???" she shouted, desperately.  Her father rose.  She was handling this in the worst way.  He prepared to be stern, though he had a bit of doubt that he could handle it after this.  She stared at them both from her kneel.  "<Why,> 'mother'?"  The woman swallowed a lump in her throat at the biting edge she gave the word.  "<Why,> 'father'?  <WHY???>"
	Celia fell to the ground, covered in sobs.  Her mother joined her tears, leaning against her husband.  "This isn't fair..." their child claimed between sobs.  "Why..."  Her mother embraced her husband, now crying fully.  He had nothing to say as a tear of his own dripped down his cheek, along with several of his wife's.
	"Why me?" Celia moaned.
	Her parents gripped each other tightly, wishing they could hold her as well.

	Eventually, the child pulled herself together and learned more about her past.  She learned that the small town had dedicated the whole of itself to helping she and Jazz grow, and all knew the secrets that their parents had been told.  Her parents also told her what probably shocked her the most:  because of her probable role in the fights to come, she was to be told her past already, while Jazz was not.  She could not tell him, either.
	The child's life changed irrevocably after that day.
	She knew her true past, and it meant she lived almost alone in the world.  She was neither human, beings that surrounded her every day of her life, nor Zenithian, beings she knew nothing of in the first place.  Worse, her only partner, Jazz, did not know the truth, and she could not tell him of it.  It was worse than being alone.
	She knew her true past--but only so much of it.  No matter how much her false parents told her, she would never know the basic things...what kind of people her father and mother were...what they looked like...what her life with them could have been.  She could never even know about how she learned her magic.  Was it a natural ability she possessed, or taught to her at an age too young for her to remember?  She would never know, just as she would never know her entire past for certain.  After fifteen years of lies, she could not trust her "parents" anymore.
	Her love--of people and of life--for a time was lost to her.  She shunned contact with others as much as possible, and the training she needed could not be given to her.  Not even Jazz could reach her, the headband he had given her stored in a back corner of the room they had given her with the rest of her false memories.  She walled herself into this room for nearly a month, her hate extending daily.  Eventually it grew to a point that led her to leave her home.
	On the second day of this outside venture, Celia remained in the large forest south of the mountains.  She had brought no money, so she did not feel it prudent to go to Branca, and she knew of no other places.  Just after dawn, she reached a small clearing, the first one she found in the woods.  Here she sat down and thought.  She spent this time trying to sort through her feelings; in truth she did wish to go home to her former family.  She acknowledged that she still needed care now, after a full day of insecurity in the forest, and she knew people that doubtlessly loved her lived there.  Until she could return that love, however, she could never go home.
	Celia had resolved nothing further thirty minutes into this task when she heard a rustling.
	Instantly, the trance she had put herself into was broken with a start.  She looked about her, searching in fear.  The rustle came again--but from a different place.  Terrified, she whirled toward it, and it was gone.
	The child stood, knowing something watched her.  Gathering all her courage, she croaked out, "I know something is there.  Show yourself."  Involuntarily, she added, "Please."  She inwardly groaned at her action...then began trembling as whatever it was decided to take her advice.
	The rustling came from a third direction now, and she whirled toward it.  It continued this time, though, and her breathing and heart sped up.  She backed up, slowly, keeping herself from the edge of the clearing.  Luckily, it seemed that only one creature threatened her, however.
	All at once, a gigantic worm burst into the clearing.
	Celia clapped her hands over her mouth to swallow her scream.  She had seen normal worms before, of course, but never anything this size--the worm was thicker than her hand, and its length extended to almost twice her height!  Nervousness and fear washed over her in waves as she thought of what that length could do to her if the creature overtook her.
	The worm advanced, and she retreated.
	Though she knew this forest somewhat by then and tried hard to outdistance the worm, she could already hear the thing gaining on her.  Slithering along the ground, it didn't have to pick through the trees and shrubbery.  She was overmatched in mobility, and she soon knew it.  As much as the thought frightened her, she would have to find if she could overmatch it in power.
	Stopping at a relatively clear part of the path, she turned to face her opponent.  The morning light showed the purple thing fairly well as it raced over the surface.  As it swiftly approached she noted that it, like other worms, had no visible eyes...but it still detected her.
	When it was less than a foot away, she clumsily kicked it in the head.  The thing stumbled backwards, but appeared to tremble and continued on, now seemingly unhurt.  Undaunted, she leapt out of its way just in time, and it adjusted quickly towards her.  Again, she kicked at it, but it did nothing to the worm, not even jarring it this time as the kick came with more desperation.  Worse, the worm wound with the kick and managed to get around her foot.  Frantic, she kicked it off, but stumbled and fell backwards for the effort.  Quickly, she scrambled up, fighting the slimy worm from her legs along the way.
	She ran frantically from the thing, but it seemed to be able to see her completely and adjust perfectly with her movements.  Celia breathed hard from her fall and her fear, starting to wonder at her fate...and what it meant.  The second half-Zenithian child, slain by a giant worm?  She couldn't let this happen.
	She skipped back to keep her distance from the worm, and, wondering where that thought had come from, she cast her Blaze spell on the creature.
	The worm was enveloped fully by the fire, and it cried out a curious sound as Celia gasped.  After the flame quickly subsided, she saw that the worm's skin had been melted in it.  Her mouth opened as it curled up into a protective ball, where it twitched and waited for death, which came as she stood and stared.
	Celia breathed in and out quickly and deeply, her fists clenching and unclenching as she fled from the scene.  Some of her inhalations turned into sobs, but she kept them hidden.  The worm had been burned almost to death, then died from it only after a moment of suffering--and she had brought it all on....
	She kept up her breathing, putting the thought of what she'd done out of her mind and controlling herself by the narrowest of margins.

	Near sunset, the young woman appeared at the natural gate of the town, a lone man guarding the narrow path from the forest to the village.  His face lifted as he saw her alive.  "Celia!  You're all right," he said, brightly; she nodded a bit absently.  "You look happier, too," he commented as she passed him briskly.  No one could be seen in the town, and she felt lucky about not having to stop and converse.  Quietly, she made her way back home.
	Her father was sitting at the table in the front of their house.  He looked very sullen and distressed.  When Celia came into the room, however, he brightened.
	"Celia.  You're home," he said, surprised.  She smiled for the first time in a month, and they embraced warmly.
	When they broke apart, however, she looked into his face and found pain.  Awkwardly, she asked, "What...what's the matter?"
	He looked away, sadly, as his smile disappeared.  He sighed.  "While you were gone, Celia, your mo...my wife--" he amended.
	Celia stopped him and took his hand.  "My mother," she told him.
	He smiled.  "Your mother.  Your mother, well...she...passed away."
	Her eyes widened.  "You...you're serious?" she asked, knowing in her heart the answer.  He nodded, and her jaw dropped.  "But--how?  She looked healthy--"
	"Your mother was healthy, Celia...before we told you of your past," he said, cautiously.  "The strain that put her through weakened her greatly.  It finally got to her yesterday."  He didn't mention to Celia that her mother had died in a bed of tears...just after she had ran away.  Somehow, however, she managed to guess.
	"I killed her," she whispered.
	For an instant, he did not respond.
	"Father...I am so sorry...."  She trailed off, crying onto his arm as he held his only remaining family close.  He repeatedly denied that her leaving had finally broken her mother, but his hesitation and the fact that he didn't believe it himself weakened greatly his assurances.  Eventually, he stopped, choosing instead to grieve with her.

	Celia knocked on Jazz's door quietly that night.  She hoped he would still be awake, though it wasn't too far past sunset.  His mother answered the door and smiled wide in surprise.  "Celia!  You're back with us."
	"Celia?"
	She smiled as she heard Jazz's voice.  "Jazz?" she called.
	His mother backed from the door as he emerged.  A grin quickly spread across his face as he saw her.  "Celia, it <is> you!" he exclaimed.  He swept her into a hug that she gladly returned.
	A moment later, he turned to his mother.  "May I go out for a while, Mom?" he asked, politely.  She nodded, and he rushed out, practically dragging Celia behind him.
	"Where have you been?" he asked gleefully.
	She looked to the side and shrugged.  "Not really anyplace," she answered.  "Just the forest."
	"What happened there?  You're okay, right?"
	"Of course, Jazz," she responded, giggling.
	"What?" he asked impatiently.
	"You're <so> nervous!" she exclaimed.
	"You're right.  You're right."  Jazz sighed and put his hands to his sides calmly.  She giggled as he breathed in deeply, attempting to calm himself, and found herself a bit surprised when it worked.  "So, Celia," he said.  "I see you're wearing my headband."
	"Certainly.  I really liked it."
	He fidgeted a bit.  "You didn't seem to much when I gave it to you."
	Celia looked away from him.  "You don't think I was sad because of that, do you?"
	"No," he assured.  "I would like to know why you were, though."
	The young woman sighed.  "I...don't really want to talk about it," she evaded.
	He looked hard at her.  "That isn't really true," he stated flatly.
	"No, it isn't," she admitted.
	"Then you <do> want to talk about it."
	"No...no," she said, holding her hand up.  "It's all right, Jazz.  Really."
	He put his hand on her shoulder.  "You're completely certain?  No matter what it is, I'll understand, Celia."
	She looked back at him.  Suddenly, she was amazed at how much he had grown.  She had no idea why this only struck her now, but it did.  He wasn't the same person she knew when he was five, or when he was twelve.  He'd matured.  <He has to know....>
	"I <can't> tell you, Jazz..." she said, turning away.  They stayed there for a moment, Jazz hoping she was all right.  Then she turned back to him.  "Can we just let that stay in the past, Jazz?"
	He blinked.  Then a light smile spread across his face.  "Fine, Celia," he said, cheerfully.  "We don't have to talk about it."
	"Great," she said, relieved.  She blinked at him.  "It isn't too late yet.  How about we go for a walk in the forest?"
	"You sure you haven't seen too much of the forest?" he asked.
	"I'm sure I <have,>" she responded, remembering her journey.  She looked at him happily.  "But I haven't been there with you."
	He grinned.  "Well, all right, Celia."  He bent his arm, letting her take it.  "I think I can handle leading you through the forest."
	Beaming, she held her head close to his and softly spoke, "I'm sure of it."
	As they walked along together, her head upon his, they discovered that their feelings had only increased after a month apart.  The moment they left the sight of the village, Jazz stopped and looked deep into her eyes.
	"Remember...three years ago?"
	"When?" she said, spellbound.
	"When you asked me...if I wanted to be your boyfriend?"
	She blinked, then smiled.  "Yes, Jazz?"
	"I've reconsidered," he said, warmly.  Their lips met, and during their walk were they not long apart.
	Later, Jazz would learn about the death of Celia's mother.  He felt awful about keeping her out just after it, but she reassured him that both she and her father felt this was exactly what she needed to cope.

	Two years passed.
	During those years, Celia and Jazz found themselves often split up, as they had their separate training to go through.  Jazz was quite surprised to learn about his friend's father's "hobby," and the spells she learned from him interested him greatly.  By the end of those two years, she had great power behind her.  His training didn't go quite so well, for he didn't have as many spars as he would have liked; still, he learned enough about swordsmanship for his parents to feel he should begin learning spells.
	Then, one day, two months after Jazz's seventeenth birthday....

	"It's done.  Jazz, my dear child, take this lunch to your father at the pond.  He's fishing.  Greet everyone you pass, okay?"
	"Hi, Jazz, taking a walk?  It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"
	"I'm a traveling poet.  I was lost in the mountains and found this village.  I didn't know there was a village deep in these mountains."
	"Ha!  Jazz, you must <always> guard yourself.  Mastery of swordsmanship is harder than it appears.  Understand?"
	"Jazz, today I'll teach you how to cast a spell called Zap....You look hungry.  I'll teach you after lunch."
	"Good morning, Jazz!  It feels so good to rest like this!
	"Jazz, I hope we can stay friends forever."
	"You brought me lunch, Jazz?
	"Jazz, you're already seventeen years old, entering adulthood.  Listen, Jazz...you must always be righteous and strong, whatever happens."
	"Thank you!  You want your lunch?  Okay, sit there.  I'll make it."

	And, in one instant, Jazz's world exploded.
	"Monsters finally found this village!  They'll be here any second!"
	"Oh, no!" his mother gasped.  He gasped as well at the innkeeper's news.  He was more surprised at his mother's reaction, however.  Her face was pale, but she looked resolute.  She turned to him and said, "Jazz, flee now!"
	"What!?" he exclaimed.  "But mom, I can protect--"
	"Don't worry about me," she exclaimed, shaking her head.  He would have made further protests, but before he knew it the messenger whisked him away.
	"Hey!" he exclaimed, shoving at the man.  He found that the innkeeper, however, had an iron grip he didn't know about.  He struggled for a bit, but the man kept pulling him along.
	The guard at the entrance to the town saw the two and nodded.  "We'll stop the monsters!" he assured them resolutely.  Then, he said to the innkeeper, "Take Jazz to a safe place!"
	"What are you--" the young man growled.  He was dragged along again, however.  When he saw Celia looking at him, shocked, from her position in the flowers, however, he managed to pull away and run to her.
	"Celia!  What is going on!?" he asked, frantically.
	"Oh, Jazz..." she said, tears in her eyes.  She stroked his hair.  "If anything happens to you, I...."  She wanted to explain to him so many things, to tell him of his quest...to give him one last kiss....
	But there was no time.  She shook her head and urged, "Hide!  Hurry!"
	"What!?  Celia!!"
	She paused, a tear falling down her cheek.  Then she frowned.  "I'll be there soon," she hastily promised.
	"But Celia!!!"  The innkeeper had gotten to him by then, though, and was already pulling him away from her.  He struggled angrily against his incredible strength, but it was to no avail; he began to wonder if he really <could> have protected himself and his mother.
	His swordsmanship teacher, Armid, ran up to them then.  He turned to the innkeeper.  "Those damned monsters...they found Jazz!"
	"We only needed a little more time to make Jazz the great hero," the merchant lamented.  He shook his head then and, with a resolute countenance, rushed to the front of the town.
	"Hold it!" Jazz commanded.  "The WHAT!?"
	"This way, Jazz!" his teacher barked, cutting him off.
	"But what are you--"
	"COME!"  The boy responded subconsciously to his drill training and followed Armid briskly.
	Only seeing his father fishing brought him out of it.  He shook his head and pleaded, "Father!  Please, tell me--what is going on!?"
	He looked at Jazz, sadly but sternly.  "Jazz, the time I've feared has come."
	"What do you mean?"
	"We've never told you this before," he began, pain apparent in his voice, "but we are not your true parents."
	He then paused to untangle his feet from Jazz's jaw.
	"We want to explain--"
	"And you'd better!" Jazz demanded, angrily and frantically.
	"--but we have no time..." his father finished.
	"Father, what does all this mean?" he asked, a bit calmer than before, hoping that might work.  "Not my real parents?  The Great Hero?  Monsters finding <me,> not the village?  Why haven't I heard any of this before??"
	It didn't work.  "You must hide now," his father said flatly.  Jazz looked despairingly into his eyes.  His face was resolute.
	"NO!!  FATHER, TELL ME!" Jazz screamed, losing his wits as he saw this.  He nearly leaped out at the man, but Armid grabbed his arm and pulled tightly.  The young man found his attempt foiled as he nearly suffered a dislocation.  All too suddenly, he had gone down a flight of stairs and into the cellar.
	The tender needed only three words of explanation from Armid to know what transpired:  "They are here."  With that, he gasped and shouted, "Oh, no!  The monsters are coming!"  Then, as he looked at Jazz, his fear was replaced with a coldness--and a resolute face.  "We must fight!" he said, again mainly to himself.  He ran past Armid as the general took Jazz into a back room.
	Jazz looked at his teacher, a man he had come to know as a mentor.  "Armid, please..." he pleaded, desperately.  "Tell me what's going on...."
	He was actually surprised when Armid nodded
	"Listen well, Jazz," he began.  "The monsters seek to end your life!"
	"What?  But--why?" he asked.
	"You are a threat to them!" Armid hastily explained.
	Jazz's eyebrows raised.  "I couldn't break the innkeeper's grasp, and you're saying I'm a threat??" he struggled out.
	The general shook his head.  "No, Jazz.  You were born with a hidden power."  Basically all of Jazz's face expanded now, the picture of disbelief.  "You have the potential to become strong enough to destroy any evil being."  The look worsened, and Armid's own eyebrows raised at it.  He shook his head.  "But you're still weak right now."  The broken man nodded his head dramatically.
	He looked sternly at him.  "Understand?" he uttered.
	"No," Jazz readily admitted.
	Armid growled.  "Escape and survive, Jazz!" he clarified simply, looking very resolute.  With that, he rushed from the room, sword drawn, leaving Jazz alone with his semblance of thoughts.

	Celia looked into the ranks of the enemies with great fear.  Though she now had great magical power, the enemy far overmatched them.  Great bats, horned beasts, deformed robed figures, and any number of monsters advanced through the forest to the town, cutting down the surrounding trees in their wake.  She grimaced at the destruction they were already causing; the town would face much worse.
	Soon, the monsters were upon them, and she had no more time for thought.  She became an automaton, firing spell after spell at their enemy at her father's side, exhaustion no longer a concern or even something she could register.  Many enemies fell, but so did many of their comrades.  They couldn't see who lost their lives when, for all the chaos.
	Finally, her father used an Firevolt spell on a group of advancing beasts.  From the ground under them rose a pillar of burning, yellow flame that crackled at them for many seconds, leaving them burning, smoking carcasses.  Celia took an instant from her chanting to send a look of triumph to her father, however futile his small victory might be.  When she turned back, however, she found a man--a <human>--there, waiting and smirking.
	The man was dressed entirely in a suit of black full-plate.  She could not tell if he had any clothes on underneath, but the armor covered his entirety anyhow.  He held at his side a broad sword, one with a two sharp edges that gleamed in the springtime sun.  Somehow, however, the head resting above his breastplate inspired the most terror in her.  His mane was of an orange blond, and it came down in a wave over his eye.  His sneering face was pointed at the chin...and the ears were pointed, as well.  Just like hers and Jazz's.
	Dumbstruck, she lost her spell.
	The man laughed at her futile display, then rushed forward, aiming for her throat.  She scrambled out of the way desperately, and he adjusted to her charge.  She simply ducked underneath the rush, and the sword went over her head.  It soon came down above her, though, and she made a sound resembling a yelp as she dove out of the way.
	Whimpering, she backed away from this incredible minister of death.  She was his, there was no doubt.  This would be her end.  He laughed as he prepared a deathblow...
	...and then his head slumped forward.
	She whirled her gaze to her father, incredible glee and relief on her face.  He had cast Sleep on the foe; whether it worked or failed, the blast to the mind would always make an attempt, which preoccupied its target for at least a short moment.  She scrambled to her father, then turned back, preparing a Blazemost spell for the terrible attacker.
	This spell, too, was lost, as she stared into the attacker's face.
	His moment of weakness had been entirely too short.  He had almost been at Celia's back as she ran to her father.  Her mouth dropped, and she whimpered again, seeing his sword rise up, with her father unable to save her this time.
	The sword descended...
	...and emerged through her father's back.
	Celia's eyes and mouth opened wide as she stared at her father's murderer.  He ripped the sword through his chest, cutting short his anguished death and the complications of removing the sword.  He saw the child's disbelieving expression...and he grinned at her.
	"<NOOOOOOO!!!!>"
	Her scream marked the turning point in the battle.  The townspeople were alerted to the fact that their mage no longer lived, and it disheartened them terribly, as did Celia's anguished cry.  The monsters began defeating them more easily than before.
	Celia, however, was only spurred on.
	She began casting the spell of Sleep at the man.  The spell flew from her lips and straight at him, dropping his head again.  Another Sleep descended upon him, the spells almost overlapping.  The third spell, however, did overlap with the second, as did the fourth, and the fifth.
	By the time Celia paused, simply for breath, an iron Zenithian could have fallen on him without waking him.
	The chaos around her had hidden her actions from the rest of the monsters, and she saw that the town was being overwhelmed.  She accepted this, knowing only that she had to take this assassin with her.  She prepared yet another Blazemost, aiming it squarely at the man's head.  As she worked, however, she saw another man coming up, from behind the ranks, apparently to help this one.  Grudgingly, she readjusted to stop this threat.
	A billowing fire rose up around the man, engulfing him completely.  The fire lasted for ten seconds, burning at him during all of it and certainly causing him pain.  It caused him to stop, after all.  As the artificial flames progressed, however, she began to worry.  He didn't collapse.  The spell finished, evaporating in a visible puff of smoke.  It again revealed the man.
	He stood with his arms spread out wide, a look of determination on his face...and no burns.
	Celia's face was one of pure shock.  She faced no man in this opponent.  No man could live through Blazemost; her father had seen the effects.
	She scrambled, utterly appalled and afraid, from the man's search of the town for the assailant.  She watched from the corner of a building as he gave up--considering the spells merely an annoyance anyhow--and approached the fallen man.  Seeing what at first appeared to be camaraderie, she remembered her promise to Jazz.  Though the standing man, instead of shaking him, began kicking his fallen companion awake--giving up after a futile minute, knowing he'd be out for the rest of the day--the effect on her was not lost.
	Still, no foes had noticed her.  She made sure of that before she left, not wishing to lead them directly to him.  Then she scrambled quickly for the wine cellar, hoping she did not completely ruin Jazz's chance of survival...but knowing they were slim anyhow.

	The only thing the man registered afterwards was the loud sound of battle going on outside the cellar.  There were hideous roars, inhuman growls, and blood-curdling death screams.  Though many of these were monsters, at least as many of them were human...and then he heard Celia's.
	His trance snapped.  "Celia..." he said.  Still completely confused, the man remained torn between Armid's confusing words and his love for several moments.  Once he regained some bit of sense, he recognized her importance and began to rush out--only to bump into her at the room's door.
	"Celia!" he exclaimed.  "What has happened??"
	"Oh, Jazz...the monsters...no, a man--an incredible man--he's...."  She nearly broke into tears, but she recognized the urgency of the situation just in time to stop herself.
	Jazz barely registered what she had said.  "Celia, what is all this??  Why are these monsters after me?"
	She looked at him.  "They are after you because you are the Hero."
	"What does that mean???" he pleaded.
	"Jazz, the more you fight, the stronger you will grow.  Though you can't do it now, if you fight enough, you can destroy the evil forces!  They want to stop you from fighting before you are able to."  His mouth opened.  It was just what Armid had told him...only, when it came from Celia's mouth, he understood it.
	What he didn't understand was why it came from her mouth.  "Why wasn't I ever told this before?  And why were you?"
	"They didn't tell you...because they didn't want to ruin your life, Jazz.  They told me all this two years ago."  His mouth opened as he recognized the source of Celia's month of solitude.  "They had to, for they were explaining to me my role in your quest."
	He blinked.  "What is it, Celia?"
	She thought...then gasped.
	<...destined to help him in times of trouble...>
	A gut-wrenching fear enveloped him as he saw the love of his life's face turn...resolute.
	"Celia?  What are you going to do...?"
	She ignored him.  "I've enjoyed growing up with you, Jazz," she uttered, solemnly.
	"What?  What are you saying??"
	"Don't worry, Jazz."  She looked at him and smiled.  "I won't let them take your life."
	"Celia???  WHAT ARE YOU SAYING!?  <WHAT-->"
	Celia held a finger to his mouth.  She moved it from there and kissed him, hard and, though it lasted only scant seconds, long in her mind.  He could not participate in it at all, but it satisfied her.  <One last kiss, Jazz....>
	She backed up, studied the confounded man, and cast Transform.
	He watched Celia in complete awe as she demonstrated another of her wizardly powers.  Blurred fields of energy coursed her sides, and her body remolded itself in front of him, becoming...his.  Her clothes joined it, becoming...his.  And her face joined them, becoming...his face.  She now <was> him.
	He stared for a moment, only stopping when she heard the transformed Celia's voice.
	"Goodbye, Jazz...."
	He blinked.  He looked around, but saw no one.  "Celia...?"  He caught a glimpse of one of his boots heading out the cellar door and knew she was leaving.  Then he realized the sounds of battle had died down...that the monsters were grumbling...demanding his presence....
	And now Celia--<Jazz>--was going out there.
	"No!  Celia!"  He began to rush out, but he already knew it was too late.  He heard the squeals of delight from the monsters...and heard them begin to combat her.  It was a swift fight, during which Celia made no sounds.  The only way he knew when it ended was the sounds of battle dying again--replaced with cheers.
	He heard a voice--remarkably comprehensible--proclaim, "Necrosaro!  We've destroyed Jazz the Hero!"
	Then, a male voice that was completely human laughed loudly.  "Well done!" he responded; Jazz knew then it was Necrosaro that spoke.  "Everyone," he announced, "return to our base!"
	The monsters trooped out, and all sounds died.
	Cautiously, Jazz took a step.  The world beneath him didn't crumble--remarkable in itself.  Fearing the worst, he walked to the door of the room.  "Celia?" he called.  There was no reply, as he had expected.  He walked further, to the stairs of the cellar.  Steeling what remained of his nerves, which amounted to very little, he ascended them.
	A scene of complete and utter destruction greeted him.
	He saw his town torn to shreds.  He saw corpses, beast and human alike, lying everywhere.  He saw rubble from buildings burned down or frozen and broken littering the walls they once belonged to.  He saw Celia's flowery headband...
	...and no other trace of her.
	Jazz's subconscious took over as he fainted.

	As he slept, his subconscious somehow recognized that the scene, should it be seen again, would bring terrible emotions down on Jazz.  It also saw that he wouldn't be able to understand or deal with these emotions.  They would literally kill him.
	So, while he lay there, the scene of desolation disturbing even the local monsters enough to prevent them from approaching him, his subconscious busily worked to purge him of his emotions.
	When he awoke, he was a new man.

Jjukil@aol.com



	The man walked through the forest path tentatively, knowing what awaited him there.  Though he had abandoned this path so many months ago, he knew it by heart, and that would never leave him.  He soon reached the end of the path.  There, he stopped for a second.  The scene he had left so long ago could only have deteriorated since then.  He supposed, however, that this was part of his plans.  Steeling incredible nerves, he entered the town.
	He grimaced.  It <had> gotten worse.
	The destruction of this village had been complete, and the carcasses had stayed undisturbed.  Maggots and other rot-crawlers infested almost everything.  They had picked most of the carcasses clean, and the buildings honestly could not even begin to look like buildings anymore.  A hideous smell permeated the air; he neither cared to nor wished to decide its conetents.Not even monsters went near this black hole; only these insects and things with almost no mind ventured it.
	He walked about the ruined village, peering at the worsened destruction and thinking.  The scene did little to influence his decision, but the little bit it mattered simply reassured him it was right.
	He stopped when he got to a patch in the middle of the village.  Once, a large bed of flowers grew here; now, only patches of festering swamp remained.  Mockeries of flowers littered the outside, but they were nearly dead anyway, doubtless soon to join the rest of their comrades.  He waded through a small patch of growth and stepped into the center of the former flower bed.  It now consisted of only sand.
	He looked about him once more.  He reflected again that his quest was over; now he had to move on.  <Yes...this will make a perfect place.>
	The man solemnly shed his Zenithian Plate, Barrier and Band, placing them behind of him along with his pack of belongings.  He kept the sword, however...and drew it.  He extended his grip and turned the sword around.
	Jazz lined the blade with his chest.  <I begin here...and I end here...that I might begin again, in a better way, with you...Celia.>
	Suddenly, the man stopped as he spied an oddity ahead.  He peered closer, believing at first he had imagined it.  His inspection revealed, however, just what he thought he had seen--flowers, rising from the muck.
	He lowered his sword and walked forward, kneeling.  The swamp was seeping into the ground!  Grass grew from where only muck existed--and from that grass came flowers, shooting from nowhere.  He spotted a movement to the side, and he looked to see that all around him the same thing happened.  All the dying flowers sprang back to life, encircling him.  It was impossible...but he now knew the impossible had ways of happening.
	<What next?> he wondered, sheathing his sword.
	He caught another movement from the side, and he looked toward it.  A figure was flickering into existence--but it was accompanied by a light that made it too bright to see.  He closed his eyes, waiting until the light ceased; then he reopened them.  Then he viewed a figure from a past of mere months that Jazz viewed as ancient.
	Celia stood there.
	This could not be real.  He blinked, but the image did not go away.  He inwardly cursed whatever evil demons he had not found on his journey for the punishment they gave him.  To invade his memories and bring this image up...it was cruel, to say the least.
	"Show yourself, demons," he growled, drawing his sword.  He looked around--then spied Celia, turning toward him.
	Her mouth opened, slowly.
	He lowered his sword, sighing.  <They've defeated me already....>
	"Jazz?" Celia muttered.  "Is that...you?"  The woman reached her hand up to his cheek...but he batted it away.  It surprised him but did not unnerve him that he could feel that hand when he did so.  She looked into his eyes.  "What...?  What's wrong?"
	"You aren't real," he growled.
	"What...?"
	"You are an image.  Relayed to me by a hidden demon.  I have to defeat you...."  His hand trembled on the grip of the hilt of his sword.  "Somehow...."
	Celia stepped back.  She didn't know what to think now.  This could not be Jazz.  Jazz was more intelligent...more emotional than <that.>
	She blinked.  "You aren't real, either."
	His eyebrows raised.  "What do you mean?"
	"You are not the real Jazz.  The real Jazz isn't like this at all.  He's a smart, caring...loving person.  A person who loved me once."
	His eyes closed.  "But I still love Celia," he whispered.  The woman's hands held his cheeks gently, embracing them.
	"And I still love Jazz," she whispered.
	"But you aren't...."
	Both of them stopped their sentence, looking at one another.  Jazz searched hard for his love, somehow resurrected from the dead; the knowledge came to him that if this was a product of evil he would know it.  Celia searched hard for her love, somehow with his emotions killed; the knowledge came to her that he had emerged from her last vision of him into a world of despair.
	They found each other.
	"Celia..." Jazz mumbled.
	"Jazz..."
	He suddenly looked surprised.  "But how--I mean, you were...you weren't even here!  No one could have revived you, no one could have brought you back here...there was no way," he finished, tears marring his words.
	"Things can go beyond physical, beyond magic, Jazz," Celia told him, smiling.  "Sometimes, a love...or a prayer...or both...can be all you need."
	He stared, blankly, at his love.
	Ever since he had lost her the first time, Jazz had been building his wall to emotion.  He could handle any situation with almost cold stoicism if needed...and, sometimes, even when it wasn't needed.  Now, however, the need for it was gone, and the source of it was false.  Now, his quest was over, Celia lived...and he could feel again.
	Jazz withdrew from Celia; she looked at him, curiously, to find him digging through his pack, his eyes never leaving her.  He soon found his trinket.  "Close your eyes, Celia," he asked.  She did so, wondering at his intent.  He walked up to her and placed his hands on the sides of her head.  Overflowing joy washed over her as she felt a headband with flowers in the front, given to her so long ago and lost to her so recently in her mind, once again adorn her.
	He opened his eyes for her gently as he held her.  She found herself seeing the eyes of Jazz--the Jazz she knew, and loved--brimming with the same tears of joy she felt coming.
	"Never leave me again," he whispered.
	"No," she promised.
	He drew her close, kissing her as she had kissed him in her last moments.  She returned his love, and while the surprise Jazz got from having his friends visit him at his hometown was a joyous moment, the moment the two of them stayed there could not compare with it for Jazz...or Celia.
	<If I died again now, I would be happy.>