Dark Messiah (A Circles of Time tale), Second Silence: Storm
Rated R


        The worst foe lies within the self...

                                                -Parasite Eve



        Greetings.
        His lordship Chaos here.
        Welcome to a new world and a new tale, one that like all others is 
but one small part of an even greater saga. The tale you are about to 
read is but one of a saga of many stories, a story told through many 
eyes. It spans thousands of years and focuses on the souls of those who 
shall shape the world's history and its destiny.
        Time is the only thing in this world that is relentless, 
unforgiving in its onslaught and indifferent in what becomes trapped 
inside its continuum of past, present and future. When the boundaries of 
linear time and space are crossed, lines must be drawn between those 
involved before a paradox swallows up everything into oblivion. When 
everything comes full circle.
        It is time that we are here to speak of today.
        I am but one author in this saga, Circles of Time. Many characters 
within this story are my own, but belong to an even greater and grander 
tale to which I have had the honour of being included in. It is thus 
that the "Dark Messiah" trilogy holds fragments which, left unto 
themselves, make no sense. If you seek answers to questions in my tales, 
I ask you to continue with the rest of the Circles of Time story.
        The Sailor Senshi are the children of Naoko Takeuchi. Other 
Senshi, other mages, and other nemeses belong to the ones who make up 
the Circles of Time creators. Yet I have my own children in this new 
tale, and the eyes of midnight heavens which watch the Silence unfold 
are of my own. 
        If you wish for my characters to find a new time and place within 
another story, I ask for your permission first. From myself, and from 
those who have seen the Circles of Time unfold since the very beginning.
        Sayonara....

                        -His lordship Chaos (hislordshipchaos@hotmail.com)
                           http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/9897/ct.htm



        "I saw my evil day at hand. The sun rose dim on 
         us in the morning, and at night it sank in a dark 
         cloud, and looked like a ball of fire."

                                                -Black Hawk


        It was taking form at last.
        With each rhythmic pounding of metal against metal, a new life was 
being forged from the flames that had long since stopped burning a 
brilliant white, and become blue. In being given new life, this creation 
felt the pangs of birth. It cried out each time its elongated form was 
beaten, moulded, refined. Its own metal was crushed against itself, no 
human hand touching it. Yet while there were no human hands, there was 
still the touch of magik. 
        This touch has always hit harder than anything physical.
        This touch was making it scream out in pain.
        The sounds of scraping metal and the howls of echoing poundings 
remained oblivious to his ears as he fashioned it to his vision. Its 
creation was no mere epiphany, no revelation that suddenly descended 
from the midnight heavens. This was something special, and yet there had 
been no epiphany. Instead there had been illumination. For as far back 
as he could remember in his life, this one and others, he had been 
called into existence for a single reason.
        For centuries becoming millennia he had searched for a reason, 
earnestly seeking this answer which so cunningly eluded him as a 
predator might evade a hunter. He had been born for this sole purpose, 
to bring *it* into creation. Destinies were being made, fates being 
linked, and lives would remain forever altered.
        All because of this...this weapon.
        The dance of the blue flames surged forth once more, fires 
spraying out as if they were liquid, a watery fount of flame gushing in 
every direction. The fires rolled and licked and then were struck. He 
forced the flames back, to redirect their efforts onto the weapon. This 
magik was meant only for the weapon. Yet fire was always a saucy type of 
elemental, unbridled and demanding that it control itself. 
        Its power was great. 
        His will was stronger.
        Bowing before him as with but a simple gesture he made, the fires 
twirled like a blossoming flower and then fell upon the form of the 
weapon. The weapon cried out in labour once again, groaning that it 
might find a peace. A solitude. A silence. He growled, arms stretching 
out to push back the cries of the weapon. So unlike any weapon he had 
crafted before, this one; already it understood its destiny and wanted 
to embrace the future.
        Now was not the time.
        There was no one to choose the weapon, to pick it up and claim it 
for their own, to train and become a part of it as it would become a 
part of them. Such was the way he fashioned his weapons. They were more 
than items to be picked up, used, and then discarded for another. Each 
weapon was unique, belonging only to one. Each was symbiotic to the soul 
who chose it.
        Once more the flames became rebellious, teasing his authority by 
jumping out past the barrier ever so slightly, and so he scolded them. 
The flames recoiled and behaved, the final wisps of hot steam and grey 
smoke mixing together to form a powerful aphrodisiac that only a 
blacksmith could truly appreciate.
        It had been an entire century in crafting such a work, far more 
than any other he had crafted through magik before. As he had endured, 
the flames endured with him. And now, in being so close to the 
completion of this long and frustrating task, they were growing 
impatient. He understood their eagerness to finish the weapon and find 
rest. Yet the end was not at his doorstep, not now.
        Sapphiric fires struck against metal, sending off a series of 
shimmering lights that penetrated the darkness he dwelled within. The 
shadows in his company retreated long enough for the lights to reveal 
his face, his eyes suddenly shining like the fires themselves. If the 
eyes truly are a window to the soul, then his would have made even the 
greatest of mages terrified. For within those eyes were many windows, 
each one a different life once lived.
        Decades were trivial.
        Centuries meant nothing. 
        Even millennia had passed him by, one after the other. He had 
borne witness and testimony to much of this world and its shaping. 
Sometimes he had also been the shaper. Such as what he was now as the 
flames settled down, cloaking his face in darkness once more.
        So much midnight all around him, in this domain they called his 
chambers. Yet a chamber has floor and ceiling and walls. The only things 
that were truly here were the weapon, himself, and the darkness. Shadows 
above and below, tempering their anger at being disturbed by such a 
lengthy display of fire and magik.
        And then suddenly the weapon gave its last cry. The birthing pains 
were over, and his creation let out a great breath in being given full 
and complete life. Their duties complete, the flames withdrew, fading 
into nothing and letting the darkness eagerly swallow up whatever light 
had once penetrated their barriers of midnight. Yet the darkness was not 
completed, for the weapon now glowed, basking in awe of itself.
        He smiled as the faint shimmering radiance played upon his face. 
The crimson in his eyes, of having seen and known so much more than most 
have possibly dreamed, flickered. The weapon hovered there in the air, a 
pillar of eerie light within this realm of shadows. All else where the 
darkness remained, it did not attack the weapon. Even the shadows 
understood the impact of this creation.
        And then slowly the darkness began to change. Shimmering lights, 
tiny and distant in the shadows, slowly appeared. First a single one and 
then another and then another and then his entire chamber was flooded 
with twinkling starlights. Above and below he was trapped within these 
midnight heavens. So many stars. So many destinies.
        He took one last introspective appraisal of the weapon, the item 
itself hovering almost ceremoniously in air before him. All the rhythmic 
poundings of metal against metal, of the windfalls of magik sweeping 
through these chambers, was turned away at the door. Nothing existed 
anymore save him and the exquisite weapon he had crafted.
        His final work ever.
        His best work ever.
        The craftsman dared to lean forward and trace his fingers along 
the polished shaft of the pole-arm, the sleek surface cool against his 
skin, and growing colder when shaft became steel, and his hand came to 
rest upon a wicked blade that curved almost like a crescent moon. A few 
ornate gemstones adorned the weapon, rays of blue and violet catching 
his eyes.
        No, that could not be said.
        A weapon was an item for war, without a purpose or reason for 
being--aside from a bloody end. Anything could become a weapon, being 
cold and innate and barbaric. No...this was a special one laid out 
before him, one that held beauty as well as savagery. It would indeed 
have a purpose. And thus it had a name.
        A glaive.
        What remained in his realm was silence. 
        Complete and without disturbance.


                DARK MESSIAH (A Circles of Time tale)

                           Second Silence: Storm


        Time.
        It moves in mysterious ways that can be both seen and unseen. A 
relentless march across eternity with an epic and incredible pace, the 
Möbius continuum weaves its tapestry of existence in threads of wills 
and destinies. But only to some, eternity actually meant something.
        Another world, in another time. 
        A distant one from our own, with its own myths and magiks and 
soldiers. 
        The night was not black, but a dark blue colour that seemed to be 
brightened by the two planets acting as moons, each one hanging low in 
the sky. She was standing on the shore of an ocean, an extension of 
Aurora's cliffside palace. Behind her, there was a massive garden with 
blooming plants both domestic and tropical. The light twinkled off of 
their branches and leaves. Underneath her feet was a cobblestone floor, 
intricately laced with small stones in no particular order, each one 
carved with an exquisite rune. 
        She could hear the nightbirds calling out in the darkness.
        Twin planets were high overhead, Mars and Jupiter each with their 
own shimmering glow that seemed to make the heavens catch fire in shades 
of red and green.
        She couldn't have been more than a child of six, fragile in body 
and innocent in soul. Tonight found her standing at the edge of the 
midnight tides, the water licking at her bare feet as she stood at the 
place where cobblestone met with beach sands.
        Starlight flowed down from above, upon her pale skin. Hair the 
colour of raven's down draped around her cheeks and just above her 
shoulders, blown gently in the quiet breeze. Her garments were ruffled 
as well by the winds, though they were not of royal robes or even 
fashions worn by the officials and courtesans.
        She wore upon her small body a kimono as dark as the night shadows 
around her, the robes underneath accented with a crimson hue that 
matched the sash binding the many layers of cloth over her body. 
        Violet pools of unconceived depths drank up the starlights, 
letting their flickering reflections dance across her eyes as she stared 
up at the heavens, saying nothing but asking so much. And then her eyes 
slowly closed, arms lowering at her sides and face looking up to the 
skies.
        As if she were offering herself to a symphony of night that only 
she could hear. For one brief shining moment she looked like an angel 
sent to earth.  
        And it was this form of a pale angel dressed in black that 
captivated the young boy's eyes. He stood beneath the framework of the 
pergola, the vine-covered trellis casting most of him in shadows that 
kept him hidden away from sight. But the darkness could not fully hide 
the flowing white robes that marked him as a son of the royal family, a 
prince of Aurora.
        For a long time, the young boy stood deathly still, enchanted in 
watching her stand there amidst the fading tidal waters. Eyes of misty 
blue were wide in awe of what they were beholding.
        With a hesitant yet anxious step, he moved out from beneath the 
safety of the pergola's shadows and approached her from behind. The form 
of the two neighbouring planets became blurred in the sky, ripples 
running down the outline of the glowing orbs.
        The young boy saw the ocean waves pushing to the shore so they 
could fall at her bare feet. He found himself not breathing and not 
caring about it.
        Abruptly she turned her head as he came closer. Strands of raven 
dark hair danced in front of her face. She was not looking straight at 
him, but instead looking at everything around him. The stars brought out 
every perfect detail of her face, enveloping her in an almost unnatural 
light. Mist was rising up in the cool night air, already shrouding the 
far end of the seas.
        He stepped up next to her, the cool ocean waters now splashing 
against his boots. Neither one spoke any words; each seemed to 
understand the wonder that came with the silence. They turned to face 
the waves that playfully frolicked across the vast expanse of open 
ocean.
        The world around them grew distant, and soon even the other 
standing next to them was forgotten. One last chance to experience the 
quiet innocence. Here there were no adults shouting, no soldiers 
marching, no officials debating heatedly with one another. This was 
their chance to escape.
        And unexpectedly, they had found this together.
        Tonight would be her last night in this kimono. With the coming of 
tomorrow, the silken robes would be replaced with the uniform and armour 
of a palace samurai. Black cloth would neatly fit the contours of her 
form, sewn and crafted just for her. No longer would these silken robes 
dance around her body.
        For she was in many ways still a child.
        And so was he.
        With slowly building determination, he tore his gaze away from the 
hypnotic crashing of the waters. To no longer stare at the blue waves, 
but her eyes of deep shimmering violet. The expression on her face was 
one of complete peace mixed with slight confusion.
        She was uncertain as to why he suddenly seemed to tense.
        And then he leaned forward, gently pressing his lips against her 
pale cheek. Those cheeks in return became flushed, growing a fierce red 
as her eyes widened in surprise.
        He drew back, shifting his boots awkwardly on the last rows of 
cobblestone. Winds tugged at the edges of his wild icy blue hair. 
"I...I'm Helios," he managed to stammer out.
        She smiled warmly. "Hotaru."
        Nothing more was spoken between them. Nothing more was made known. 
Lips were not met, hands not touched, eyes no longer gazed into. For as 
long as they were able to remain, the two young children watched the 
flowing tides of water wash past them.
        Eternity meant nothing to ones such as they.
        All that mattered was this quiet moment.


        He lived within the shadows in that moment.
        Silence and darkness were his companions.
        Slowly his eyes opened to reveal the night, a darkness shimmering 
with a thousand starlights. His form, cloaked with coats that mirrored 
the darkness held within his eyes, leaned against the shakujyo in his 
hands. The metal rings on the top of the staff chimed together in quiet 
harmony.
        Winds caught hold of the edges of his robes, the folds billowing 
out to the side as he stood at the edge of a pool of liquid starlight. 
Here the fountain gardens were tucked away in a far corner of Aurora's 
royal palace. The rock face that had been carved out to allow the water 
to flow through canals and build up within pools dug into the rock were 
masterpieces unto themselves. Miniature pools and waterfalls cascaded 
down in numerous levels along the drop of the cliffside. And at the base 
laid the ocean, and with its dying tides, a young samurai-to-be and a 
boy destined to become a prince.
        Steam billowed out from the water, naturally heated by the rocks. 
Typically on a night such as tonight, there would be multitudes of 
people out bathing in the fountains. Yet tonight was no mere 'night such 
as tonight.'
        Fingers rose and pushed aside the stray bangs of faded copper 
hair. Starlights shimmered within his eyes, and finally he turned away 
from the two children. There was someone else out there to watch over 
them from hidden shadows.
        Let the guardress of time be their watcher for now.
        His gaze found itself looking at the capital of this world. 
Aurora's palaces were indeed a beautiful study in architecture; he 
doubted that there would ever be anything that could come close to 
rivalling such magnificence. The imperial palace, centre of the planet 
and home of the royal family, was the grandest of them all. Yet tonight 
he found himself not caring for the splendor of crystal walls and 
shimmering stone citadels. The awe and mystery he was a part of tonight 
was that of magik.
        The Raithe took only a few steps away from the edge of the 
fountain before he was in the presence of another. One like him. One of 
the old magiks. An Ancient.
        The one who truly deserved to be called a Weaponeer.
        The one who could only be called The Weaponeer.
        He nodded slightly, saying nothing. 
        Eyes that burned like fire slowly lifted up from their steady gaze 
at the steaming waters to now look at him. And within those eyes, the 
fiery red ochre suddenly flickered and became a sapphiric fire which 
danced so long as the gaze was held steady. Robes of flowing scarlet 
were accented only by the golden epaulets and chestpiece.
        "What are you doing here?" Dante asked. "It's unlike you to remain 
in one place for such long periods of time. We rarely see you as it is, 
even less since her coming."
        "I have my reasons," the Raithe answered. "As do you."
        Within Dante's eyes, amidst the sapphire flames which danced to a 
magik all their own, he could see the shimmering light reflected off the 
sleek yet savage metal blade of a weapon.
        A Silence Glaive. 
        Dante revealed nothing at his words, looking beyond the edges of 
the fountains and falling water, looking down to where two children were 
watching the midnight tides. "For thousands of years, I've felt nothing 
but a magik to create. A passion in my life's blood to forge these 
weapons. And now all I can feel is silence...as if my future ended with 
the birth of the glaive."
        The Raithe said nothing.
        "Do you doubt my ability to forge the weapons?" the Weaponeer 
asked him.
        He shook his head. "Iie. Not even Merlin, or myself for that 
matter, could ever hope of achieving what you craft with your magik. As 
long as any of us can remember, you alone are the one who forges the 
weapons in this system. That will never change, and I for one am not 
about to challenge it."
        A slight smile managed to find its way onto Dante's face, the 
Ancient nodding slightly to those words. The blue embers of fire shifted 
colours once more, hues turning emerald. "We are not alone. She's here 
once again."
        With a smirk, the Raithe turned his head and shifted his attention 
to the tall, young woman watching from another shadow, from the edge of 
another fountain below them. She held with her a key-shaped staff 
adorned with a garnet orb atop it.
        "She has always been here," he replied. "And she will continue to 
be here even after we all have passed on."
        Meio Setsuna: soldier of Pluto.
        Guardress of Time's gates.
        The woman who had travelled more than three thousand years into 
the past to bear witness to the events which would change both their 
worlds forever.


        She could feel his eyes upon her back, if but for a brief moment 
in time. And then his eyes returned to whatever else seemed to capture 
and captivate his attention. It sent a chill down her spine whenever she 
felt him do that.
        Ever since she had first met that one who called himself 'Raithe,' 
the nature of her mission had changed. There had been whispered tales in 
Crystal Tokyo about such beings, ones known only as the Ancients. Back 
then she couldn't be certain if a single, vague reference to someone 
called a 'Weaponeer' belonged at them as well. Now she knew better.
        These Ancients were mysterious.
        The Raithe was someone who seemed lost in enigma.
        But her concern laid with how they would affect the duties she had 
to uphold as the guardress of time. The paradox had to be discovered and 
prevented; it was her action which triggered the tear in space and time.
        The folds of her pleated skirt caught the wind's breath and were 
lifted up. Despite how revealing her fuku was, she never felt the cool 
evening air chilling her skin. Magik was at work, something so subtle 
that only here in the past could she notice its presence.
        Magenta eyes watched the two young children standing there amidst 
the receding coastal tides. How long had it been since she last saw the 
world with such quiet innocence, when even the smallest of things caused 
her to stare in awe at the universe around her?
        Setsuna turned away, relaxing her grip on the time staff.
        Nothing more would happen tonight.
        There had been a faint ripple in the continuum, but very little 
else. The paradox was yet to occur. She could sense its beginnings, but 
it was only a beginning. Something that would start out small. But that 
was the way all things which changed the course of history started: 
small, if not hardly noticeable.
        That made them all the more dangerous.
        The steam from the heated water behind her started to creep its 
way around her ankles. The steam clouded over and grew thicker, making 
its way up the small of her back before curling around her shoulders. It 
became a mist, magik lurking at the depths of the haze.
        Setsuna did nothing as she was slowly enveloped by a cloud of 
grey. This was the way magik seemed to work here in the distant past; 
such a means of teleportation was one that took some getting used to. 
She had seen some skilled mages disappear in the blink of an eye, but 
for her the mists would have to do.
        She disappeared from the heated fountains.
        Yet the mists were acting only as a wormhole, and soon they 
billowed out from the edges of tiles running along the floors of a grand 
hall corridor. Growing taller and taller still, the cloud at last opened 
up as a blossoming flower. And within the petals Setsuna found herself.
        She sighed, now in another chamber of the palace. Her sailor 
battle fuku was gone, replaced with robes befitting a woman of nobility 
from Aurora. Long dark hair, which shimmered like a sea of silken 
emeralds, flowed down her back, tied and braided in a thin, silver 
ribbon.
        With quiet steps, she continued down the corridor until she 
reached an arched doorway to her left. Beyond the threshold was a room 
that held within its walls and beneath its domed ceiling all the 
possible hues of copper, bronze and gold. Arches and pillars lined the 
outer rim of the grand, circular chamber, yet only four archways gave an 
opening with which one could disappear further into the palace. Dangling 
from the domed ceiling was a chandelier with intricate carvings and 
designs, the enchanted lights brightening upon her arrival.
        The magik within the lights sensed her presence.
        Reflections bounced off the floor, and for a moment she could 
almost forget who she was. What she had come here to do. There was a 
tall woman in beautiful garments staring at her from beneath the surface 
of the polished floor. Hair tied back in a silver ribbon, dressed in 
robes of midnight blue...it was as if she was back in Crystal Tokyo 
again.
        Before this had all begun.
        Back to a time when life was simpler....
        A smile gently made its way into her expression as she turned to 
gaze upon the only item inside this elegant chamber. This room housed an 
instrument; of its like or equal she had never seen. It could be called 
a piano, with its sleek black surface and polished ivory keys. Yet a 
piano has legs and a body which hides and houses the strings that are 
lucked to give life to the music.
        This one hovered in the air.
        And it was an enormous ring, its centre empty and allowing for a 
singer or group of singers to stand within the circular form of this 
instrument for a performance piece. How this piano could be played while 
floating above the ground, or without any visible strings, was beyond 
her.
        Setsuna leaned down and let one of her hands trace its way across 
the shining surface. So many things of this time and place still amazed 
her. Crystal Tokyo, for all its advances, didn't hold half the wonder 
that this planet possessed within a single room. But she was learning; 
when the timestream was silent and she wasn't out hunting for leads on 
the paradox's origins, she took it upon herself to read and unlock the 
mysteries of this Golden Empire.
        Of a past not even Neo Queen Serenity knew of.
        Abruptly notes began to sound. Keys were played. And a melody 
began to take hold, seizing the silence locked within the chambers. 
        Setsuna's head snapped up.
        There, seated upon a small black stool on the other side of the 
ringed piano, was the Raithe. His eyes did not lift from the set of keys 
he was working with. He seemed engrossed in the melody, weaving the 
notes to form something that only seemed destined to be heard by her 
ears alone. 
        A beautiful song echoed across the walls and worked a magik within 
her soul. A song so beautiful yet so sad. At last the melody reached its 
quiet end. One final note lingered, the aria slipping back into silence.
        "Komban wa, Setsuna," he said, eyes now rising to gaze at her.
        Setsuna found herself able to look at him face to face, to watch 
those eyes of darkness suddenly flicker to life with thousands of 
shimmering stars. It was whenever she felt him watching her perform her 
duties as Sailor Pluto that she became uneasy.
        She nodded politely enough. "Komban wa."
        The Raithe's palm brushed against the sleek black frame of the 
ringed piano. "I remember how we first met inside this very room," he 
said to her. "This was the song you heard me play, when you were drawn 
in by a melody. I have only ever played it twice, including now. But I 
have also played other pieces, ones which could bring you to tears."
        "What do you want?" she asked. 
        There was no demand, no irritation or threat in her voice. It was 
a question that came only from becoming familiar to the ways he worked. 
He only seemed to appear when he desired conversation or a favour from 
her. Always hinting that he knew more than he would ever reveal, always 
somehow aware of her own past.
        A finger pushed down on the end of a key.
        A single note sounded.
        "Tomorrow is Hotaru's ascension," he said. "Tonight is her last 
night as a child, for with the rising sun she becomes a student who 
shall one day be samurai."
        Setsuna nodded. 
        Another finger pushed down a separate key.
        Another note sounded.
        "She will be choosing her weapon at that time," the Raithe 
continued. "I thought you might want to know."
        "I already do," she answered. "There will be a glaive among the 
other weapons. She will choose that to be her symbiot."
        He looked up from the piano, another single note resounding from 
the instrument's keys, this one lower than its predecessors. "And how do 
you know that, since Hotaru herself hasn't seen the weapons yet?"
        "It is her destiny."
        "Are you saying that as one who believes in fate? Or as one who 
has already seen the past from the eyes of the future?"
        Her eyes moved upwards, looking at the grand chandelier hanging 
over the ringed piano. In response to her mood, the lights dimmed. The 
room faded into partial shadows.
        "They would be the same then," she said.
        The Raithe shook his head. "Iie. They are not the same, and never 
have been. Time is but a continuum, like flowing sands or running water. 
Its course can be changed to go another direction if one merely knows 
how to push properly."
        It was a game he was playing with her.
        Always a subtle game.
        That caused her to smile slightly. "Regardless," she stated. 
"Hotaru will choose the glaive. No other weapon was meant to be hers."
        One more note sounded.
        The Raithe laughed quietly to himself. "Hai hai. You have me at a 
loss for once, Setsuna-san."
        She smiled at that. "Ever since we first met almost six years ago, 
you have always been a step ahead of me. You know so much about me, and 
I in turn know so little about you. It's comforting to know that even I 
can tip the balance every now and again."
        His fingers trailed across the keys, playing one long, rapid 
scale. "I hate spoiling a good mystery, Setsuna. And you are correct in 
that I am a mystery...sometimes even to myself. But you have your 
duties, as I have mine. For now they cross, but there will be a time 
when they diverge."
        The Raithe's eyes seemed distant as he stared down at the piano 
keys. "Hai...there are things meant to be seen and unseen, and yet 
nothing has escaped my sight. What you are searching for has already 
been in motion since before even you or I were aware of its movements."
Setsuna stiffened in seeing the enigmatic smile creep its way onto 
his face. The next time he lifted his head from the piano, she was gone. 
        Alone in the chambers, the Raithe laughed quietly to himself. "But 
you were right, Setsuna. The Silence Glaive will be Hotaru's alone to 
wield."
        A ghostly form appeared in behind him, echoes of a distant soul 
and a sailor fuku watching the watcher. Its magik was of a breed even he 
could not fully ascertain or understand. The continuum of time and space 
rippled, its waves directed towards him.
        "Yare yare," the Raithe sighed, rising to his feet. "I was only 
teasing her; there's no need to scold me over that."
        The phantasm moved closer, something unheard spoken between them. 
He never answered. Instead, he took up his shakujyo and walked around 
the hovering piano towards the door.
        "I'll take her to see the ceremony," he conceded. "You needn't be 
insistent." The Raithe sighed. "I still don't know why she calls you 
'Onee-san'. You tend to be more a demanding and nagging mother whenever 
I'm involved in such matters."
        He paused beneath the archway, playful eyes abruptly growing stern 
in the gaze. He lifted his head, but did not turn back. "Her task will 
be even harder than she could possibly imagine," he stated solemnly. "If 
she cannot fulfil her duties, then all is lost. Are you certain she has 
the strength?"
        The winds of time whispered once more.
        The Raithe nodded, lifting his shakujyo from the ground. "So be it 
then. I suppose you can see the future clearer than me."
        He left the room.
        Light faded to dark, and the piano awaited its next composer.


        It was past midnight at GlenHawke, and the moon was almost sitting 
perfectly in the middle of a sky that only held within its starry night 
scattered white wisps of clouds. The wind was but a gentle breeze, cool 
and refreshing yet not chilling.
        For the priestesses at this sanctuary, nestled at the edge of the 
distant mountain ranges bordering the Elven forest realm of Elfhame, it 
was a time to sleep. Many of the students, young women just blossoming 
into the peak of their lives, never knew of the harsh world existing 
outside the boundaries defined by the mountains and bluffs. 
        She was one of the younger apprentices, brought to this place 
by...by whom, she did not know. She was aware that GlenHawke was not her 
true home, and that Mother Halefyne was not her real mother. Yet this 
was the only place she ever knew, the only place she could ever remember 
when she dreamed. There were children here far younger than she was, but 
her own powers were in their infancy, only beginning to bloom into a 
beautiful magik. For this reason she was considered to be one of the 
younger apprentices. 
        She was Serenity, her magik so young that she was unaware of the 
true focus she should make. Magik was universal, binding the ways of 
this world and holding it together. And magik, like many other things 
that possess a duality, held the potential for being wielded in both 
light and darkness.
        But mages were defined by their unique brand of magik, a 
particular skill they had perfected by channelling the magik through 
themselves and then releasing it in a physical manifestation. Destiny 
held a part in this, choosing the souls who would hold more power over 
one specific art of magik.
        Some were born to control fire, others to see across countries and 
seas. Some had the talent of invocation and others the gift to heal. And 
there were those who delved into the black arts of the demon realm. 
Using the necromagik was forbidden at GlenHawke; already it had brought 
much pain to their world.
        And then there were those who Mother Halefyne and the other 
Sisters called 'the Ancients'. She had only heard such names mentioned 
in brief, passing whispers. As far as she knew, they were powerful mages 
if not the first ones for the Solis System, ones who lived in a distant 
place called Aurora. Merlin was whispered to possibly be an Ancient, 
perhaps even some sort of Elven or Faery half-breed.
        Yet these things didn't plague her thoughts or her words.
        There would always be moments of dead silence before the other 
girls began to whisper and talk with each other. She treasures those 
moments the most. Rumours were subject to thrive and then fade, 
sometimes coming about full circle and sometimes to never be heard 
again.
        What she loved was the forest.
        And the night.
        At the far end of the entire school, beyond the courtyard and even 
beyond the sanctuary where Mother Halefyne practiced the powers of her 
own magik, laid the archives. Inside those simple walls laid a veritable 
collection of ancient works. Some were spells and incantations while 
others contained tales and mythus. A number were documentations of the 
natural world, others depicting the advances of civilizations passed by 
and passed on.
        Unless research into a magik was involved, very few were ever 
inside the archives. The atmosphere was quiet and retrospective, an 
ideal haven for the soul who enjoyed the solitude of silence.
        It was in this solitude that found her seated on a floor mat, 
kneeling before a lowered table with books and scrolls covering one 
corner to the next. A number of books were not even opened, merely 
stacked one on another. Some of the scrolls were half opened, removed 
from their protective casings.
        Everyone else was sleeping--all but two of the Sisters who always 
kept midnight vigils. To become a priestess, one had to learn of magik. 
But magik was not the romanticism of spell-casting; knowledge of all 
basic magiks was key. To learn the beginnings and then discover where 
one's destiny lied.
        Slowly paging through a single book, Serenity read and studied the 
lines of history. These were the arts of magik she was delving into, and 
nothing else could catch her attention or her fascination. Crystal blue 
eyes brightened when she found a piece of the manuscript that caught her 
attention. Her other hand moved down to the empty parchment to fill it 
with ink from her quilled pen, starting to copy down the words. 
        The entire room seemed to ripple with each stroke of her pen as 
she wrote down the runes in their vertical rows. One could almost sense 
a secret joy the room held in sharing with Serenity's learning. Whenever 
she opened a newly discovered book or unrolled an unread scroll, she was 
opening up another door into the archives' world.
        And the archives seemed happy for the company.
        "I thought I might find you here," a voice said.
        Serenity turned as something rippled in the air. And then suddenly 
she was not alone, another soul seated next to her across from the 
table. She recoiled in surprise, a strangled shriek upon her lips.
        "Kakkyou!" she exclaimed. "You scared me!"
        Her guest merely smirked playfully, eyes of dragon jade watching 
her. A draft blew through the archives, his bangs of silver hair 
rustling. He made no movement as the six year-old leaped up from her 
seat and raced over to embrace him.
        "I've missed you," she sighed, happily kissing him on the cheek. 
"I haven't been able to talk with you a lot...I'm not able to talk with 
anyone."
        For a moment her eyes trembled in vulnerability; it was enough to 
make the winds of Elven magik stir for a brief moment before he got his 
temper under control. Ever since he had first brought her here to 
GlenHawke, Kakkyou had taken it upon himself to watch over her. A 
guardian of sorts.
        Not that he didn't trust Mother Halefyne and the other Sisters; 
they were more than capable. But that magik this little girl unwittingly 
held within her...Kakkyou found it hard to forget that someone had been 
willing to kill her for that magik. And so he had watched.
        Watched her grow up from infant into child.
        A child with so many others her own age, yet still so alone. 
Humans, much like his own Elven race, loved rumours and gossip; many 
rumours had surfaced about the girl named Serenity. That she was a 
bastard child, or a rejected creature the Sisters accepted only out of 
pity, or perhaps some things even more cruel than that.
        And then there was her magik. At her age she had yet to understand 
that what was natural for her was foreign to others. Her aura could be 
felt when she crossed the courtyard. Her magik could be sensed when she 
was called upon to answer a question.
        It wasn't hard to see why she was so alone.
        Maybe that more than anything was why he always returned.       
        No one believed her when she told them an Elven was her best 
friend. They all thought he was imaginary. For all intents and purposes, 
he preferred it that way. Halefyne deliberately kept quiet about the 
matters surrounding Serenity's arrival to GlenHawke. He in turn never 
told her he was the one who had brought her to this place as a baby. 
        Kakkyou stretched out his arms, draping one over her shoulder. 
"This place is so quiet," he said, looking around. "Are you the only one 
here?"
        She nodded. "Especially at night. There are times when I can feel 
the thoughts that once moved through these books. But I always find a 
sadness too."
        "Archives have the most to share, more than anything else in our 
world," he said. "Yet they are neglected by many people. Even these 
places hold an aura, one that embodies their soul. And the souls of the 
archives are of bittersweet pride and loneliness. So much to offer, yet 
so little who accept. Humans tend to be that way...."
        Because of her age, she didn't see the subtle parallels the Elven 
prince was implying. She nodded, closing the covers of a few books. 
"This place is home to me." 
        If ever she knew of someplace like home, it would be reflective of 
this: a sanctuary of nearly tangible magik. She leaned on the tabletop, 
shifting some books in the process. "Sometimes I still wonder what my 
first home was once like." 
        Serenity turned to the Kakkyou. "Did you ever know my parents?" 
she asked.
        He shook his head.
        That was the truth, unchangeable and undeniable.
        It was in his blood to play, deceive and flirt with the nature of 
truth. To distort it for his Elven games and then twist it to shape his 
own whims and desires of the moment. But whenever he found himself in 
the presence of this child, Serenity, he never could outright lie.
        Not to someone like her.
        For a moment, Kakkyou's eyes closed.  He closed his hands and 
thumb together with a barely audible sound, the sliding paper-screen 
doors opening at the silent command of his own magik. Beyond the doors 
laid a narrow wooden deck, and beyond that the grounds of GlenHawke.
        "The night is young, for both of us," he said, gesturing towards 
the open night. "I suggest we take advantage of it while we can."
        Serenity's eyes were shining as she nodded, and then dashed out 
onto the deck. He was already waiting for her, seated neatly on a rock 
with an exaggerated expression of impatience. As if to demand by his 
furrowed brow, "what took you so long?"
        That only caused her to giggle before she gasped in the awe and 
wonder only a child could have at the expansive starry heavens far above 
her head. "It's beautiful," she sighed. "I wonder what other people are 
doing on all those stars."
        "Other things," the Elven prince simply stated, unmoving from his 
rock. "You needn't concern yourself with their affairs. There's enough 
happening on this planet to keep anyone occupied for a lifetime."
        A night owl, its feathers a glistening silver in the moonlight, 
alighted his shoulder as he rose to his feet. Kakkyou's eyes narrowed as 
he listened to the owl. "A hunting party?" he asked it.
        The night owl nodded, hooting twice.
        Kakkyou scowled. "Mortals know Elfhame boundaries well enough. 
Alert the sentries, watch the humans. It's their own damned fault if 
they stray into our forest and get themselves killed."
        He turned to Serenity, whose radiance was lighting up the 
courtyard. It was indeed a full moon out; her aura was at its peak for 
summoning magik--even without her fully realizing it. An unaware 
apprentice to the dying art of lunar magik, the darkest hours were her 
brightest. In fact, her schedule was different from everyone else's. 
        Being of lunar magik blood, her magik was at its most powerful 
during the cycle of the moon. Mother Halefyne had modified her studies 
to be in the late evenings so she could practice her magik in the 
presence of the moon. 
        Even now, Kakkyou could see the whitened aura around her; the moon 
was full tonight, and her was shimmering beneath the midnight heavens.
        And then he heard her singing.
        It was a quiet lullaby, one she didn't even seem to know the words 
to. Only a melody, beautiful and sad and mysterious all at once. 
Serenity was slowly dancing, twirling around with her arms stretched out 
at her sides, crystal blue eyes closed. 
        His own eyes beheld the sight of the grasses rustling with new 
life, the trees and leaves stirring from their sleep, flowers turning 
towards her and flying into full blossom. The forest was reacting to the 
lullaby she was humming to herself. Now he doubted whether the lullaby 
was meant only for her.
        "Serenity," he whispered, shaking his head. "What is your secret? 
Why can I not understand the magik that is hidden deep within your 
soul?"
        The night owl called to him again, more urgently this time. 
Kakkyou glanced at it, and listened to its hooting. What the owl had to 
say further chilled him. "These hunters know magik?" the Elven prince 
asked. "But who--?"
        Abruptly the answer came to him.
        He didn't like it either.
        "Morgana," he hissed. "It can only be your stench of necromancy my 
forest smells."
        When he took his leave of Serenity, he would hunt.
        To make predators into prey.
        To protect this mysterious child.


        A world within worlds, realm within realms, and darkness lurking 
in the brightest light. Nothing could be taken for granted any longer, 
for she knew exactly where she was.
        She stood at the edge of eternity, a footstep away from a world 
she had once called her home. Yet now it was a boundary left uncrossed 
but not forgotten. That child's life once called her own was one that 
still lingered in her mind and stirred her heart. A part of her still 
longed for that innocence again.
        There was only one hallway for her to take, a gargantuan and 
expansive corridor of polished black marble. Towering, thick columns 
rose up to support the ceiling, running in a straight and perfect row 
down the corridor. No sounds were created as she made her way down the 
floor, her reflection glistening in the tiles. So many other beautiful 
reflections are around her: towering archways decorated with ancient 
runes stretched from one end to the next, countless domes opening up in 
the ceiling to reveal a starry night in all its twinkling splendor.
        Yet the stars were the only true light here at the edge of 
eternity. The shadows were denser in this place. There was much to hide, 
and even this doorway remained a secret to the outside world. The 
shadows played upon her face as violet eyes stared in awe at it all.
        The oldest of magics are always the most powerful, the most 
alluring. Those who know about the true Faery tales know that within 
those tales the only true magic to wield is that called "magik", the 
purest form of power known to humanity. 
        Such magik today is almost extinguished, almost completely 
swallowed up in a tragic event marking the end of the a vicious war. 
Magik became forgotten after that war which ended a silver millennium. 
It existed only as folklore and legends. While the world flourished in 
science, magik fell into a dark and dreamless sleep, perhaps never again 
to awaken. It was dulled into magic, a child's fantasy.
        Today there is a new world with new wonders called technology. 
Castles are now steel skyscrapers. The magik remains but a playful story 
to lull children to sleep with. And those of honour and romantic 
chivalry who were once the knights are all but gone.
        Save a few.     
        Senshi....
        Yet now, in a forever yesterday so distant from the one we find 
ourselves in now, magik was the lifeblood which was stirring her soul. 
She stopped and looked back at the threshold. The arched doorway was 
high over her head, shadows abounding everywhere, for here she was 
looking out at a starry night itself. A few steps in reverse would take 
her out of this realm, and onto a thin plate of glass that was the first 
of many steps hovering in the air. 
        There was nothing to support that step, and the ones following it; 
they were all single frames of glass floating in space. A spiral 
staircase made of these glass steps and starry heavens descended down a 
brilliant and beautiful Aurora that she could see slowly dancing in its 
orbit between Mars and Jupiter.
        "Hotaru."
        She turned her head as a quiet, alluring voice called to her. 
Violet eyes followed the sound of the voice, coming to rest upon the 
form of the one who had brought her here. An Ancient.
        Eyes that burned like sapphiric blue fire watched her in solemn 
silence. He was dressed in robes of flowing scarlet, golden epaulets and 
chestpiece merged into one exotic armour design.
        "Come with me," the Ancient instructed her.
        She followed.
        The corridor continued on relentlessly before the two as they 
walked. Soon the light of the immense heavens was lost, and all that 
remained was the glowing aura of this place. Hotaru looked up at her 
escort, her mouth opening as she wished to speak. But then her words 
became frozen, and while she kept her gaze up at the towering Ancient, 
she said nothing.
        He glanced down at her, his stern expression melting away for a 
moment. In that moment, a smile appeared on his face. An electric 
sensation rushed through her soul, an excitement as she sensed something 
within the winds that flowed through this place.
        And that was when she saw them.
        They were twins, ghost and angel at the same time, hovering over 
her head. On wings of gossamer feathers they flew, and their eyes were 
as piercing as the tempered steel of a mystical broadsword. Their gowns 
were of sparkling light like the morning dew catching the rays of a 
rising sun, tamed and woven into strands of glistening fabric. And in 
each of their hands was a naginata; a slender, bladed spear that was 
nevertheless capable of tearing a man in half.
        "Incredible," she whispered. "What are they?"
        "Guardians," he answered. "Don't open your eyes, Hotaru; open your 
soul. You have the power to look beyond the illusions of a single 
reality, to see the ways in which magik works. Can you not feel their 
protective aura against any intruder?" 
        Hotaru closed her eyes. "They are watching us now."
        "No mortal of the Solis System can cross," one of the twin angels 
stated. The angel's voice was calm, perhaps even melodious. It flowed 
with precise tones and smooth perfection. Then both angels crossed their 
naginatas in front of the archway, blocking an entrance.
        The Ancient had anticipated this; he had a response.
        Eyes of living fires flickered and then ignited. Hotaru could feel 
a controlled wave of heat explode from his body, magik flooding across 
the vast expanse of the corridor.
        The twin angels slowly descended to the floor, approaching him. 
Clutching their naginatas, they each stroked a side of his face and 
appeared to be satisfied. "Dante," they said together. They drew back, 
opening up the archway as they faded back into the shadows. "Proceed."
        Out from nothing, or perhaps hidden in the very air she was 
breathing, a doorway opened up. First there was just the expansive 
corridor before her. And then a gateway leading into...she realized she 
did not know where it led. All she could see were darkness and 
starlights.
        A voice called out to her from within this place.
        Hotaru stepped forward, already answering the call by the beating 
of her own heart. She abruptly stopped when she realized Dante was not 
going to join her. Raven dark hair was brushed away from her cheeks and 
eyes as she turned her head to look at him. 
        As much as the euphoria flowed through her body, there was still a 
fear of the unknown. Khai had told her many times what to expect, yet 
the training and knowledge of this ceremony did not compare to being 
there in the moment.
        "Dante?" she asked.
        The Ancient shook his head. "My only duty is to craft the weapons. 
You alone are the only one who can choose what you shall wield; there 
must be no outside influences."
        She looked back at the gateway, and then to him. So many questions 
and so many hesitations. But this was something she wanted to do; a 
palace samurai was something she wanted to become.
        Dante turned and began to leave her.
        "Th-Thank you," she added quickly.
        He smiled, eyes slowly closing. "Hai."
        And then he was gone from her sight.
        There was nothing left to be said between them. Hotaru turned, a 
deep breath being taken into her lungs. With a single step she crossed 
the threshold of the gateway, and disappeared in darkness to discover 
what destiny held for her. Doors to the gateway closed, awaiting the 
decision to shape lives and futures.
        The grand corridor was silent.
        Abruptly movement and quiet noise stirred from within the depths 
of the shadows lurking beneath the rows of pillars and archways. Another 
had been watching the ceremony.
        Slowly his eyes opened to reveal the night, a darkness shimmering 
with a thousand starlights. He leaned against the shakujyo in his hands. 
The metal rings on the top of the staff chimed together in quiet 
harmony. Winds from the closing gateway caught hold of the edges of his 
coat, the folds billowing out to the side as the Raithe watched on from 
the shadows. Light and darkness played upon his hidden form. He glanced 
over to his companion. 
        "Impressive, ne...Setsuna?"
        The pleated skirt of her sailor battle fuku fluttered much like 
the Raithe's cloak. She gripped her key-shaped staff, magenta eyes 
watching the place where her daughter had last been standing.
        "What remains?" she asked.
        "The blood pact," he answered. 
        For the weapon to be wielded, not only did the person choose it, 
but it chose the person as well. Bloodmagik, the universal form of all 
magik which coursed through the veins of them all, would act as the 
binding contract, sealing the union of weapon and wielder.
        Neither one would ever chose another.
        Neither one would be separated except through death.


        The kimono was lost.
        The silken folds of black night were loosened, falling down from 
her shoulders, landing gently upon the floor. The second layer, that of 
silken scarlet, followed. A crimson ribbon was in her hair, pushing back 
her shoulder-length strands of dark hair; she removed it, letting the 
long red ribbon flutter downwards. All she could see was the darkness 
save a shaft of radiant midnight blue light she was standing within.
        Cherry blossoms, fragile petals of delicate pale hues, rained down 
upon her head. It all seemed like a dream despite the fact that she knew 
what to expect. Now was a time of purification, as she stood here naked 
amidst darkness and light. As the sakura blossoms penetrated the shaft 
of sapphire she stood within, the petals turned to water.
        Eyes closed, arms partially raised at her sides, she lifted her 
head and accepted this time to be cleansed in preparation for the final 
act of the ceremony. The water was cold against her skin, and 
surprisingly electric, every nerve on edge like a firefly. She was 
glowing as the rain washed down upon her, soaked bangs of raven dark 
hair clinging to her cheeks and neck. Slender limbs glistened with the 
reflection of hundreds of water droplets moving down her body.
        A quiet gasp escaped her lips as her eyes opened up.
        A symbol appeared upon her forehead.
        The mark of Saturn.
        Its magik resonated within the realm, an echoed song cascading 
through the shadows. And then came a reply, a magik that mirrored hers 
exactly. The rains gradually faded as the magik grew stronger. Cherry 
blossoms continued in their elegant downpour.
        Suddenly she could see hundreds of elegantly crafted weapons 
hovering around and above her. A vast arsenal of forged and exotic 
items, yet only one that could be hers and hers alone to wield as a 
palace samurai. One by one the weapons dimmed and disappeared.
        At last one remained, and it was bathed in her own aura of magik. 
She looked down at her hands and arms, extending her fingers as a violet 
light overtook the ocean blue. Suddenly the remaining weapon shot forth 
from its resting place, spinning wildly towards her.
        She showed now fear, no hesitation.
        With a calm expression upon her face, she twisted to her side and 
in a near-blinding motion the weapon was caught in her firm grip. The 
mark of Saturn shimmered fiercer now as she looked down at the weapon 
she had chosen.
        Or had it chosen her?
        Faint echoes of what could be either déjà vu, or else of destiny, 
moved in the back of her mind. This all seemed vaguely familiar, 
comforting to feel the form of the glaive in her hands. Fingers gently 
ran down the sleek pole-arm, brushing against the edge of the shining, 
wickedly curved blade at the tip.
        Such a beautiful weapon.
        And now their magik would become one.
        Hotaru gently slid the tip of her thumb against the razor-sharp 
edge of the blade. It was a strange sensation; she could feel the metal 
cutting through her skin with incredible ease, yet she felt no pain in 
her thumb at all. As if the cutting of flesh was not her own.
        Blood ran out from the open cut, flowing down the silver shimmer 
of the glaive, staining the metal crimson. The entire blade glowed a hue 
to match the river of scarlet now coursing down the shaft. The hue 
changed, and became violet like the one encircling her.
        And then upon the blade appeared a mark.
        Saturn. 
        The glaive had accepted her.


        Time passes, as it always has and always shall forever, ending yet 
neverending in the crossroads that mark eternity. And with time brings 
change. But here, whispered of in the passing winds, the time was only a 
matter of years which marked the impending change.
        The winds of change, tempests of destiny, had begun to stir that 
fateful night when a kiss of magik illuminated a darkened sky, when a 
young girl and a young prince stood before a tidal shore and watched the 
ocean. This event itself was a small occurrence, but that is how 
everything epic starts: very little. And indeed at the time the incident 
seemed barely worth a second glance.
        For now the infant found upon Aurora was a young woman, blossoming 
into maturity and among her fellow pupils. Aurora had cultivated is 
unique combination of combat techniques and use of the magik-forged 
weaponry into an idealized style of fighting. The palace samurai, much 
like Arthur Pendragon and his legendary Excalibur sword, had become a 
symbol of the Golden Empire. 
        Now virtually all the planets of the Solis System sent those who 
showed promise in combat and in magik to Aurora, in the hopes that these 
students could be trained to become palace samurai. In becoming fully 
instated warriors, the samurai returned to their homeworlds to defend 
the royal family and nobility. With this highly respected title came 
duty and honour. It was nothing to be flaunted or taken for granted.
        Only Uranus abstained from bringing potentials here to Aurora for 
training to become palace samurai. Pride in training their own warriors 
was a matter of the utmost honour. However, it did every now and again 
provide for some interesting encounters; Uranus' style of fighting 
differed greatly from Aurora's.
        Ten years ago, Hotaru had taken up her weapon, her glaive. And 
ever since that moment, she had taken up a destiny to become a palace 
samurai. Already she was swiftly rising up the ranks of others in 
training, proving her prowess as a prodigy.
        But for one to rise, another had to fall.
        It was time for another to descend.
        She was excelling. Others felt threatened.
        She faced the young woman, one dressed in the same dark, tight-
fitting uniform used by those who were duelling. Hotaru bowed slightly, 
her glaive held out before her, its blade pointing almost fatedly to the 
skies above.
        Honorary motions, a prelude to the duel.
        The other female bowed in the same way, though she herself was 
armed with not one, but two weapons specifically chosen. Twin curved 
swords, both sheathed upon her back. The traditional way to carry her 
katanas went unheeded; she chose to wear the sheaths across her back, 
and not thrust into her waist sash. One grip was over her shoulders, the 
edge of the blade pointed downwards; the other katana was sheathed 
invertedly, its blade pointing upwards while its grip was near her 
waist.
        She was one of the best Aurora's academies had to offer. One day 
she would easily become one of the best samurai in the Solis System. Her 
hair was long, fiery red tresses tied back and laced with a black ribbon 
to match the uniform. The runes, tattooed in black down her left arm, 
revealed the origins of her world. 
        Mars.
        A name....
        Reika.
        She watched this raven-haired girl raise the glaive into the air, 
assuming an offensive stance with the bladed pole-arm. Her eyes 
narrowed, glaring at the one who would now challenge her own position 
and standings among the ranks of the samurai apprentices.
        The grips of her katanas were seized. The blade over her shoulder 
was drawn with the left hand. The blade hanging upside-down at her waist 
was drawn with the right. Both were brandished, tempered metal a 
blinding blur of shining grey between their faces.
        She attacked.
        Hotaru remained motionless, still locked within her offensive 
pose. Suddenly violet eyes were opened just as the katana blades were 
upon her. The glaive was brought up, its staff adeptly blocking the 
vicious arc made with the first sword. Hotaru whirled, dropping one end 
of the glaive to counter the blow from the second katana.
        They drew away from each other.
        From Reika's lips escaped an angered battle cry as she flung 
herself at Hotaru. Katana met with glaive, sparks showering down upon 
them. Their motions were swift, flawless in performance. This was 
different from single weapon against single weapon--and therein lied 
Reika's strength.
        Her advantage.
        With twin swords, all Hotaru seemed to be able to do was defend 
and block one strike after another. Her guard was up from every angle as 
Reika spun, ducked and delivered yet another combination of attacks that 
seemed dizzying to sight and senses.
        Hotaru crouched low as one blade soared over her head, and in the 
brief heartbeat between a second attack, she vaulted backwards into the 
air. Her feet left the ground as she spun around, kicking off a pillar 
and using it as a spring to vault towards Reika.
        Reika's eyes widened as Hotaru swung the glaive in massive arc, 
the metal blade suddenly glowing violet. A trail of vicious magik 
followed the pathway of the arc, the smooth stone beneath their feet 
shattered. Tiles broke apart, shards and debris exploding high into the 
air, a wave of the attack racing towards Reika.
        She crossed her two katana blades, smashing their tips as one into 
the ground. A barrier arose, crackling scarlet light meeting with the 
onslaught. The entire chamber was bathed in rampant hues as magik 
collided savagely with magik. Reika held her ground, eyes narrowed as 
she fought against the force wanting to throw her against the nearest 
wall.
        Suddenly she saw raven dark hair to her left.
        Reika leaped aside as the glaive's blade sank next to her body. 
Tumbling across the floor, she found herself now on the other side of 
the duel. Now it was her turn to defend herself. Hotaru was keeping 
distant between them with neat, precise slashes with her glaive; Reika's 
own katanas lacked the reach of the pole-arm, and so she was held at 
bay.
        Hotaru's face was a mask of expressionless focus and 
concentration, lost within the magik carefully released by the glaive. 
It changed when Reika disappeared from standing in front of her.
        A weight upon the tip of her glaive caused her to nearly stumble 
off-balance. Hotaru's eyes found Reika crouched upon the flat edge of 
the glaive. Instantly the glaive was released, Hotaru twisting sideways 
as Reika lunged with one of her katanas.
        The edge of the blade found skin.
        Hotaru felt a warm trickle of blood run down her cheek. She 
quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand, staring down Reika's 
defiant grin. Reika glanced down at the fallen glaive, and then kicked 
it behind her. The weapon slid further away from where Hotaru could get 
at it.
        To retrieve the glaive, she would have to find a way past Reika. 
Reika never allowed Hotaru the time to consider her options; the katanas 
were in a frenzied storm of moving metal. Hotaru was forced to step back 
and back again in dodging the swords. 
        Another thrust scratched her arm, tearing at the cloth of her 
uniform and neatly slicing through the cloth. Hotaru winced as she 
twisted her head to avoid an attack from one katana, only to feel the 
second katana cut her leg.
        A cry escaped her lips as she faltered.
        Hotaru tumbled onto the floor, stifling a gasp as she met with the 
tiled floor, cast in the shadow of a pillar. Violet eyes widened in 
seeing one of the katanas shoot forward, stopping a hair's width from 
her face. She quivered, staring up at Reika.
        Reika smiled, almost cruel. She couldn't understand what all the 
fury about this raven-haired girl was, given how easily she had beaten 
the glaive-wielder. It had been a relatively easy victory.
        "Do you yield?" she demanded evenly.
        With trembling eyes, Hotaru looked up at her.
        And then something changed within those violet eyes.    
        They narrowed, and a dark if not malevolent smile preyed upon her 
lips. Suddenly the pillar's shadow opened up and swallowed her whole. 
Hotaru's body sank into darkness in a heartbeat.
        "Kuso!" Reika exclaimed, lunging forward with a katana. But the 
sword was too late, striking only a piece of floor cast in the shadow of 
the pillar. 
        That girl...knew the Shadowspell.
        This had been her plan from the very start!
        Reika whirled as the discarded glaive started to clatter to life, 
violently rattling itself upon the ground. Giggling laughter echoed 
across the chambers, causing her hairs to stand on end. A chill ran down 
Reika's spine as she searched in vain for her vanished opponent.
        Something slammed into her back, precise and harsh in its dealt 
blow. Reika gave a strangled cry as she toppled forward, the grip on one 
of her katanas lost as it was dropped to the floor. Another strike 
smashed into her chest while she was tumbling forward, now driving her 
back. 
        Her senses were reeling, her orientation lost.
        Suddenly the glaive's sleek blade was cutting through the air, 
aiming for her head. Reika brought up her only katana, sparks flying as 
she feebly managed to defend herself. Hotaru was there gripping the 
pole-arm weapon, that fierce determination even more intense now upon 
her face.
        The glaive was brought down a second time, and then a third. 
Reika's strength was being drained in just trying to keep the katana 
over her head from the force of the attacks. Hotaru spun around, jamming 
the base of the glaive into Reika's chest.
        The air from Reika's lungs were stolen. Her mouth widened as she 
choked on nothing, stunned and motionless in a recovery attempt. Hotaru 
seized the opening, swinging the glaive over her head and then letting 
the blade knock the katana from Reika's hand. The curved sword spun 
through the air before sinking neatly into the underside of an archway.
        With one more swift motion, Hotaru swept the base of the glaive 
behind Reika's knees, tripping Reika onto the floor. Reika was still 
coughing desperately for air, weaponless and defenseless.
        She hissed as Hotaru's glaive was suddenly inches away from her 
face, her entire body tensing as the flawless metallic blade was shoved 
beneath her chin. Hotaru was panting for breath, violet eyes almost 
daring Reika to try something. To let the fight continue. To reveal 
something Hotaru had kept hidden throughout the entire duel.
        There was no denying it.
        Reika had been defeated.
        Hotaru withdrew her glaive, offering a hand to help Reika up. 
Reluctantly, and hating every minute of it, Reika accepted the aid.
        And leaning against the underside of an archway, two others 
watched the aftermath of the battle unfold. Reika pushed away from 
Hotaru once she was standing on her own strength, gathering her katanas 
and limping away. With a somewhat saddened expression, Hotaru watched 
Reika leave before adjourning to her own chambers.
        "Impressive skills," Shogo remarked, arms crossed over his chest. 
"It almost makes you wonder if she really is one of them. Ne, Khai-
sensei?"
        "One of who?" Khai asked in response.
        Shogo smiled a little. "You know exactly who I mean. What if she 
really is a Senshi?"
        That caused Khai to scowl. "I highly doubt the royal house of 
Saturn would be willing to give up their most secretly guarded treasure, 
and just hand it over to a girl they refuse to believe is their own."
        "She bears the mark of Saturn, and fights like none I've ever seen 
before," Shogo countered quietly. "Do you at least acknowledge the 
possibility that she might be a soldier--perhaps even Saturn's soldier?"
        "The Senshi are but distant legends most have forgotten," Khai 
stated. His eyes narrowed as he watched her leave. "We should remain 
silent, and keep it a distant myth. For her best interests."
        The ones known only as Sailor Senshi were rumoured to hold a power 
that rivalled if not dominated the magik wielded by the Ancients. If 
Hotaru was somehow a true Senshi, then what they were witnessing now was 
just a fraction of her true powers.
        And that was what frightened him the most....


        Ilsa Esylin.
        A faded palace, a forgotten dream.
        It was but a memory, to many just another series of ruins in the 
distant Earth province of D'arknor. Ilsa Esylin, once grand and 
marvellous not ten years ago, now reduced to crumbling towers and broken 
walls. Rotted wood and rusted metal decorated the halls where paintings 
and tapestries once hung. The faint smell of death, mud and decay filled 
every chamber.
        Surrounding Ilsa Esylin was dead earth, and surrounding the earth 
were cliffs. The castle had been built on an island, the only thing 
touching the mainland now just a stone causeway that was falling apart. 
        But the souls there were told that they should meet at Ilsa 
Esylin. And so it was there that they met, in a dead castle in the dead 
of a night illuminated only by enchanted lanterns set up around the 
castle walls.
        The ruins were vast and littering the entire stretches of island. 
A few scattered lanterns bearing the runes of magik were here and there, 
but the best light came only from the full moon high above. Scattered 
patches of green grass were stitched and overlapped with broken stones, 
half standing pillars, toppled columns, and the skeletal remains of 
temples and other once rich and beautiful buildings. There was silence, 
the winds picking up with a mournful howl on occasion, yet not enough to 
be deemed as true noise that would give this place life. 
        Fateful with each step he took, he made his way down the winding 
stairs until he reached the place he was searching for, until silence 
became sound. The soldiers under his command followed his lead, trusted 
his steps. One wrong placement of his feet and they all could plunge to 
their deaths.   
        His boot slipped at the edge of the winding stairway, one that 
opened up to the ocean far below. He swore through his teeth as gravity 
threatened to drag him down for a split second. The scarlet cloak held 
beneath his pauldrons nearly entangled him.
        "Sir!" one of his soldiers exclaimed.
        He felt a strong hand seize his wrist, pull him back from a 
dizzying darkness. For a few moments he breathed deeply, gasping for air 
as the adrenaline coursed through his body.
        "This place is cursed," he hissed.
        Ilsa Esylin was truly a desolate realm.
        No one would look for the origins of a rebellion here.
        The commander and his soldiers at last reached their rendezvous 
point. It was partially clear of debris, a stone dais overlooking the 
cliffshores that faded into near obscure shadows far below. Down there, 
he could hear the surf pound against the rocks. Pillars without a 
ceiling to support were in perfect rows at the front of the dais, the 
very back being dangerously exposed to the cliffs without railing or 
barrier.        
        Abruptly the world faded away, melting into a darkness that could 
not even be called night. Ruins disappeared into shadows, and even the 
stone beneath his feet shifted from the Shadowmagik at work.
        A dead castle passed on.
        A new realm opened up in its place.
        Shadows pulled away to reveal a stone cavern illuminated by 
enchanted lanterns that burned with eerie blue auras. Pillars with more 
inscribed runes of the ancient powers were scattered across an enormous 
atrium, the very height becoming a glass dome that stared up at twin 
moons in crescent form. Fountains and waterfalls flowed around every 
corner, carved into the rock walls and floors, the sounds of the rushing 
water strangely soothing in such a seemingly foreboding realm.
        His eyes narrowed as he saw the mistress of this place.
        In a domain of midnight, upon a throne of shadows she sat, shades 
of darkness and light in rich ocean blue rippling across her chambers. 
She sat leisurely upon a highback throne, one arm draped over an armrest 
and one leg draped over the other. Her body was tilted towards one 
corner, her other free hand gripping an ancient caduceus. Ancient runes 
decorated the golden shaft supporting a faceted diamond.
        "Milady!" he called out respectfully.
        The commander saluted swiftly as he bowed, his eyes never straying 
from the red veined marble that covered the floor of the darkened hall. 
All those in his ranks did the same, kneeling before her.
        The shadows flickered around their mistress. Glistening lips upon 
an alluring face smiled and then parted to let words escape from her 
breath. "Rise, my Caltain."
        He rose, standing before her. A tall man, his skin tanned and 
rough from the battles endured and the weather walked against. Tints of 
auburn accented his hair. And his eyes were like ice, cold and blue and 
pale.
        "What do you desire of me?" he asked.
        There was silence before she began to speak again. "You have 
proven yourself a worthy soldier for my growing army. Your raiders are 
whispered of in fear on the tongues of the villages on the borderline."
        He nodded slightly.
        Years ago, when the clouds of rebellion had started to come 
together, he had drawn his own line and chosen which side he would stand 
upon. No longer was he a Knight and lord to Camelot. Now he was her 
warrior and commander. He was the leader of her Shadows.
        "I have a new task for you, my Caltain," she said, absently 
playing with the caduceus in her hands. "What I seek is a child. And I 
wish you to find her for me."
        Confusion managed to etch its way into his face. "A...child?" 
        He spoke slowly, cautiously, apprehensive of how she might 
interpret his reaction. To be the driving force behind a band of ghostly 
raiders, to slowly ignite the fires of their rebellion, to be associated 
only with terror and power--and then suddenly be given a task like this?
        The Mistress nodded, seemingly ignoring his disbelief. "Yes. A 
girl, one who holds enough magik within her to turn the tides of this 
revolution we are bringing about. With her power I could crush Arthur's 
armies in a heartbeat, and establish myself as the one true Queen of 
Camelot."
        "I have heard no such rumours about a girl like this," Caltain 
said. "Even from my vast network of spies, there has been no--"
        "Your spies," she countered sharply. "hear only the words that are 
spoken by mere humans. My own spies hear what is whispered by the winds 
of magik. Sixteen years ago a child was born here upon Earth, one who 
possesses what could be an unlimited source of magik. I sent my best 
assassins to find her and bring her to me."
        Eyes of ice narrowed; these events had transpired before his entry 
into her ranks. Long before he had even been aware of the growing 
dissension, already his Mistress was weaving her tangled skein.
        He turned his head as fire erupted to life, and archway now bathed 
in liquid orange, yellow and crimson. His armour cast strange, monstrous 
shadows against the walls of the chamber.
        Chains snaked out from the darkness behind the arches, dragging 
into the light the battered body of a man. Blood was already coursing 
down trembling arms and pale, sweaty skin. The man's eyes were wide, 
insane, terrified.
        Caltain hissed as he saw this wretch of a human. But what caused 
his entire body to tense up was the sight of their Mistress' mark upon 
the man's chest. This was--no, had been--one of her elite assassins.
        Suddenly a surge of energy streaked down from the darkness above, 
hitting the man's skull. Caltain was blown back as the lightening magik 
surged through the former assassin's body. Another bolt hit the man, and 
still another. The body was convulsing, and the skin was melting away. 
Soon, there was just the rattling skeleton, still retaining the position 
it had been chained in. Human screams escaped the open maw of its 
jawbone, terror somehow still visible in those gaping empty sockets. 
        One last bolt of dark magik struck the skeleton, and the entire 
set of bones shattered, exploding everywhere. Caltain shielded his face 
as the jagged debris scattered across the room. Soon enough he lowered 
his arms, grimly staring at the archway before him.
        All that remained of that man was a scorch mark upon the floor-
and pieces of marrow floating down through the air. Slowly he turned to 
stare at his Queen, his entire body chilled.
        "As you have no doubt surmised," she stated darkly. "They failed. 
That man was my best assassin; six months ago he swore with his life 
that he could find her."
        He stared at the charred marble tiles, saying nothing.
        "My Caltain...."
        Her voice was suddenly gentle again, enticing him to lift his eyes 
and face her. The bristling anger was gone, and in its place a seductive 
smile that made him forget the horror he had just seen.
        She rose from the throne, taking the caduceus with her as she 
walked towards him. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, resting upon his 
metal pauldrons. His Mistress leaned forward and let her lips come 
agonizingly close to his ears.
        "I want you to take his place," she whispered. "I know you can 
succeed where this man failed. I shall give you my dark magik to ensure 
you will find me the girl who bears the sacred mark of the crescent 
moon. Bring her to me so that her power may become ours."
        "How do I know this girl is even alive?" he asked, his voice but a 
whisper to match hers.
        She smiled darkly. "Not all the ones I have sent out to hunt have 
returned; someone out there is protecting her, hiding her from me."
        And then she drew away from him, her lips just a breath's kiss 
away from his own. He found himself shaking again, though now his body 
was warm. In his eyes was a resolve to please her, his Mistress.
        He would find this child for her.
        "Aye, your Majesty. It shall be done...Lady Morgana."


        She stared out at her bedroom window, her gaze pensive as she 
watched the glowing lights amidst the darkness of a deep blue sea. Waves 
of aqua-green hair cascaded down past her shoulders.
        "The Suravi'ka is disturbed this day," she said softly. 
        Michiru did not turn as she continued gazing out the window. 
Suravi'ka was the Neptuni name for the Sea-Spirits, the strange demi-
immortal race ruled by a Goddess who controlled the seas that covered 
more than eighty percent of the planet's surface. While Mercury was 
known for its thousands of watery pools and naturally gifted 
aquamancers, it was still predominantly a land-based planet.
        Neptune was not.
        In a way, Michiru believed in the Suravi'ka. The oceans that she 
had swam in since she was a baby seemed to be almost sentient in the way 
it cared for all beneath its waves. Perhaps the reason why the Neptuni 
were so passive was that they lived predominantly under the waves in 
quiet, tranquil cities of unsurpassed beauty. Cities and worlds of 
glowing, glass bubbles which lit up an otherwise clear yet darkened 
ocean paradise.
        "Do you know why the Suravi'ka is disturbed this morning?"  she 
asked, finally as she turned to her visitor. 
        The flickering image of a tall young man--or was it a woman?-
shook her head. Sandy blonde hair seemed to remain untamed upon the 
tomboy's head, bangs reaching down past her eyes in a strangely chaotic 
order. 
        "The seas are you domain, not mine," the young woman said, 
adjusting the folds of her male military uniform. The royal crest upon 
the collar was one belonging to the planet Uranus. "Did someone pass 
through sacred waters?" 
        That caused Michiru to smile. "No water is sacred, love--or else 
*all* water would be," she corrected gently. "Water continuously moves, 
therefore where once great happenings were created makes no difference, 
for the water that absorbed such has long gone, pulled by the currents. 
The Suravi'ka is merely disturbed."
        "And yet none of you seem to know why," the tall sandy-blonde 
countered.
        Her fingers brushed against the clear glass separating her from 
the ocean world on the other side of the window. "Whether they have to 
do with a person or an event, I nor any of the Neptuni know for certain. 
But the Suravi'ka are never wrong."  
        "I hate surprises," the tall sandy-blonde said. 
        Michiru smiled at that. "You yourself were full of surprises when 
we first met, Haruka. Or have you forgotten?"
        The tall, sandy blonde stiffened, coughing into a fist. "No...not 
in the slightest."
        She chuckled demurely. "Ara ara, are you blushing, love?"
        Haruka fidgeted awkwardly with the ends of the Uranian uniform. 
"Maybe. I don't blush on a regular basis, Michiru."
        But the tall sandy-blonde only seemed to blush for her. As much as 
she hated to use the word, Michiru found such a trait of an otherwise 
tomboyish lady rather cute. Perhaps adorable was better suited to 
describe her feelings towards Haruka's uncertainty of how to act when 
they were together.
        Understandably so, she admitted.
        They were both first-born princess of their respective worlds. And 
Neptune and Uranus were still not on the best of terms. In a time of 
fluctuating changes, some things remained constant; it saddened her to 
think that the animosity between Neptune and Uranus had to be the 
constant. 
        Five centuries ago had marked a dark ages amidst the planets of 
the Solis System. Interplanetary conquest was only interrupted by 
internal civil wars. It had all begun over a dispute between Earth and 
Mars over dominion for the lunar moon orbiting Earth. Once a garden 
paradise, the dispute between the two planets led to a deadly attack 
that wiped all life off the face of the lunar surface. Now it was just a 
dead ball of smooth rock.
        Things escalated from there.
        Imperialism became the driving force behind interstellar travel. 
The "living engine" concept which had been perfected by Aurora only 
thirty years beforehand was stolen and used to advance the movements of 
fleets looking to seize territory belonging to other planets.
        It was during this time that Uranus had landed and taken over the 
entire surface of the planet Neptune. The Neptuni, a passive and highly 
artistic race, from where her lineage laid, were for lack of a better 
word enslaved.
        The Neptuni had entered slavery the same way they did all things, 
peacefully and serenely adapting to their new environment--or adapting 
their new environment to themselves.  The Uranian officials who took in 
Neptuni servants had been innuendoed with mysterious warnings, abstract 
answers and theological sayings. In an interesting if not ironic twist, 
Uranus found the Neptuni intellect a fascinating study.
        Aspects of the Neptuni way of life were adopted by Uranus--though 
Uranus vehemently denied ever being "corrupted by such a sadly 
lackadaisical race". Much of the now infamous Uranian military tactics 
had originally been devised by Neptunian stratagems. Battleship and 
weapons advances were based on Neptuni ingenuity and designs.
        In a way, the Neptuni had converted their "oppressors" into their 
way of life. Uranus' occupying forces and families did very little to 
disrupt the underwater world of the Neptuni; common Neptuni went about 
their daily business as always, and the more scholarly ones were 
commissioned for various high-profile tasks by Uranian officials.
        Michiru sighed, this time out loud.
        Perhaps that was where the falling out between Uranus and Neptune 
ultimately lied. Arthur Pendragon's vision for a Golden Age was strongly 
bolstered by Aurora's support. With Aurora behind him, Arthur managed to 
calm the bitter warfare one planet at a time--and start a campaign 
against the past centuries of imperialism.
        Uranus, being a proud military world, was the last to back down 
from such a stand. As the other planets allied themselves with the 
Pendragon and Aurora, the pressure on Uranus increased dramatically. 
Their invading forces were pulled back as the resistance began to rival 
their own armies.
        After what seemed like a near-eternal cold war, Uranus agreed to 
join Arthur in creating a "Golden Empire". What Uranus hadn't counted on 
was a demand that they withdraw completely from Neptune. That didn't go 
over very well. When Uranus was at last forced to withdraw from their 
occupied planet, it was quickly revealed just how much of Uranus' 
advancements were steeped in Neptuni origins.
        Uranus still was recovering from having drastically lost face 
before the rest of the Solis System. It was considered the black sheep 
of the system, the rebellious child who didn't like all the impositions 
posed by the Golden Empire's newly established charters.
        The fact that Neptune had idly sat by and watched it unfold did 
not help to heal the wounds. They had not protested when Uranian forces 
left, nor had they defended Uranus when it was discovered how much 
Uranus had "borrowed" their technological advances from Neptune.
        To Uranus, it was the coldest act of betrayal. 
        The Neptuni, in their eyes, were too damned narcissistic for their 
own good. No one could understand why they had doggedly fought to 
protect Neptune from other forces during the interplanetary wars. Mars 
would have plundered Neptune's resources. Jupiter would have done far 
worse in terms of enslavement.
        The enmity between Uranus and Neptune was still tangible even now. 
How ironic then, that two princesses from two opposing worlds, should 
encounter one another and fall in love. And all because Uranus remained 
stubbornly adamant about keeping one Uranian-ruled city on Neptune's 
surface.
        There might have been a time when Michiru would have chastized 
both planets for their seemingly childish feud. Yet now the issue was 
clouded over, almost deliciously so.
        Her aquamarine eyes gazed upon the form of the tall sandy-blonde. 
Even if it was a computer-projected image of her lover, she felt 
comfortingly warm in Haruka's presence. All that was lacking was touch, 
both physical and sensual.
        Michiru noticed something in the way Haruka distantly watched the 
waters outside the bedroom window. Something was consuming the tall 
sandy-blonde's thoughts. She smiled to herself for feeling a tinge of 
jealousy over Haruka's preoccupation; she enjoyed it when she was 
Haruka's preoccupation.
        "You're not usually like this, love," she said, seating herself at
the foot of her bed. The image of the tall sandy-blonde sat down next to 
her.
        "Have you heard of the samurai prodigy?" Haruka asked.
        She nodded.
        Haruka took a deep breath, visibly disliking what she was about to 
say. "My father's finally let Cait Sith leave for Aurora."
        That managed to catch Michiru's attention. 
        The name of 'Cait Sith' had been mentioned before--and not 
entirely from her lover's lips. Virtually everything she had heard about 
one of Uranus' most lethal samurai apprentices was not pleasant.
        "Why to Aurora?" she asked.
        Haruka grimaced. "I don't know; he won't tell me why. But whatever 
the reason is, I think it was a mutual agreement between my father and 
Khai."
        Khai.
        That was another name she was familiar with.
        The one who had adopted the child prodigy, called her Hotaru and 
raised her as his own daughter. Khai, who was one of the best samurai 
Aurora had to offer. If anyone was allowed to be instructed by Khai, it 
was because they held an extra edge over others in training. A prowess 
for fighting. A will to protect. A magik that only he could properly 
teach them to harness.
        If Khai had indeed agreed to letting Cait Sith go to Aurora, 
Michiru knew exactly what it meant. And she was certain Haruka knew as 
well.
        "Cait's been unstable from the start," Haruka said. "Even the way 
he looks at me as a potential rival chills me."
        She chuckled. "Ara, is my Haruka getting timid?"
        "I don't exactly want to be involved in an interplanetary 
incident--even if it's by just my family name and nothing else," the 
tall sandy-blonde stated matter-of-factly. "I know Cait has been wanting 
to fight Hotaru for a long time. Anything could happen when they finally 
meet."
        Anything.
        Haruka's generated reflection looked out at the deep blue sea of 
Neptune. "Something is chilling my skin whenever I gaze up at the stars, 
Michiru. As if all hell is on the verge of breaking free, and no one is 
aware of it...."
        The Suravi'ka stirred again.
        It seemed to agree.


        This was not the best time or place for a prince to be.
        Then again, no one was aware he had slipped away.
        Sweeping eyes of mist-laiden blue found her walking beside a pool 
of liquid starlights in the garden, tucked away in a far corner of 
Aurora's castle. He saw the rock face that had been carved out to allow 
the water to flow through canals and gather into pools dug in the rock. 
The craftsmanship was so remarkable that the pools and waterfalls looked 
natural. And she was there, crouched over the edge of the largest pool 
of heated water.
        He had heard of her duel; Reika was no mere opponent.
        He wanted to congratulate her before either of their duties had a 
chance to snag one or the other away. His memories were still enchanted 
by that one night when it had all begun. Two children, standing side by 
side watching the midnight tides.
        Perhaps shyly, or even perhaps brazenly, he had kissed her.
        She never objected that night. 
        She had never objected since, whenever they found the chance to be 
alone together. And now was a chance for them to be that way; he had 
raced down the corridor and into the midst of the canals and waterfalls 
cascading down in numerous levels along the cliffside.
        The instant he found her, he was possessed once again.
        Her raven dark hair seemed to breathe on its own as the wind gave 
it life. He saw the tips of her crystal blue dress float on the water. 
She didn't care about getting wet; instead, she watched the reflections 
in the water.
        He stood over her, watching from a ledge high above her head. The 
twin planets of Jupiter and Mars shone across her face, casting a 
strange and beautiful glow upon her pale skin.
Abruptly she turned her head, violet eyes looking up in his direction. A 
playful sparkle was there, causing him to blush momentarily.
        And then she walked into the pool, getting both herself and her 
dress wet. The dress clung to her body, the cloth sparkling in the 
moonlight. Ceremonial robes for one to bathe in, a purification ritual 
to be performed after a duel. One meant to refresh the body and the 
mind, to let soar the soul and beat quicker the heart.
        She turned her head, and shadows played with her form. He watched, 
entranced. She slowly stood, the edges of her soaked garments pressing 
against the contours of her body. Breasts and side were outlined all too 
well, the diaphanous nature of her dress revealed between thicker, 
opaque wrinkles of the fabric.
        Steam rose up from the fountains.
        Her eyes closed as she let the heat work its healing effect across 
her body. Lips parted slightly, head tilted towards the heavens. In that 
moment he could have sworn she was a true princess, calling the stars 
into being just because they were beautiful. 
        As he gazed upon her form in the pool, he searched for an easy way 
down. It turned out he could see only one. Taking a leap he dropped off 
the ledge, diving into the centre of the pool. His landing into the 
water was nothing more than a whisper of foam and bubbles. Feet 
connected with the bottom, and he pushed to the surface. Instantly as he 
broke the water, he let out a startled yelp; the pool was a bit warmer 
than he had anticipated.
        She laughed as he tried to act indifferent about how frantically 
his nerves were tingling. His white uniform, marking him as an Auroran 
prince, was now as soaked as her own robes. Neither one seemed to care 
about this in that moment. 
        He pushed back the wet bangs of ice blue hair clinging to his 
forehead. She turned and watched him, a quiet beauty surrounding her. He 
swam underwater, keeping silent the entire way before coming back up 
right in front of her.
        She smiled, violet eyes saying everything that was needed to be 
said. He brought up a dripping hand, and brushed away strands of 
midnight hair. She looked so radiant in her soaked gown, the water 
droplets reflecting off her skin. He moved closer, feeling her warm 
breath on his face.
        Their faces drew closer, eyes closing. Then he felt her lips 
softly press against his own. He wrapped his arms around her, never 
wanting the moment to end. Time stood still, and duties became 
irrelevant. He was lost in a world of her touch, her scent, her beauty. 
The planets cast their hues down on the two of them together in the 
pool, prince and apprentice, before clouds came across the sky and 
draped a blanket of shadows over their forms.


        Upon the Earth, it was midday.
        But in the depths of his own labyrinthine domain, the light of day 
never penetrated his shadows of privacy. Merlin stroked his fishbone 
white beard, enrapt with a book of ancient runes opened before him. 
Spells and magiks and incantations, all infused with this thing called 
science; such strange days he was living in.
        The world was advancing faster than even he, an Ancient, could 
keep up. Sometimes for the better. Other times for the worst. Merlin's 
brow furrowed as a crystal orb hovered next to him, an incandescent 
pulse of light disrupting him from his research. He already knew by the 
way the crystal was so insistent that this as one of those "other 
times".
        "What is it, Lancelot?" he asked, his back still hunched over his 
books.
        The orb flickered to life, revealing a convex face. One of 
Camelot's most legendary knights didn't seem annoyed that Merlin wasn't 
properly addressing him. "Merlin, there's been another attack on the 
Southern provinces."
        Merlin stiffened.
        His shoulders rose as he slowly turned around. "Morgana?"
        Lancelot shook his head in uncertainty, his golden hair trailing 
half way down his back in a loose, braided pigtail. "We can't tell for 
certain yet. There are traces of magik, but it will take time for us to 
localize them. Galahad is leading the search team; hopefully within a 
few hours we will have something for you."
        That didn't seem to bother the mage as much as something else yet 
unspoken. "What was the fatality count?"
        Lancelot was grim about that. "One hundred percent. Men, women, 
children; they were all ruthlessly slaughtered. There is next to nothing 
left of the village, which is why we are having difficulties tracing the 
origins of the magik used."
        Already Merlin had turned away, lost in his own thoughts. "Damn," 
he swore through clenched teeth. A wave of his arm sent the orb floating 
away. "Notify me the instant you have any hard data, Lancelot. If this 
is Morgana, she may be at last starting her invasion."
        The Knight of the Round Table bowed. "It shall be done, Merlin."
        Alone all too quickly, Merlin bit his lower lip.
        He knew exactly what Morgana was doing. The destruction of border 
towns was just a ruse, a tactic made to instil fear in the hearts of the 
people. Soon the fear would give way to paranoia, and paranoia into 
hysteria. The woman was bent on making Camelot's glory come apart from 
the seams by its own undoing. 
        Who could follow a king who was unable to protect his own people?
        Arthur was already under intense pressure with interstellar 
matters; he was still attempting to personally negotiate the fragile 
truce between Uranus and Neptune. The other planets wanted Uranus to 
pull its last and only surface city from Neptune. Uranus was ready to 
declare any outside interference as an act of war. If that happened, the 
result could easily trigger the abrupt and violent end of Arthur's 
visionary Golden Empire.
        And while Arthur was trying to find time between this and other 
diplomatic missions to the other planets of the system, his own kingdom 
was under subtle yet growing siege.
        In his heart, Merlin understood where Arthur's loyalties lied. 
What he didn't like was Arthur's stubbornness to avoid a confrontation 
with Morgana. He had his own problems to be concerned with--namely how 
to trace the origins of Morgana's rebellion. Damned woman was even 
harder to track than a shadow in the middle of a lunar eclipse.
        Merlin paused briefly at that notion.
        Winds rustled as a draft blew through his domain, flipping up the 
pages of his open books and manuscripts. He resided here, somewhere 
inside the halls of Camelot's palace, and somewhere in another realm of 
his own creation.
        Shadowspell.
        A difficult incantation to master, yet a favourite of those who 
had the talent and patience. He was fairly efficient in his uses of it. 
Ones such as the Raithe could invoke Shadowspell on a whim; they were so 
used to the magik that they could turn it on or off like a switch, even 
to the point where the action was reflex or instinct.
        Not to mention an annoyance. Such characters had a habit of 
popping up and startling him. On some occasions, Merlin rued his choice 
of an ageing human body as his guise; the Raithe had nearly given him a 
heart once in making a unexpected appearance. 
        But then he realized he hadn't seen or heard from the Raithe since 
that time....
        Other concerns pressed back into Merlin's mind.
        Shadowspell, the magik which invoked a veil of darkness around the 
wielder; there were ones in Morgana's ranks who could perform the same 
invocation. Magik was never black or white. Pure magik was pure magik. 
It knew no conscience or ethics. It was magik and responded to the soul 
of the wielder. The ones of magik decided what the outcome should be.
        Another entered his domain.
        Only she didn't knock--or use the front door.
        Merlin smirked as he sensed the aura of his newfound guest. "Good 
day. How are you...Simone?"
        The woman in his presence scowled. "You know I hate being called 
by that stupid name of a woman who doesn't even exist."
        "The boys who've seen you appear and disappear in my presence 
would readily disagree," he countered evenly. "That's more your fault, 
though, for contacting me during public affairs."
        She was tall by most standards, long tresses of silver hair 
dangling far beyond the reach of her back. Her shimmering robes of 
forged moonlight fluttered around her form as another draft swept 
through his domain.
        "I am not some former lover of yours confined to the Faery world, 
Merlin," she stated emphatically. "I am an Ancient. The rest is what 
legends are made of...and I find them distasteful to my character. And 
no doubt, by your death--if you even decide to 'die' on Earth--those 
legends would triple in amount and double in absurdity."
        He turned, and she took a step back as the wrinkles faded before 
her eyes, his hair darkening to a deep black. In seconds, all that 
remained to seen the same were the eyes, unchanged by the 
transformation. They still hid a myriad of secrets. 
        "So then," he inquired. "Why have you decided to grace me with 
your presence, Arianna?"
        "I called you here because the Ancients are meeting," she 
answered.
        Merlin snorted out a laugh. "I have not the time to afford to such 
a thing," he said, striding across his domain. "Earth affairs keep me 
busy enough." A row of glass tubes, each one holding a bubbling liquid 
of different colours, was attended to by his agile and adept hands. 
        "I have my orders," Arianna stated, if not threatening him. "You 
are to attend. And I have been sanctioned to bring you to Aurora by 
force if needs be."
        As if to bolster her point, a crackle of her own breed of magik 
surged from her open palm. Electric air streaked from skin to ceiling, 
running a course along the smooth stones. Merlin smiled at that.
        "Yare yare," he sighed in exasperated lament. "If you continue to 
disrupt my studies here, it'll be a wonder I get anything done in this 
borrowed lifetime."
        Arianna moved behind him, already summoning the powers necessary 
for their travel back to Aurora. "You forget your place, Merlin. Before 
you are Arthur's mage and advisor, you are one of us. You may look over 
Earth, but we look over the entire Solis System."
        His domain started to fade into shadows, one item at a time sucked 
into the depths of a darkness that was slowly engulfing everything 
around them.
        "In such a state of grandeur," the mage cautioned. "You often lose 
sight of the little things which inevitably grow into something that 
destroys the entire vision. What you and I have chosen to be a part of, 
Arianna, are not as far apart as you would like to believe."
        Everything faded except them.
        Darkness turned to thousands of starlights, and then all became 
light. 


        Hotaru let out a deep breath as the door to her private chambers 
were slid shut behind her. Dressed in a loose robe meant to be worn 
after bathing, she walked towards her bed; it felt good to clean off the 
layers of sweat from her skin. 
        It felt even better to have her lips still tingling from Helios' 
kiss. The time when they had truly kissed, not as children but as 
lovers, and been two years ago. The young Auroran prince had a 
reputation for being shy and withdrawn; if only she could talk with 
someone else about the way he truly was.
        But their romance was both hidden and forbidden.
        In passing a mirror, she caught sight of a raven-haired girl with 
pale skin and riveting violet eyes. Despite her smaller body frame, she 
could wield the large glaive with ease, summoning magik that could 
devastate even the most advanced apprentice's defenses.
        Being a prodigy held with it advantages.
        But she had few friends among the other apprentices. Some scorned 
her for her rank, citing it as favouritism. Some were just afraid of 
what she was capable of. A handful of the more advanced students 
regarded her as another rival; most of the "upper-class" students were 
solitary, though, knowing full well that their ranking was only as good 
as their last duel.
        A knock at the door cut through her intimations.
        "Hai," she called out.
        The fusama was slid open, and in the glow of the enchanted 
lanternlight stood her teacher and father. "Khai-sensei!" she exclaimed. 
Her excitement was evident as she brightened up in seeing his face.
        When she was younger, still a child, she called him Odo-san.
        Father.
        Now she called him by his formal name of "sensei", though many 
times he could see the affection in her eyes, still regarding him fondly 
as a father. Or at least the father surrogate that he was; she knew from 
a very young age that he had taken her in when no one else would. Time 
and time again he had defended her place among the samurai apprentices 
with the planetary councils.
        Khai smiled, gently embracing her as she wrapped her arms around 
his chest. "Congratulations, Hotaru," he said. "Reika was one of the top 
three apprentices in the advanced levels."
        Her first duel against one of the best that Aurora's academies had 
to offer, and she had won it without question. There would be whispers 
among the various courts over this event.
        Hotaru stepped away from Khai, beaming proudly as she looked 
around her room. The apprentice quarters were older and more 
traditional, not a part of the actual Auroran palace. Numerous wooden 
buildings, divided by sliding paper screens, marked where the 
apprentices slept. Each one had a private place to sleep, an invocation 
of silence to allow for solitude and meditation despite the incredibly 
thin wall divisions.
        "That was surprisingly reckless of you," Khai admitted. "While I 
am impressed with your Shadowspell technique, Reika could have very well 
killed you had the battle been a real one."
        Hotaru shook her head. "Iie. If it had been a real battle, I would 
not have allowed her to live for so long."
        Khai froze.
        She was serious about what she had said.
        Hotaru glanced back, seemingly curious about why that would cause 
him to pause. "I know the duties of a palace samurai," she told him. 
"You also taught me the differences between duels, and a real battle. I 
knew by matter of principal that Reika would not have actually killed 
me; that was why I feigned at losing."
        Khai sighed, shaking his head. "Hotaru-chan, there are times when 
you frighten me."
        Hotaru giggled, playfully sticking out her tongue.
        She let out a strangled cry as her legs suddenly lost their 
strength, her body tumbling onto the edge of her bed. Pain racked every 
place where a nerve could be found, and stung. Her pale skin broke out 
in a sweat, droplets running down her face as with trembling arms Hotaru 
tried to push herself back up.
        He was at her side in a heartbeat, gently picking her up and 
laying her down on her bed.
        "G...gomen nasai," she whispered.
        He put a finger to her lips. "Don't speak," he said, closing his 
eyes. Magik rustled the paper screens. Hotaru's violet eyes slowly 
closed, her erratic breathing calming down. An incantation meant to lull 
her to sleep, one meant to re-establish equilibrium within her body.
        A simple trick all Healers knew intimately.
        To be a palace samurai, Khai understood how important it was to 
not only learn how to hurt, but also to heal. Granted the samurai did 
not learn the intricate workings of such magik as the Healers did, but 
they learned enough to survive for the next day.
        Hotaru would be alright once she awakened.
        She just needed rest.
        Khai sighed, pensively watching his sleeping daughter.
        Every time it was like this; for as fierce as she was with her 
glaive, as close as she was to her magik, this would always happen a few 
hours after any duel. Her body would be drained, sometimes to the point 
of passing out. It wasn't anaemia; the Healers had negated that 
possibility.
        He had his own suspicions.
        If the magik flowing through Hotaru was as powerful as he believed 
it to be, then she was only beginning to harness it even now after years 
of training. He had taken it upon himself to be her teacher, to ensure 
that one day the floodgates of her magik would not break apart. 
        Magik could destroy its wielder if they did not know how to 
properly control it. In using her lesser magiks during duels, Hotaru 
always seemed to come perilously close to letting her focus slip. 
Something far greater than he even feared to imagine was hiding deep 
within her.
        It was draining her energy just to keep it contained.
        Khai slowly rose to his feet, knowing that there were other 
matters he had to attend to. Cait Sith's transport was due at the palace 
within the next two hours--and he had another class to teach. As much as 
he wanted to remain here with Hotaru as she slept, the responsibilities 
of a sensei came first in this case. Besides, he trusted her to recover 
quickly.
        His Hotaru-chan was a beautiful young woman. And even though she 
was not truly his daughter, he would never stop thinking that he was her 
father.


        Surrounded by exquisite cobblestone and an arched ceiling, the 
enormous windows openly displayed the beautiful night beyond. Stars 
shimmered amidst heaven's shadows in an entourage for two pale crescent 
moons glowing in the night. A series of fountains and shallow channels 
were all around, tracing through the grand halls now deserted. No sign 
of decay or dust was present, the grand chamber untouched by age since 
the day it was created over three thousand years ago.
        This was a realm of the Ancients, tucked away from Aurora, yet not 
in a world far apart from everything else. It existed within the royal 
palace yet was not there amidst its halls. And here in their domain, 
every stone shimmered the faint reflection of an old magik forging every 
last detail.
        The winds were gentle tonight, rustling with anticipation in 
sensing a gathering. A moondial was perched atop the spouts of the 
central fountain, sparkling waters showering down, their spray of mist 
cool and refreshing. Enchanted lanterns dangled from the archways, each 
one bearing the runes for the different magiks which lit up the darkened 
corridor.
        From across the courtyard, small cherubs fashioned from marble 
stone watched with knowing eyes and folded wings. A shadow flickered, 
the eyes of a cherub abruptly moving in sensing the magik.
        Almost all of them had gathered there in the expansive gallery, 
archways and pillars decorated with beautifully intricate runework and 
images scattered everywhere. In the back corner there was a large 
rounded wall with enormous window blocks overlooking a lush tropical 
forest.
        A table carved in silver to resemble the tapering and twisting 
form of an enormous rampant dragon was were they met. They were in a 
sense the firstbornes of magik in the Solis System, the oldest and the 
most powerful. To be sure, in the vast cosmos of the universe, there 
were others whose power and age--or agelessness--dominated their own. 
But here in this "rural system", they were its most enigmatic and 
powerful. They who had watched, and at times orchestrated, the unfolding 
of history in the Solis System. 
        The gathering of the Ancients was at hand.
        Merlin nodded slightly as he saw others like him. Male and female, 
dressed in their own choice and style of robes, each one possessing 
their own unique breeds of magik. Arianna moved in beside him.
        "As you can see," she said, brushing away some strands of her 
silver hair. "This is no mere council meeting."
        As much as he disliked admitting it, he knew she was right. Most 
often, four or five of the Ancients would meet together to discuss 
whatever matters of mutual interest they had to discuss. Sometimes their 
debates demanded his skills, insight or magik. If it was on a regular 
basis, at the very least he could work with his schedule, but typically 
he was given little notice when he was required to be pulled away from 
his work on Earth.
        But now...now he was watching every last Ancient in this system 
coming together at the dragon-shaped table. A chill ran down his spine, 
and while he could not be certain why, he had suspicions as to the 
reason they were called together.
        He turned as he heard another approach him.
        "It was good of you to come," Dante said quietly behind him. "We 
have much to discuss, Merlin."
        Merlin's eyes appraised the others in the room. "Where's the 
Raithe?" 
        Dante shook his head, eyes of dancing fire closing momentarily. "I 
do not know. Like always, he's disappeared without a trace."
        That caused Merlin to scowl. How was it that the Raithe could get 
away with such unexplained and unannounced absences, sometimes for 
decades on end? And already a decade had passed since the Raithe's 
latest disappearance.
        The Ancients took their places at the dragon-shaped table, quiet 
whispers still perforating the majestic silence of this realm. This was 
their first complete gathering since Arthur had first begun to establish 
peace across the Golden Empire. 
        Abruptly the table stirred, the dragon's head coming to life as it 
rose up. Jaws stretched hideously long, its mouth opening wide and wider 
still as its head made a half-revolution to turn back and face everyone 
else seated.
        One hidden beneath a hooded cloak of darkness pushed off the 
ground, and with little difficulty landed in the mouth. The crimson 
tongue of the beast rippled and morphed to become a throne of sorts, the 
fangs sloping and bending to become the armrests. The dragon's head 
titled down, eyes flashing an eerie sapphire as all the enchanted 
lanterns dimmed.
        A regulator, one whose sole duty was to be present and preside 
over all gatherings, was the only one who could be seated within the 
dragon's jaws. The hood remained draped over his head as he held in his 
grip a long pole-arm, elegantly decorated yet without a blade. Suddenly 
a wave of fire erupted from the tip, flames folding over upon each other 
until they became the shining edge of a blade.
        A scythe.
        The other Ancients waited for their regulator to speak.
        "Something is being whispered of in the winds of magik," Thanatos 
stated. "Now the whispers are starting to grow, and we cannot dismiss 
them any longer. As it is, the Grail we have sworn to protect is under 
threat." 
        "Darkness is falling upon the Solis System," another Ancient spoke 
up. "And there is something lurking within its shadows, its only purpose 
in life being the destruction of all other life."
        "We have all sensed it in one shape or form," Arianna said. "Has 
anyone here seen it in its true form?"
        One Ancient nodded. "Hai."
        An old monk with tanned skin stared at the others at the table, 
with two human eyes bandaged up in white linen. There was nothing for 
the monk to see. But magik has never dwelled upon such finite boundaries 
that humans place on their own senses.
        Magik is so much more pure than that.
        A third eye upon the monk's forehead opened up, and stared.
        "Brother Grimm," the ScytheMaster said. "You are not just a 
farseer, but one who can read the sands of time. What have your dreams 
shown you?"
        "A silence."
        Hushed whispers scattered across the dragon-shaped table.
        "Then it is true," one Ancient said. "The legend of the Messiah is 
here."
        One who would lay claim as the Grail's rightful owner.
        Magik was arbitrary. Dark and light hold no distinction. Legends 
of a Messiah: of both dark and light, ones who could harness the power 
of the Grail. It was a matter of who could find it first....
        Something filtered into the room.
        Dante shook his head, not even bothering to look back from where 
he sat at the table. "About time you decided to return to us," he 
muttered quietly.
        Thanatos turned to the newcomer, who was leisurely leaning against 
the wall. "Raithe, you are one who is more closely connected to the 
enigmatic magik of time than anyone else. What have you seen?"
        Those at the dragon-shaped table immediately took notice of the 
Raithe's presence; to be a phantom for so long, only to abruptly appear 
when and where they least expected him to be.
        The Raithe lifted his head, a mysterious smile upon his face. "I 
know nothing about this," he answered. 
        Merlin continued to stare at the Raithe until the Raithe turned 
and stared back. Their eyes met, and in that moment he knew that the 
Raithe had lied to the Ancients. But for what reason, he remained 
uncertain.
        Diverging roads of destiny.
        "There must be a way of tracing the origins of this 'Silence'," 
Thanatos said. "If we can find the harbinger, then we can protect not 
just the Grail, but the Golden Empire as well."
        "Morgana," Merlin stated. "If we wish to search for a source, we 
should find her."
        "Morgana is a resident of Earth who hasn't even left her planet," 
Arianna countered. "This threat of a Dark Messiah encompasses the entire 
Solis System. I don't think Morgana's any of our concern; let Arthur 
deal with her."
        "I'm open to suggestions then," Merlin retorted evenly, 
challenging not just Arianna, but anyone else daring to dismiss his own 
concerns. "But while you puzzle away at this Messiah of Silence who we 
don't even truly know exists, Morgana's threat is very real. It would 
not surprise me in the slightest to discover the two are connected." 
        A female Ancient, one dressed in robes of living water cascading 
across her skin and contours, looked to the Weaponeer. "What about the 
henshins?" she asked Dante.
        "What about them?" the Raithe abruptly spoke up. "They were 
created long before we Ancients were around. Dante, despite his skills 
in such magik, can't even copy their design. They are not ours to 
claim."
        "The henshins are not something we should play with," Dante 
agreed, eyes closed in speaking. Slowly they opened, sapphire flames 
flickering within them. "If they existed before our time, then we should 
not try to activate them ourselves. Who knows what magik is hiding in 
them."
        For once, to his surprise, Merlin found himself adding to an 
argument started by the Raithe. Usually they found themselves on 
different sides of the issue. "They belong to the royal families of each 
respective planet," he said. "We could do nothing with them, and so that 
is why we left the henshins in the hands of those destined to one day 
use them." 
        Another Ancient, one with long white hair and eyes crackling like 
lightening, stared at Merlin. "We are...simply making suggestions."
        Merlin bristled at that.
        "The Grail is our primary concern," the ScytheMaster said, 
finalizing the matter. "Leave the henshins to the ones who shall become 
Sailor Senshi."
        As far as any one of them could tell, the henshins' origins 
stemmed from the Senshi Wars. Only two Ancients had been alive to 
witness briefly the epic struggle between the Sailor Senshi, and the 
entity called Chaos. Only two could understand the implications of what 
was starting to unfold.
        One was Thanatos.
        The other was the Raithe.


        Deliberations among the Ancients had ended.
        Before that, the Raithe had cleverly slipped out from the 
gathering, unseen and for the most part unnoticed. A handful were 
attentive of his absence. One of whom was the Weaponeer.
        Dressed in his robes of scarlet, Dante found the Raithe a short 
time later. The one whose eyes shimmered like a captured starlit night 
didn't glance back at his companion; he merely watched the skies from 
atop one of the highest platforms Aurora's palace had to offer.
        Midnight clouds were not above their heads, but all around them. 
Stars seemed to be within reach where one could pluck them from the 
skies and hold them in the palm of a hand. Here, the crimson hues of 
Mars bathed the edge of the platform where the Raithe stood crouched, 
perched.
        "Where were you?" Dante asked.
        No answer was given.
        "You didn't miss much else in the gathering," Dante went on. 
"Essentially more deliberations and arguing as you saw between Merlin 
and the others. Without any hard leads, all we can do was speculate. 
Morgana is being left to her own devices--and Merlin's private 
obsession. But the Grail is in danger, regardless; that much we could 
all agree on."
        Again, the Raithe said nothing in response.
        "The last time I saw you--perhaps the last time any of us saw you-
-was on the night of Hotaru's ascension," Dante pressed. "I know this is 
not unlike you to disappear for such long periods of time, but I ask for 
an answer from you."
        The Raithe's eyes were narrowed as he watched the skies of Aurora 
slowly begin to cloud over. A storm was approaching. His grip on the 
shakujyo, its ornamented tip and metal rings pointing towards the 
heavens, tightened. Flowing folds of long black robes were caught in the 
winds, blowing out over the edge of the platform.
        "I was making a deal with the devil," he answered finally. "Did 
you finish what I asked of you?"
        Dante's hands opened up, a crowd of twinkling starlights hovering 
in the air between his palms. Two items, unlike any other the Weaponeer 
had created before. Their gentle glow pulled the Raithe's gaze away from 
the distant horizon.
        "I thought the Silence Glaive would be my final creation," Dante 
said quietly. "I have felt no stirring in my soul to forge any more 
weapons with my magik. The ones I crafted before the glaive was made are 
starting to grow sparse as new samurai chose them to wield. But 
these...."
        The Raithe smiled.
        "Iie," he countered. "What I have asked you forge, Dante, are not 
weapons. That is why you were able to create them for me. That is why 
the Silence Glaive which Hotaru wields still remains your last creation 
as a Weaponeer."
        Eyes of sapphire flame looked down at the two new creations. "Then 
what has my magik forged?"
        The Raithe stared at the two items hovering before him. Midnight 
eyes of starry heavens reflected their glow, captured their essence.
        A space sword.
        An aqua mirror.
        The Raithe answered in but a whisper: "Talismans."


        A masquerade ball was inviting her to remain.
        Politely, she refused.
        The noise of the masquerade grew dim as she travelled down a 
solitary corridor, enormous stone arches high over her head. Even more 
were lining either side of the corridor, allowing her to see endless 
ripples of oceans on the left. Gradually the echoes of her footsteps 
upon cobblestone were all that could be heard, followed closely by the 
waves splashing below. Starlight seemed to be everywhere, even upon her 
face. The glow was soothing her already.
        Perhaps solitude was the answer she was seeking, and not the 
burdening renewal of duty. Or perhaps even a little of both. Either way, 
she could feel her tense body start to relax. 
        Setsuna leaned against a block of stone just beneath an archway, 
watching the waves roll far into the horizon. Aurora's palace was truly 
a wonder of ancient wonders; Crystal Tokyo would never come close. But 
Crystal Tokyo would never know the standards she now held.
        Again the worries returned, bringing with them demons of a past 
and future whose lines were starting to blur in her eyes. There was 
barely a mention of Aurora in any ancient manuscripts recovered in the 
thirtieth century. The fact that this planet didn't exist at all as far 
back as she could recall was an even more terrifying one.
        What would happen here?
        It was at times like this she would seek out the Raithe. For as 
playfully deceptive as he enjoyed being, there was something vaguely 
familiar about him. A kindred magik, perhaps. All she knew was that, 
while he teased her almost like a little sister, there were lessons to 
be learned in his words and puzzles. He was a part of this somehow. Not 
just of the paradox, but of everything else to usher in the new future.
        At times like this she would have sought him out.
        But he was nowhere to be found.
        For ten years now, he had become a ghost.
        A frown marred Setsuna's face. The Raithe had disappeared 
suddenly, all traces of him vanished. While she had long since learned 
that this was typical of him, even when she made subtle contacts with 
the other Ancients she discovered they too had no idea where the Raithe 
had hidden himself.
        His disappearance plagued her intimations. The paradox was 
growing; she could sense tension on the folds of the continuum, the 
garnet orb of atop her key-shaped staff flickering from the tear in the 
magik. From the start the Raithe had known who she was, why she was 
here.
        The paradox was on the verge of arrival.
        And he had conveniently slipped away.
        New footsteps echoed across the empty corridor, breaking her 
sombre thoughts. Setsuna turned around, billows of midnight fabric and 
tresses of deep emerald hair swirling around her in elegant fashion. She 
clutched the grinning mask of sparkling gold a little tighter.
        Magenta eyes widened as they saw the young woman standing before 
her. "Hotaru...."
        Hotaru, dressed in a black and rather informal kimono, bowed 
slightly to her. "Komban wa," she said politely. "Am I disturbing you, 
Kaori-san?"
        Setsuna overcame her surprise with little difficulty, shaking her 
head. "Iie. I was just watching the ocean."
        Kaori was the nobility name she had taken upon arrival here in the 
Golden Empire. The Raithe knew her as Setsuna, Sailor Pluto; everyone 
else who remained unaware knew her as Lady Kaori. Strangely enough, she 
had the Raithe to thank for pulling a few strings to give her this 
identity of an Auroran noblewoman.
        "Going to the masquerade?" Hotaru asked, violet eyes caught by the 
sparkling gold in the mask.
        She glanced down at the facade. "I don't seem to be in the mood to 
dance tonight," she answered. 
        "At the very least," Hotaru said. "You look beautiful in that 
dress. I've never seen you in it before."
        That evoked a smile from her. Setsuna traced a fingertip down the 
sleeve of Hotaru's kimono. "And you look almost like an angel wrapped on 
the folds of night itself, Hotaru-chan."
        Hotaru seemed a little embarrassed at that; being a samurai's 
apprentice meant more of being a warrior than a woman. Even still, Khai 
had raised her up to be very much like a blossoming rose. Crimson petals 
and slender thorns, a mix of savage beauty which no enchantment could 
rival.
        "And I'm not the only one who thinks that," Setsuna added with a 
playful smile. "I can still smell Helios' kiss upon your lips."
        The stunned yet horrified reaction on Hotaru's face was priceless. 
"R-Really?" she asked hesitantly. "You can tell?"
        Setsuna nodded. "The magik of Aurora's royal family is 
unmistakable. His scent is quite...euphoric. Ne?"
        They were both silent.
        And then mother and daughter laughed.
        Hotaru smiled as she leaned forward on the railing, closing her 
eyes in feeling the ocean breeze flow through the silk and across her 
pale skin. 
        "I've always enjoyed talking to you, Kaori-san," she said, eyes of 
gentle violet turning to her. "There are things I can tell you that I 
can tell no one else. You seem so familiar, so comforting to be 
with...."
        Hotaru's voice trailed off as she noticed something shimmer upon 
Setsuna's cheek in the starlight. Setsuna turned away, avoiding her 
daughter's gaze, instead staring out at the ocean waters. Her teardrop 
was hidden by the shadows playing within the corridor.
        "Daijobu," Setsuna reassured her. "It's nothing to be worried 
about."
        It was taking all the strength inside her not to sweep her 
daughter up in her arms, tenderly embracing Hotaru and then cry for all 
the years she had lost. The motherly instinct; she had forgotten how its 
hold upon the heart was eternal.        
        "Do you have any children?" Hotaru asked, pushing a few stray 
bangs of ravenwing hair behind her ears.
        A smile found itself upon her face, warm and pleasant memories 
returning to her. "Hai," she answered quietly. "A little girl, but it 
was long time ago."
        She reached out and let her palm glide down Hotaru's cheek, 
fingers stroking pale skin. Hotaru blushed, awkwardly looking down at 
the floor.
        "Gomen ne," Setsuna apologized, withdrawing. "You remind me so 
much of her. I only wish we could have met sooner, Hotaru-chan."
        Hotaru bowed demurely. "Hai."
        Mother and daughter unknown watched the waves in quiet 
togetherness for a short while longer. But it was fast approaching the 
hour when Hotaru had to sleep, and Setsuna had to attend to other more 
pressing matters. But in those quiet moments, the world slowed down to 
an eternal stop.
        The moment would pass.
        But the memories would not die.
        And that was what Setsuna treasured the most.
        As they left, someone else entered. In opposite directions they 
crossed side by side, shoulders narrowly brushing. Hotaru paused, 
glancing back with piqued curiosity; a strange tingling sensation ran 
down her spine, triggered by the newcomer. He had stopped as well, 
standing still yet not looking back at her. Hotaru dismissed the strange 
occurrence and continued on alongside Setsuna.
        He remained.
        Long silver hair, tinted ice blue in the pale light, tapering and 
tied behind his back, rippled as the ocean's breeze moved past him. 
Cobalt blue eyes, wild and frenzied, narrowed as he savoured this 
aphrodisiac he had just tasted.
        A magik.
        A powerful magik...something that was silently screaming to be 
unleashed and bring with it the legions of hell itself.
        Cait Sith licked his lips. 
        "I want to fight her," he whispered.
        
        
        With a beleaguered sigh, he stared out at the seemingly flawless 
expanse of seas. Somewhere beneath all this was a vast underwater city 
made of glass and lights, myriads of intelligent and elegant souls 
gliding through the midnight oceans.
        Arthur's copper eyes narrowed.
        The preliminary talks were not going as well as he had hoped for. 
His original intentions were to have the two sides in some form of 
mutual agreement before the other planetary delegates arrived tomorrow. 
He might as well have tried to throw the sun across the galaxy with his 
bare hands.
        Uranus was still breathing war, and Neptune was too blasé about 
this entire situation even for his tastes. It didn't look like Uranus 
would withdraw its occupied surface city in the near future. Not unless 
he pried the gate key from the king's cold, dead hands.
        He rather wished to avoid that from happening.
        Uranus' king had brought his daughter, Haruka, along with the 
military delegation. As far as Arthur could tell, Haruka looked every 
bit the soldier in uniform...hard to think that it was a princess 
carrying the royal sabre.
        Arthur closed his eyes momentarily as the sea breeze swept past 
him. His long blonde hair was now streaked with shimmering grey, though 
strangely enough it appeared quite fashionable upon his form. This 
wasn't the word spoken by the incessantly bowing courtesans trying to 
curry his favour; even Merlin poked good humour about how he had aged 
better than the white-haired mage.
        It was impressive to consider how well he had aged given all he 
had endured as a youth. Recklessness and war, life and death, peace and 
duties all merged into a blur of years he could hardly recall as 
separate any longer.
        The coin-sized lenses upon his face slid down his nose.
        He pushed them back up again.
        "Milord?"
        Arthur glanced over his shoulder as one of his old friends quietly 
opened the door to his guest quarters. "What is it, Lancelot? Has 
another Uranian officer 'mysteriously' drowned in the oceans again?"
        The Knight Commander chuckled at that, finding the dry humour a 
welcome interlude in such trying times. "Tonight's evening session has 
been mutually cancelled, by both sides," Lancelot said. "I think they've 
actually grown too tired to bicker with each other."
        "Will small miracles never cease," Arthur quipped, removing the 
lenses from his face. He rubbed his tired eyes, stifled a yawn. 
        "You should get some sleep too," Lancelot added. "You're in no 
condition to face Uranus, Neptune *and* the other planets. They'll be 
fighting like there was no tomorrow when they meet."
        "Maybe we could just shoot them," he muttered under his breath. 
        Lancelot could only blink. "And...how should I take that?"
        "My apologies," Arthur said, drawing a weary smile. "I think I 
could use a rest after all. That, or else I'm getting incredibly senile 
in my old age."
        They both had a good laugh over that.
        The next hour was spent between the two of them, sitting in the 
study and drinking from glasses full of rich Venusian wine Lancelot had 
smuggled in for the trip. The liqueurs Venus made were notorious 
aphrodisiacs, and as a general rule not served during such heated 
debates.
        Opposites attracted.
        And with Venusian wine tripling the effect of passionate 
arguments....
Arthur suppressed a smirk. That could be the best strategy yet to 
solve this problem between Uranus and Neptune. No more shouts. No more 
threats. No more noise. He didn't want any more of that.
        He had already spent a lifetime spilling blood.
        In a way, the blood upon his own hands made him unworthy of 
ushering in this new golden age of peace. Yet he more than anyone 
understood the senselessness of the wars that had torn apart the Solis 
System. He himself had been forced to fight all his life. Fighting 
seemed to be the only real thing he was good at; it was trying his 
patience to keep the squabbles of the planets calmed down enough for 
them to listen to him, let alone each other.
        But he refused to give up.
        Surrendering was never an option.
        It never had been.
        "If it has be, I'll die to make sure this kingdom survives," he 
promised himself quietly. "I won't see our worlds thrown back into the 
chaos of war and violence. I swore to Guinevere that I wouldn't let it 
happen."
        Guinevere, his beloved wife now lost.
        Lost to the cold steel of a knife wielded by his half-sister, 
Morgana.


        A young girl played in the sea, laughing as the waves dashed 
against her legs. Waves of ocean-blue hair cascaded down past her 
shoulders, eyes wide in innocence and laughter. On the shore, two 
figures stood one beside the other, watching the youngest princess of 
Neptune frolic amidst the tides. 
        Haruka kept an even if not stern expression on her face. Dressed, 
as always, in the armour of one of the many fighting men and women that 
populated the Planet of Uranus, she remained indistinguishable most 
times from any of her subjects--not to mention her actual gender. As she 
turned to stare at Michiru, the symbol of the Royal House of Uranus 
glinted in the sunlight from her sabre. 
        With a considerable amount of effort she had managed to arrive at 
this sand-covered beach, her absence not having been noticed by her 
father or anyone else. No one had followed her. No one suspected that 
she had pledged love and loyalty to one who was quickly becoming a sworn 
enemy of Uranus.
        The glint in her blue eyes softened as she gazed at Michiru 
sitting on the sands, knees drawn up against breasts as the Neptuni 
princess watched over a younger sibling. 
        To think that she would fall in love with someone so quiet and 
majestic, a near polar opposite to who she was. If there was hope for 
her and her beloved, then there could be hope for their families as 
well. But tonight, as the distant sun began to set, Michiru remained 
unnaturally quiet. She was starting to wonder if she had inadvertently 
done something to offend the Neptuni princess.
    "Why did you come, Haruka?"  Michiru asked finally, turning to the 
tall sandy-blonde beside her. 
        "I came because my father wanted me here," Haruka answered.
        Michiru shook her head. "That was merely a convenient cover for 
you, love. I can see it in the way you're watching the winds; there's 
something else."
        Haruka's steel glint returned within her blue eyes. "I don't know. 
But something is happening. Can't you feel it, Michiru? It's almost 
tangible now...a calm before the storm." 
        Michiru shuddered. "I don't like that analogy at all, Haruka," she 
whispered, "To the Neptuni, storms symbolize unrest and chaotic times." 
    "Unfortunately, I think that's what my senses are telling me," 
Haruka answered. "Something is going to happen."
        The tall sandy-blonde scowled. "I hate this; it's like waiting for 
an ambush." 


        The Raithe stood at the edge of heaven.
        Beyond the threshold, beyond the towering archway overhead, a 
starlit cosmos awaited. A staircase of disjointed glass plates spiralled 
downwards to Aurora, hovering in the midst of space. Everything was 
silent, save for the wind.
        Tempests of magik blew past him and out from this realm of the 
Ancients, the billowing folds of his darkened robes flapping far beyond 
where he stood. Eyes of blackest midnight and brightest stars gazed 
evenly out at the planet far below. Shakujyo in his hands, he remained 
still, as if he were a sentry on guard. The winds blew at the metal 
rings dangling from the ornamented headpiece. Chimes echoed across the 
expansive corridor. And, stirred by the magik, the garnet orb fixed into 
the top of his staff flickered to life.
        His eyes abruptly glanced to his left. "I see you've discovered my 
return to Aurora. And to what honour do I have of being graced by your 
presence, Setsuna?"
        "You've always called me by my real name," she stated, the pleated 
folds of her fuku skirt fluttering in the winds that moved through the 
corridor. "As if we were friends. But now I find myself questioning 
that."
        "Very few questions lead to answers," he stated, his gaze 
returning to the silence of the heavens. "Those which do give answers 
only seduce you into another question, the new one harder to solve than 
the last."
        She gripped her key-shaped staff. "Where have you been?" she asked 
in a quiet voice. "Why did you disappear for ten years?"
        An enigmatic smile as his response.
        "I have my reasons."
        "That is not good enough for me. The paradox is close at hand, and 
while it is unfolding before me, you conveniently reappear. Everywhere I 
look I find you lurking somewhere in the background. For all I know, you 
are the one who will set this paradox in motion."
        "And that is why you find yourself no longer trusting me, ne?" he 
inquired, not even the least surprised. "You are questioning what my 
true motives are. That is why you no longer wish for me to address you 
as Setsuna."
        "I am Sailor Pluto," she stated. 
        "Hai hai," he agreed with a slight nod. "Sailor Senshi, guardress 
of time and its eternal gateway."
        She was tense, a lot more than usual.
        And yet her true feelings remained a mystery to him. It was not 
his place to invade other peoples' thoughts, nor did it interest him. 
The Raithe pointed out a constellation of stars with his shakujyo.
        "Tuatara, the Wild Wicker," he said, citing an ancient creature 
resembled in the pattern of twinkling lights. Abruptly the specific 
stars making up this creature shone brighter, and a ghostly projection 
appeared.
        It was the beast named Tuatara.
        A gargantuan dragon, wingless yet capable of flight. Twin heads on 
either end of the body, each with a set of claws and fangs. Wild eyes 
were open as jaws were stretched out as if to devour an unseen meal.
        The shimmering projection suddenly took life and colour. Deep 
black scales upon moonlit white lined its body, the two heads breathing 
rampant red flames as they moved. Each end charged, claws and teeth a 
blur of lethal motion. Tuatara fell upon itself, and then exploded back 
into an array of serene, twinkling starlights.
        "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice still hushed in awe over 
the constellation coming to illusionary life.
        "I'm your past, present and future," he answered, leaning on the 
shakujyo. "Just like you, I'm a passenger who's along for the ride."
        Magenta eyes looked to him in confusion. The cryptic answers he 
was giving were not easing any doubts or suspicions she held of him. He 
didn't seem to care.
        "That's the funny thing about the rules we are under," he 
remarked. "They are all relative and circumstantial. There is no 
definitive and absolute law governing us should we break them. I myself 
have stopped time on more than one occasion--and yet, here I am still 
alive. We are to remain at our post at all times--and yet here both of 
us are, far from the Portal of Time."
        He was speaking as if it were all second nature.
        She could only catch half of it, these duties he was referring to. 
Laws of governing time, a portal...the Cherry Way? Why did he have to 
give her only fragments of a solution when the problem was looming over 
them all?
        "She's the one who decides our fates should we break one of rules, 
you know," he said, his head slowly turning towards her.
        Again, magenta eyes of confusion sought out an understanding.
        The Raithe chuckled. "Oh, rest assured you know her quite well. 
More than you could imagine. She's a little more...stern with me, your 
Onee-san. The laws were established so that whomever was the Guardian of 
Time would not abuse their power. We can break the rules from time to 
time--if the cause is legitimate."
        "Why are you telling me this?" she asked. "I can barely keep up 
with what you are saying."
        The Raithe's gaze remained even. "In time, it will all come clear. 
There is always confusion at the beginning, but that is where we must 
all start."
        Before she could speak further, he turned and began walking back 
down the corridor, robes of eternal night entangling around his body as 
the winds blew the ends in every direction. He had only taken a few 
steps before she called out after him.
        "I want you to take me to Earth," she said.
        By the tone in her voice, this was not a request.
        The Raithe paused to give her a curious glance. "Why would you 
want to go to Earth? Hotaru's still here on Aurora. I thought she was 
the reason you came back through time, because the paradox originates 
somehow with her."
        "I have my reasons," she answered evenly.
        Caught by surprise, the Raithe blinked, mouth slightly agape and 
unable to speak. And then he laughed quietly, shaking his head at her. 
"Yare yare," he said, starting back down one of the corridors. "You 
never do know when to give up. Come with me then."
        She took her first step.
        And the world changed.
        Vast pillars and archways melted away into shadows, and then she 
found herself in a large stone room, a pattern on the floor like a 
sparkling star trapped in the skies above. Six points of the star traced 
their way across the stone, the entire pattern caught in the outline of 
a circle. And she was now at its centre, standing atop a strange rune 
inscribed onto the floor.
        The Raithe watched her somewhat startled reaction. "Don't panic; 
we're in one of the Auroran palace's secret rooms. This is what we call 
a StarChamber. Even with the best 'living engine' vessel Aurora has to 
offer, it would take you just under three days to reach Earth. But this 
chamber is fed by your magik, amplifies its power and lets you teleport 
to other planets in a matter of seconds." 
        "There is a danger," he added. "The StarChamber is not for public 
use. Its rate of consumption of magik is incredible; if you are not 
strong enough, it suck the life right out of you. It will kill you if 
you're not ready for it."
        "Are you saying I can't go?" she asked, almost defiant with him.
        The Raithe raised his hands in coy protest. "Ara ara, I never said 
that. You're the one with the inquisitive mind, Setsuna; I just thought 
you might want to know."
        He moved to another star point, briefly examining the unique rune 
this point held. The other five points each had their own markings used 
in pooling the magik into a central point.
        Eyes of midnight heavens looked up at her. "You are the guardress 
of time: Sailor Pluto," he stated. "The strength of your magik is more 
than enough to get you to Earth. When the light disappears, you will 
find yourself in the province of Lyonesse. The rest of your task and 
journey is up to you to finish."
        She nodded.
        The Raithe's eyes closed, and he began to chant a series of words 
she could barely decipher. The garnet orb atop his shakujyo came to 
life, mists of magik pouring out from the crystal sphere and flowing 
across the floor in rivers of cloud. The mists traced their way along 
the star pattern in the stone.
        The chamber began to glow. 
        A sudden beam of magik shot down from the open hole in the domed 
ceiling, encasing her in a brilliant shaft of white light. Setsuna 
closed her eyes, preparing for the chamber to rip her from Aurora's 
presence.
        Her skin was tingling, her thoughts becoming hard to keep 
together. She was drifting into the chamber's hold, preparing to be 
taken away. Magenta eyes opened up, only to be met with a blazing light 
beyond intense. She could see rays of light striking each one of the six 
star points, the chamber channelling their powers for its own purposes.
        Setsuna felt her body heave and insides lurch, and she disappeared 
amidst the fierce shaft of burning light as the StarChamber sent her 
hurtling towards Earth.
        As the light faded, it revealed a dark smile upon the Raithe's 
lips. "You don't trust me at all, Setsuna," he said. "Merlin will be 
most interested in what you have to say about me."
        Memories of the past ten years returned to him. For a moment he 
closed his eyes. "After this, I don't think I'll be deserving of your 
trust."
        A closed hand slowly opened, fingers gently revealing a small, 
white oval-shaped object. He looked at the small item resting in his 
palm.
        A daemon egg. 
        A gift from the entity known as Pharaoh 90.




        ....zero genesis....




        THANKS:

        -To Sailor Skuld, who gave me the chance to be a part of Circles 
         of Time. Your patience, wisdom, and chiding when I strayed from 
         the path of linear time have been of more value to me than you 
         know. 

        -To Todd Foster, my fellow Messiah Wars conspirator. Without your 
         input into how our tales would merge with each other, I doubt the 
         Dark Messiah trilogy would have been as vibrant as it has become. 
         Many thanks go out to your creative and co-operative talent.

        -To Fiona Lim. Originally designated to do the Messiah Wars, parts 
         of her own manuscripts from this saga have been adapted and 
         rewritten into Dark Messiah. To write this story without thanking 
         her would be wrong, and so I humbly acknowledge what she has 
         contributed to the Messiah Wars, whether she knows it or not.  


        -To Matthew Kent, whose book of ancient weaponry has proven 
         invaluable to me in creating the world of Aurora's samurai. Your 
         noble sacrifice of letting me use and abuse your reference guides 
         has not been in vain.