Welcome to Gaia! ::

The land mass crept up in the distance, a long peninsula jutted from a large central island mass. The closer they came the larger the central mass became until suddenly four more peninsula were visible extending from the first. The island was gigantic, easily hundreds of miles, and Vahn despite his many travels would simply not recognize it, though something in the far reaches of his mind would tell him he should have.

This is it.

Walter said with a wide smile the sort one might imagine he used when serving tea or the 31st course of a gourmet meal. The carriage was beginning to arch downwards, the tireless marble horses snorted and the driver cracked his whip several times.

The island, is protected by a sort of veil of shadows.

Walter said helpfully, turning to face Vahn.

Whether one is sailing by it, or reading a blip on modern magical or technological devices any thoughts deeper than idle appreciation or recognition of the land mass, such as a desire to explore or visit simply...slip off the mind like water off a duck.

He said this with a sort of inexplicable pride, perhaps at discovering such a place despite the afore mentioned enchantment? The horses were nearer now. The scent of salt water washing on sand was strong in the air. If he looked out Vahn would see a couple thousand feet of forest surrounded the rim of what appeared to be a dark gray desert expanse at the center of the land mass. At the bottom of the island, a bit west of where it appeared they were going to land was a structure of some sort. It was very large and at first glance very old, and made of tan and gray bricks. This structure, in the few moments Vahn had to glimpse it looked very much like a castle, with tall towers at its four walls. One tower was taller than the rest and jutted out over the canopy.

Obviously this does not effect you.

The horses were landing on a dock placed out on a single beach. Their silent galloping steps suddenly became thunderously loud as they struck the docks wooden planks and then silent when they ran the full length of the dock and into the sand. There...after a crack of reins, they stopped.

Just as when they boarded, Walter would stand, hop off and sort of present the ground beneath them for Vahn to exit on to. If these were older days he would have infact rolled out a carpet. Instead, Walter believed the island's beauty was majestic enough to speak for itself.

The beach was spotless. Not a sand castle, not a footstep, and not a hint that there was ever or had ever been a human on this island before. The water was impossibly clean, and a bluish silver in the moonlight. Far off inside the tree canopy there was a single glowing torchlight. But what surrounded it, or what it was attached was drowned out by vines and leaves. Walter gave the Murmillion a moment, and then he said...

What do you know of your predecessors? Of the past scions of Efreet?

"Maybe it was meant to stay hidden then."

This too, made the old man smile. A tricky sort of smile which worked like a puzzle box to face readers. It wasnt that the smile was empty. It was full, full of sentiment which could by anything. And when he spoke, his words carried meaning. But that meaning was behind a similar veil as his smile. It made it so that his words seemed heavier on the average mind, as if these words in particular would serve as landmarks later when this is all being reviewed.

It is. It most certainly is.

He said, and nodded.

Moments later they were landing, and Vahn was answering his question astutely, and wonderfully. Walter made small adjusts as Vahn spoke. He tugged the edge of his vest, then the ends of his jacket sleeves so that when the Mumillion finished speaking, the butler looked proper as can be.

"What's there to know...they were mortal aspects of the natural order of the planet...at least until my father got it in his head to disrupt that."

Much...there is much to know.

Walter said, and then without a moments hesitation he bowed and unfurled his arm rather dramatically toward the torch light hidden inside the overgrowth.

Come, I will teach you. And all that I ask is that you listen. When I finish, please feel free to speak, though...you may just find yourself speechless.

And the butler was off. Casual steps would take them up the beach, and the into the wilderness. He did not rush, but rather kept pace with the Murmillion leading by a few feet at the very most. Even this lead seemed to exist solely so that Walter could move away branches, vines, or large leaves inconvenienced their path.

With each step the torch began brighter, and clearer, and within a few minutes they were standing in front of what appeared to be an elaborate cave mouth with a torch beside it, sitting on a stand. The cave looked as if it had been chipped and carved by a primitive and ancient civilization. The art depicted flames and fire, and claws. At one point it was painted red, but the blood and berry juice had long since wore away and left only flecks. The cave mouth breathed hot sticky air at both men, which stunk of mildew and sulfur, and perhaps a tad bit of brimstone.

Before me things were naught, save things.

The Butler said, as he his white gloved hand gripped the base of the torch and lift up high so that the writing etched above the cave was clear. Depending on how many languages Vahn knew, he might recognize a few translations, but in effect it was one word, over and over. Efreet. Ifrit. Efereet.

Eternal and eternal I endure.

Walter lowered the torch and moved it forward so that it lit first few steps into the natural craggy maw.

All hope abandon, ye who enter here.

And then he stepped forward into the cave. There was an immediate incline, several chunks had been crudely hacked away from the rock making steps. On either side of the cave wall, Vahn would see paintings. They were of a horned demon, and lots of fire. They usually involved alot of people running or being burned.

Its a quote...

Said Walter, stepping off the final step and onto flat ground.

...Its from a book called, The Inferno, by a man named Dante.

Now came the first surprise. The crudely hacked rock was now smooth. The ground was not rough, but tiled. A square tunnel had been cut in the earth and the wide expanse of the cave now narrowed into a rock hewn hallway built for no more than three or four people at time. It was wide enough that as Walter advanced in its center, his torch lit either side.

The art had upgraded, now there were slightly upgraded paintings on either side of the wall. Not rocks and berries, people had brushes now and paint. Most depicted war, others carnage, all had flame as a general theme, which was likely to be expected. Also to be expected was the great horned demon Vahn had likely seen before, many times, and in many ways. Steady, history progressed. Paintings moved from being made on rock, to animal skin, to parchment, and finally canvas. With each upgrade the style and skill of the artist grew. What Vahn might also notice, should he look hard enough was that the last few paintings during the parchment era had no horned demon. Just fire and war. The air had become dry and hot, it moved at them in gusts like heaves from unnaturally large lungs.

Now a few hundred feet in, Walter stopped and he gestured toward a single painting on the right hand side of the wall. This painting did not depict war at all. It depicted a single man, he was painted so beautifully he almost seemed still alive. He had tanned olive skin, and his arms were folded across his chest very stoically. He was bald, but wore layers of middle eastern style clothing in various shades of red, black, and gold. Dancing behind the man in a perfect ring was fire. Unnatural fire in that it did not see connected to any source other than air itself. As interest as that might be, there was something else Vahn might recognize. The mans puffy pants fold and twist and led into a pair of ashen metal greaves which were yet still alive as if freshly pulled off of a forge.

I would like you to meet Bayrn.

Said Walter.

He was was the first recorded scion of Efreet. Many aesthetics are able to commune with nature, and the elements, but for Bayrn there was only fire. Though mortal, he touched fire as only elementals can today. He lived fire. He loved fire. And when he set forth on his story he decided he should walk in fire and burn the footsteps of his journey across history for any who wish to follow.

Walter's gloved hand gestured directly to Bayrn's feet, and the greaves.

To do so, he created these...

The butler paused to let the realization sink in. It wasnt that he expected Vahn to be wowed, more that he wanted none of his words missed. After a moment of pause he stepped forward and away from the painting, and tragedy struck. Several paintings had been torn apart, by either animal claw or fire, or both at the same time. The halls for a moment were a ruin, but a dozen feet ahead or so Walter came to another painting which he gestured to just as he had a moment ago.

This painting depicted a woman standing on thin air tall and strong. Her hair was golden a streak of red at the form. She was beautiful, but hard. Her beauty was tempered by difficulty which shown as marks on her face. This woman was adorned in a brilliant robe which looked several sizes too large for her. Her hands were raised up and in one hand was a large swirling vortex of a fireball. But in the other hand was an Ankh shaped short staff. It looked no more than a few feet long and was made of an ashen metal, but burned brilliantly near the look of the Ankh, which was in fact enveloped in flame.

There was something else...this woman wore a revealing dress top, black with red trim and god inlaid swirls like licks of flame. And she wore a skirt, her legs could be seen popping out from beneath her skirt for about a foot, and then her legs were gone. There was some sort of horrible scarring, not burns, but slashes or claws. Yet still the woman was standing, because her scars were swallowed by machinery. Her legs were made of a crude mechanical device. It was also made of ashen metal, mostly red with heavy shin and foot protect. The metal legs were no wearing, but infact ended in the greaves. The shoe of the boot was burning hot and warbling the air beneath her. Also, at her hip was an empty sheath for a sword that for some odd reason was not in the picture.

This, is Ignatia. Ignatia cast fire magic like no one ever has. She was crippled during a horrible incident involving a scion who lost control and crossed the line from scion to incarnate, but as you can see...

He pointed to her machine legs.

...The greaves allowed her to walk. As a priestess Ignatia was always able to wield flame with her mind and soul, but she wanted to invent something...a weapon that could wield flame as she could...something to pass on to anyone who wished to follow in her footsteps. She found the great demon incarnate, she fought him long and hard and on defeating him took his tooth.

Walter's hand rose up and gestured toward the wand in her hand.

And made...the Fang of Efreet. A rapier was chosen as it was a common and unassuming weapon for her time.

But as anyone could see, that weapon in her hand was NOT a rapier. OR a greatsword such as what Vahn wielded. Walter did nothing but to look Vahn in the eye, smile, and continue walking. The tunnel was desert dry now. The air stole moisture from the lips and was beginning to smell like sulfur. For a moment Walter himself looked lost, he glanced back and forth to the murals on either side of the wall, very clearly looking for something or someone. If Vahn looked he would see more Scions, most held a rapier and boots just like Vahn's. In almost all of the pictures the boots were glowing red hot. They walked for several minutes before Walter came to stop on a third painting, he waged his finger at it and said.

Ahhh...Dervish.

Was all he said, and gestured.

This painted was a small figure, it was thin and lithe and could have easily been man or woman. Its body was tightly wrapped in cloth and a hood covered its face save for sparkle off moonlight off of its eye. Dervish was painted sideways, because that is how he posed. He was hanging from a wall with his head cocked sideways so that it appeared right side up. On his feet he wore red shoes with ashen metal soles which were puffing out a rolling wave of smoke. Walter gesture to them.

The greaves made Dervish' footfalls silent. You see, Dervish was an assassin. Dervish was cleansing fire scalding away the impurities of his time.

In one of Dervish's hands was a dagger, roughly a foot long made of black metal with a blade that wavered like a lick of hardened flame. Its hilt was smaller...but it was exactly identical to Vahn's transformed Fang. But something else was of notice...

On Dervish's right arm was a gauntlet. It was ashe black and dull its fingertips were wickedly sharp and were burning as bright as tinders. Said same fingertips had been plunged five holes in a melting brick of the wall that Dervish was using to support him or herself with as he posed for the painting.

Dervish's ferocity was unmatched, there was a burning pure devotion to a cause in him. But Dervish wanted more. Dervish wanted to grasp flame even as he exemplified it. He wanted others to touch what he felt, climb where he had...

A hand, as before, fell on Dervish' claw gauntlet. Vahn had likely expected that by now, but Walter said it anyway.

And so Dervish created the Hand of Efreet. The exact methods of said creation are as unknown as the scion itself.

There was a pattern here. Vahn was likely beginning to notice it. Walter's eyes fell on Vahn for just for a moment, half a second as if checking for that pilot light of recognition in the man. The Butler had laid out these figures, they were clearly important, but they were in the past. They said nothing for Vahn himself. Or did they?

Now, Let me introduce the last piece of the puzzle.

And he was off again, this walk was the longest, and the walls of the cavern would repeat the same history only a new addition had been made. There were rapiers, boots, and a bracelet on each depicted individual, each glowing. Certain paintings had been ravaged by age. Some were hollowed out pits of ash. Others were simply empty spots where a painting should be. Finally, after a minute or two of searching Walter presented Vahn with a painting that did not seem as if it belonged in this gallery at all.

This picture was of a man. He wore dark leather armor, and sported mousey brown tousled hair. His eyes were brown, his skin was an average tint and mostly unscarred. This man depicted with his arms down at his sides standing on a grassy hill and staring off into the distance. On the mans wrist was a plain dull metal bracelet with an inlaid red stone. At his feet were metal boots, plain, without runes or flame. In his hand was a rapier drawn and dull. If you were to have placed this man into a crowd in Latent or Durem today he would have vanished entirely. He was average in every way, and if not for the design similarities between his average and armor weapons and Vahn's, these mundane equipments would hardly be recognizable.

Here...is Warren.

Warren unlike any scion before or after himself, was deathly allergic to magic of any sort. Even a single activation of any piece of the set would have surely meant his death. But he was a scion...Warren's fire was here.

Walter paused and brought his free hand to his chest, patting the gloved hand over his heart.

His heart held a passion that was unstoppable. His spirit burned unbreakable, there was a flame inside him which made him a testament to humanity as a whole. Warren's gift was also here...

That same gloved hand tapped Walter's forehead.

Warren studied magic though he may never touch it. He learned the connection between each piece of the Efreet set. And then using his own magically resistant blood he devised a way to make all three work together in harmony...a sort of rite to be peformed to unlock their potentials...You remember that dont you?

It was a rhetorical question, clearly. Walter turned and continued down the tunnel. More and more scions were unveiled with each step.

Each scion was different, but all had a fire that called Efreet to them.

He said over his shoulder back at Vahn. Up far ahead a glimmer of pale light was visible from around a bend.

What you never knew, Vahn...was that the Second Ignition, the form of a greatsword you wield now so comfortably...was decided by you. By your soul, by your spirit.

Walter fell silent, leaving only his footsteps and Vahn's thoughts for just a moment. Just enough to let it all settle before he continued.

Efreet has no story. His items were a collection of dust in my vault. Nothing without a wielder. That flamberge was your unconscious choice. Your first step in the legacy.

It is not that you wield Efreet and became it, it is that with these tools the legend becomes you. Your story. Your weapons, your extensions.

The light at the tunnel was brighter now, it almost made the wall of the bend glow snow white. The air was becoming fresher now, clearer, and cooler.

The items grow as the man grows. As you evolve past them, you become not a man wielding Efreet's legacy, but a legacy all your own. There are no more items of Efreet Vahn. When your predecessor needed a blade with each to wield flame itself, and the Fang was born. When another needed feet to burn a path, the greaves were forged. Yet still when another required a hand, to hold the essence of fire itself a hand was made. Now you...

Walter stopped and turned on his heel, the moonlight shimmered off of the far wall and almost made his silver eyes seemed to glow. He looked straight at Vahn's eyes. These words needed to be felt as well as heard.

Vahn...you require an eye.... and now the Eye of Efreet must be made.

The paintings had ended, not but a dozen feet between Walter was moonlight, but the Butler gestured back and behind Vahn to the hundreds of feet of all and the dozens on dozens of scions they had walk past to get to this point. Each unique. Each its own.

Do you see? Efreet is a name, a being too far off for most to remember or for it to even touch us now. The moment you imbibed that blood, grasped that sword, and fought so bravely to seal the demon away in your soul...this became your story. It will now always be, your story.

He pointed directly at Vahn.

Is Efreet a demon? A god? A burning passion? Or just the fire in all of us. Is he a super man or a normal man doing possible things against impossible odd? The real question is, what are you? What path will you burn through history?

And the butler turned walking towards the cascading moonlight at the end of the tunnel, speaking as he walked.

You said you felt as if every choice has already been made. And perhaps every outcome to every one of our decisions has been planned and plotted by a master strategist called fate, which knows all the details necessary to perfectly schedule every event in your life. But of all the possible roads, you still must choose. And with each choice new paths must be formed, forged and planned and still you must choose.

Around the bend was another set of stairs leading to another cave mouth. Outside of it was sand, and dunes and gray for as far as the eye can see. If Vahn remembered the vast desert inside the layer of forest from the flight in he just recognize what he was looking at now, though the smell of grass and leave was still strong in the air. Walking the steps Walter finally said.

We are shaped by fate, just as we shape it.

They were exiting the cave now, and Walter made a sharp turn to the left. Vahn would see the very line where the trees met the desert sands and far ahead of them was the castle visible during the flight in. A few dim lights were on inside of it. The air was dry, and yet cool, it smelled of tropical fruits, fresh salt water, and sand. They were facing one of its corners, one that was home to the highest tower out of the four. Walter turned and and started walking toward the large structure, making sure Vahn was following.

There is really only one choice need make now...

And then suddenly he stopped.

...What will your story be Vahn? Is it an adventure? A fantasy? Or...

Walter paused and obvious pause, and pointed straight up to the very top of the highest peak of the highest tower. He would wait until Vahn followed his gaze and gesture upwards. Atop the highest tower was a balcony. And on that balcony someone is looking with expectant eyes hoping this would be the day...the night. It was woman in a flowing red dress the color of blood, with her hair like spun rubies and skin as pale as snow. The white glow from the moon huge in the sky behind her illuminated her perfect outline. Vahn would know her, even from this distance, even with one eye, he would always recognize her just as she would recognize him. Impossible as her presence was, it was true. And they would both know it.

Love always does.

...perhaps...a romance?

In Walter's life smiles were rare. Smirks were occasional, grins were common. But an honest to Nocturne smile was a rare treat. It hadnt seemed that way over the last few moments since this journey began, and it wouldnt seem that way now as Walter looked at Vahn's shocked face and smile...he smiled bright and wide, the sort of way that made all the wrinkles show but at the same time made him look like a child.

Well prepared meals, good books, delicious tea, a happy guest. Those were reasons for happiness. But knowing you had just done something honestly good for a man who never asked, but sorely needed? Well that was a reason to smile.

The Butler gave Vahn a moment, but then placed his hand on his shoulder and took a step forward, softly nudging him into a next step across the sand. Walter would leave his hand on Vahn's shoulder, as if guiding him toward the castle ahead of them, and as he did he spoke.

After your last meeting, she pushed herself outside of her body...then outside of her soul and then just as the Master found her, she leapt outside of existence. The Master believed her gone. Dead. He had recovered her soul but he was sure it was too late.

Walter chuckled, the sort of chuckle you hear when a child professes to a parent sadness over the loss of the Easter Bunny.

But, Mr. Vahn, there is more to what is, than simply what exists, you see.

He slid his free hand in front of them as if he was wiping an invisible screen and said.

Think of her soul as a canvas with a masterpiece painted on it. Then peel the paint off of the canvas, and leave it empty...stained...but mostly fresh. A new painting was painted on that vacant canvas...that is Teira. The lost and now found previous painting, is she...

And his hand waved upwards to the high tower. Then fell back down.

I gave Teira this ring...

With a flick of his wrist Walter produced a ring in his palm which simply was not there seconds ago. It was a small ring with two small stones, one black, and one red. Both stones were chipped and cracked.

As Teira grew and spread across the canvas soul, it picked clean the "stains" of Sierra left behind, and outlined and seperated what was one woman from the intermingling fully with the other. When I took it from Teira without her knowledge the changes were almost immediate. She cut her hair, she proportions changed. And before Heaven or Hell Finals last year, even the Demoness knew they were not the same.

A flick of the wrist and the ring was gone.

With the fragments of Sierra left in her soul, the "stains", taken from Teira, I ventured out and found the Lady herself.

Walter paused and took a deep breath as if about to explain the very details of how such a thing were even possible. But then let the breath go and shook his head.

Flesh and blood were easy, but I could not given her a new soul, even I have limits. However, with the Master's help and expertise on the topic, I could give her a new vessel. And a new place to reside. But...

Walter's face turned solemn. He looked at Vahn, then at the tower, then at the ground beneath them even as they walked across it and very heavily said...

...she is bound to it...She cannot leave the island. If she crosses beyond the Veil of Shadow's, reality will remember that she does not exist...And will correct the mistake, which is to say then she will not. Trust that the forces that be will not make the same mistake in misplacing her twice. But here, and now she is solid, she is real...very real.

And very safe here, as are you, as you both will be.

Walter's arm fanned out, as if presenting all that surrounded both men right now. The wild jungle forest to the left, the endless rolling sands to the right, and beyond.

The Veil of Shadows that I previously explained, which shields this place from thought, was Master Maximos' idea, and creation.



The Master is capable of a great many things that I am not, simply because he was creative enough to think up ways to use even the simple magics and knowledge we both share, that I did not. He is very skilled with enchantments, and...

Completely unexpectedly Walter coughed. Or maybe he just wanted to be obvious as he was smirking when he added.

...creating enchanted items.

And rubbed his eye. Chuckled light heartedly and continued walking.

He assumed someone as known as yourself would enjoy some privacy. The extra thought processes which slip from others off of this place are focused into you. So you will always know where your home is, no matter where you are. There will be a feeling in your gut that guides and directs you.

Yes. He continued talking as if he did not, but he had infact just said, "Your home."

No one else will ever need know of this isle. Except, of course, the Master and myself. Either of us will have to perform routine maintenance on the enchantments at work on the island, and the Lady Sierra herself. Unfortunately you see, the Lunaic arcana at work are quite old, and quite complex and must be monitored. But, thankfully, you can rest assured that their power source and strength are equal to if not greater than any foes that may wish to vex you. This isle will remain safe. And the Master asked me to inform you that he promises you will not notice us as we work, we are very discreet.

Now they were before a set of large wood and metal doors in a single archway. The wood was a dark color in the night air and it was covered in metal frame work and swirls and flame like metal carves nailed into the doors.

She is waiting for you, as is your new house, which rests on your new home. But what are you waiting for? The next chapter in your story needs its main character...

Without further hesitation, Walter's hand slipped from Vahn's shoulder and grabbed the massive door handle and heft it open easily. Immediately a plethora of sweet smells rushed the Murmillion. The Butler bowed halfway, and gestured inwards.

I suppose this is where I cash in those bits of your life I've saved and we start fresh isnt it?

Walter stood up straight, his back against the door.

Go on. Inside Sir, its rude to keep a lady waiting.

Walter would even go so far as to give Vahn a soft nudge inwards, and then say.

Oh, and about that eye...

But before Vahn could ever look back, Walter was gone. Vanished. As he had so many times before. All that was left to prove he was even there were a set of soft footprints in the sand which the wind were already blowing away. Still, unlike every other time where Walter left something and vanished this time it would feel more like a "so long for now" and less like a "goodbye".

Ahead Vahn would find what looked like a 12 or 13th century middle eastern castle restored, polished and cleaned, but not so much as to lose its antique feel. This place felt old, and eternally safe. There was dust and sand, and age, but no decay.

But those details could wait for later, more importantly, beside a metal partition designed to look like curling vines he would find his love, lost and found. A smile perhaps, where he had never had reason before. And his life, fresh and ready to begin.

She stood out on the balcony, leaning against the carved, stone rail and looked out across the treetops, the hot wind blowing her hair and skirts out behind her. Her face was a canvas painted with sorrow as she stared at the landscape.

A voice broke the silence, it sounded thin-- almost as if there weren't enough air in the room. It was soft and shaky. Scared and tentative. Seeking and pleading.

And yet that voice, so painfully full of desperation, reached her ears with a resounding strength and clarity. It broke upon her like a wave on the rocks. As loud as thunder, it reverberated through to the very core of her being. The voice that she heard so many times in her head, echoing through the corridors of time and the memories that haunted her-- Both the good and the bad. It tore her gaze from the island scenery and spun her around to face him.

HIM.

There. Standing before her after so, so long.

What does one say...

To the one you loved more than anything-- More than life itself?

To the one whom you surrendered your heart to, only to have it broken?

To the one who betrayed your every trust and left you to your darkest hour?

So many emotions welled up within her, like a river raging against a dam that threatened to burst at any moment and sweep her away. There was so much... there was just so much.

What does one say...

When despite all these things,

You still ache from missing their arms around you? Their lips on yours?

And you know, that even still...

You love them?

Her heart felt as if it were being squeezed tighter and tighter with every step, as her feet carried her towards him dazedly. Closing a distance that was more than just physical. It felt as if she were walking a narrow ledge, and beneath her spanned a bottomless chasm that would swallow her if she faltered. But despite the fear, her feet were sure and when she blinked, she realized she was close enough to touch.

All she had to do was reach out--

What does one say?--

She peered at him for a moment as some, unspoken questioning thought filtered through her gaze. Some part of her, even now, doubted that this was real. It told her that she would wake, to find herself alone, and that it was but a dream. But she knew better, she could feel the reality of him as he crossed the threshold, it resonated in her very bones as he spoke her name.

Her breath was shaky as she raised pale hands to cup his face, her eyes locking with his. They say that the eyes are the window to the soul, and in that moment, as she raised on tiptoe and pulled his face to hers, she searched his eyes before she let hers fall closed and pressed her lips to his a kiss so tender and yet passionate.

Nothing.

Words have no place in moments such as these. For words are inadequate in the face of such emotion.

I love you. I missed you. In that moment, anything that could have or might have been said, was felt stronger than it could ever be heard.

Fill up my heart with love--
Oh you'd be amazed, at how little I need from him
To feel complete here and now.
Stirring within me,
Are these feelings I can't ignore...
I need a miracle and that's what I'm hoping for~

She could feel it; his remorse, his regret, the sincerity of those words before they left his lips. His emotions swirled around him in a red wash of love and passion and the blue hues of sorrow and pain, mingling and painting his heart's feelings in shades of purple. To her minds' eye, it was beautiful.

In all the long years they'd known one another, and through all the hurts he'd dealt her heart, this was the first true and honest apology he'd ever offered.

As she drew back from the kiss and his arms wrapped around her, she gazed up at him and a gentle smile slipped onto her lips.

THIS, was what she had longed and waited for, for so long. To feel his love and passion, as an echo in equal proportion to her own. To feel, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he did indeed love her.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sor--"

Her thumb slid across his cheek to brush against his lips, her finger moving to press silence upon them in the gentlest of touches, cutting his words short. Her smile grew wider, even as she noticed the redness of his eyes, glisteninng with unshed tears.

"I know."

The words shivered in the air as she breathed them.

She had forgiven him the moment he walked through that door.

As his arms crushed her against him, with so much strength and desperation, she could feel the fear of losing her trembling through each line of his body. He held her as if he would never let her go. As if she were the beginning and the end of his world, and her eyes widened slightly as she was pinned against his chest, her hands slipping down to rest there. His arms relaxed, but still held her there against him with a loving firmness that made her her heart beat in haste.

She snuggled her face into his chest and breathed him in, letting the ever familiar scent wash over her. Love and forgiveness filled her voice as she spoke two simple words:

"Welcome home."

Rolling her eyes up to look at him she nodded against his chest and smiled.

"Yes. Home. For home is where the heart is... is it not?"

And her heart had just found it's way back to her after so long. Her hands trailed lightly over his chest as her arms wrapped around him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt back and hugging him into her.

She noted as she stood against him like this, that he'd gotten a little taller, filled out a little more and lost some of that boyishness from his face and looked just a little more a man than when she'd last seen him.

But something he said tore her away from her observation--

"You must hate me...After everything..and I still haven't been able to..."

"!-- Believe it or not Vahn... I-- I never hated you. Not then and not now. I have often wished I did, but you're the one I can never hate."

She let the heat roll over her. Wave after wave as the temperature surrounding them kept spiking tumultuously. Usually, Vahn had better control of his emotions than this-- otherwise people and objects around him would be in danger of spontaneously combusting every time he got in one of his moods. But this, this was different. She'd never felt anything this strong from him, save for two incidents. Years ago when she'd nearly died, and when he'd found her in the tower of Babel, broken.

His hands on her shoulders were strong, almost too strong. His crushing grip drew a small gasp from her throat as his fingers dug in in desperation and bruised her pale flesh. But she didn't draw back or push him away. Her arms tightened around him, drawing him nearer to her, molding her body against his in a long line of heat. Pressing against him, she met his frantic eyes. Silently, she lowered the shields that had been painstakingly laid into place, and cracked open the bond that linked their souls. Her hands slid down his back, to slip under his shirt and slide over smooth tanned flesh. Her nails trailed upwards, tracing the line of his spine before laying flat against his back, flesh seeking flesh. She let her touch reinforce that connection and let his emotion and energy pour through it and into her, filling her up. The temperature in the room would begin to ebb, as she drew the excess heat around her and took it into herself.

Her voice was just a little breathy as she spoke, slightly distracted by the feel of his skin against her palms.

"Perhaps... but you're here now. I'm here. We're together. For now, that is enough. Wrongs are not easily righted... but that doesn't mean that they cannot be. Alone we have both failed, but together... together we may find the strength to prevail."