I feel as though I have rediscovered a part of myself that has lain long-hidden within me. It is like I am fulfilling some ancient prophecy, that I was meant to be here with the Stellar Church all along.
At the same time, I have tasted the future. Tenrin-Ou Yakushia is a god of the spinning wheel. The drama of the gods will, eventually, end on Spooner and begin somewhere else. I know that wherever the gods reappear next, I, too will be there.
It sounds, I’m sure, as though I’ve changed greatly. I have, and yet I have not. I am the same, in many ways. It is not so much that I am a different man, but that I am a different part of the same man. There is the keikoku side of me, the warrior side, the ascetic part, the child in me, as well. They are all in the same body, I am merely utilizing the stronger portions of my psyche because of the situation at hand. War does not call for lovers.
Deep words from a former whore, ne? Deep words from anyone, but, I suppose, things change, and the lovers become warriors, for the lovers have been reduced to nothing.

Mille looked out over the chilly terrain. War in winter was no walk in the park.
Sighing, he looked to his companions. The other Haz Knights, Baino Lotus, Shifon Keeku, and Bajiiru, watched him expectantly from beneath their heavy cloaks.
“What’s on the menu today, boss?” asked Bajiiru, a slight smile quirking his lips.
The purple-haired Knight pointed out over the snow-covered valley below them. “Beyond the other side of the valley, the forces are waiting. Our men will be here in a day, two, at the most.”
“So?” Baino was surveying the valley carefully.
“So, we go into town to stay the night. The next battle may be a long one, we’ll need rest. There is nothing for us to do but wait.”
“And if they attack while our forces are still en route?” Shifon was the most pragmatic of the four.
Mille’s white cloak billowed in the icy wind. He turned to give his comrades an grim look. “If that happens, we will defend the town ourselves, until the troupes reach us.”
The others nodded, even Bajiiru, who was often quite flip, matching his somber expression. “Do we teleport in?”
“No,” Mille said, gazing once more at the snowy town nestled into the hills. “We don’t want to arouse any suspicion. If it can be helped at all, the townspeople should not even know that the battle is happening. I will be teleporting the troops to the other side of the valley, so that they don’t march through town. Shifon, perhaps you’d like to put up a barrier once the battle has begun?” It wasn’t really a question, and Shifon nodded curtly. “Civilian casualties should, as always, be kept to the minimum.”
Bajiiru looked mournfully to the thick, grey clouds above, which had just begun to drop thick snow towards the ground. “So we walk.”
Mille’s smile was one of rather wry amusement. “Yes, my friend, we walk.”

The fight had gone fairly well. Shifon had managed to keep up a solid barrier the entire time, keeping any civilians out of the way. However, it also meant that they were trapped with no way to retreat. It posed no real problem, but they had lost some troops.
The main problem had not been Shifon’s barrier, but the sheer number of the Sorcerer soldiers. They had been outnumbered at least three-to-one, and it was only a small portion of the Sorcerers’ number. It was not that the Stellar Church had few followers, it was that all of its laity were poor, defenseless Parsonners. The Sorcerers simply had more of the armed populous under their control.
But they had won, in a fashion. A few of the Sorcerers had congregated at the back of their forces to strike against Shifon’s magic shield. They’d put a hard blow against it, and Shifon’s resolve had finally unraveled. However, it turned out that the Sorcerers had merely broken down the barrier in order to escape. So as soon as the magic had dissipated, they pulled a hasty retreat.
So, a victory of sorts. Mille had transported his remaining men back to the Stellar Church in order to treat them. Shifon had been considerably weak for a few days, but he recovered completely. Lives had bee lost, but the town in the valley had been saved.

In every town he passed through, Mille recognized desperation. Like the town at the base of the mountain, every village had been touched by war. Villagers were dead, houses burned, or, in the distance, castles were being built atop ruined farmland.

Another excerpt from another letter, to the same doctor friend:

The Sorcerers have formed a new group of monsters. They’re calling them Magic Engineers, Sorcerers who are dedicated to the creation of devices of torture and magical weapons. Our forces have suffered rather considerable losses due to some of these new weapons.
Big Momma plans to destroy the weapons after the war is over, if our faction makes it out alive. A few of our number are protesting this plan, saying that perhaps the Sorcerers’ weapons will be useful to maintain control after the war.
I disagree with these fools. A weapon is always a weapon, even if it is used for good. We are still killers, even though we fight for peace, and kill those with cruel intentions. The Sorcerers’ malevolent creations should be destroyed. No good can come from them.

“Big Momma.” He dropped to one knee and bowed his head in reverence, his white cloak pooling about him on the smooth, marble floor.
“Mille, thank you.”
He looked up a her. “Before I leave, I have something I must ask you.”
“Then ask.” She was prepared for whatever he might want to know.
“Who was the previous Captain of the Haz Knights?”
Perhaps not as ready as she thought. There was an almost-silence, a moment where neither of them spoke and the space was filled only with the faint, melodic humming that was ever present in the Stellar Church. “A man named Ahar. Ahar had black, black eyes. He was an avatar, of a minor deity named Kirohea. A fire god, you have heard of him?”
Mille nodded.
“Is this... what you wanted to hear?”
Mille nodded again. “It is as I thought. He did not have black eyes when he was younger.”
“No, he did not.”
Mille stood, and bowed his head to the deity once more. “Thank you, Mother.” Then he disappeared.

From a correspondence with a female merchant in Bibou City:

I am glad that Doctor Stellar did not live to see this day. Finally, after forty years of war, the Sorcerers have officially taken power. Their oppression of the common people is complete now.
I wonder if any of us will see the end of this terror. The mystics are foretelling war for hundreds of years to come, always against the Sorcerers. The war is only over in the loosest sense. The Stellar Church will wait, I suppose, for the right time to end this all.
In what is perhaps better news, the Peace Coalition has approved Big Momma’s Sorcerer Hunters. They are no longer an underground group, but an official, legitimate response to a Sorcerer who is abusing magic. Maybe things are looking up for are cause?
One can but hope.

“Mille! Uhn!”
“Harder!”
“But -”
“Harder, I said! Come on!”
Obediently, the man thrust again.
Mille parried. “Better. Come at me as hard as you can.”
Bajiiru backed up while the Captain circled, waiting. Then he lunged again, his sword raised above his head, a war cry on his lips. The Captain didn’t even blink, simply jabbed Bajiiru swiftly in the chest. The other Knight went flying backwards, onto the ground, his bamboo practice armour cracked by his commander’s blunt, wooden sword.
The purple-haired swordsman put down his weapon, and walked over to where Bajiiru had collapsed as an inelegant heap. He stripped off his practice glove and extending his long-fingered hand. “You’re about to kill the man who murdered your sister. You can’t just give him an easy shot at your heart.” He helped Bajiiru to his feet, and youth made an audible “Uff!” noise as his sore muscles were forced to move.
He scowled at his commander. “I don’t have a sister.”
Mille grinned. “Of course you don’t. A Sorcerer killed her.”
Bajiiru groaned in annoyance and nursed his aching chest as he removed the broken practice suit. “I think your bruised some ribs.”
“We’ll see. Hungry?”
The younger man’s face lit up. “Oh, hell yes.” And so they put away their practice gear and walked easily down the trail together, away from the wooded training grounds and towards the main building of the camp.
Over a lunch of duck stew, Bajiiru and Mille talked amicably. Baino eventually joined them, sitting down across the rough-hewn table, and eyed them critically for a time.
“... After that, well, you know the rest,” Bajiiru concluded, stuffing a peice of potato into his mouth.
“Why are you doing this, Mille?” Baino dunked a piece of bread into the broth of the stew.
Mille shrugged, studying his own meal. “For justice, I suppose.”
“Justice?” The youngest Haz Knight looked dubious.
“Yes. Because it’s right. Because... Well, suppose you have lived your entire life unable to make a difference, only watching the wrongs take place, being subject to lies and cruelty.” He put a spoonful of meat and vegetable into his mouth. After a time, he swallowed. “When you were finally free, wouldn’t you want to do something good, to make up for all the wrongs you witnessed, but couldn’t change?”
Bajiiru let out a long whistle. “And here I was, all this time, working ‘cause Big Momma pays well!”
Mille laughed heartily and continued eating.


“Face it, Haz, there is no use fighting.” The thin man laughed horridly.
They stood in a desertland. The earth beneath their feet was cracked, parched, and bone-white. Over head, what looked like the largest storm in a century was gathering.
“It is always worth fighting when there are men like you alive.” Mille seemed unconcerned that he Sorcerer was powering up to throw a spell at them. His voice carried well, crisply, across the flatlands. “Shifon, a shield, please.” The other Knight nodded, and within moments a solid, translucent barrier had formed a dome around them.
“What, Haz, don’t want anyone to hear you scream as you die?”
“Quite the contrary.” Baino looked grim, as he drew a glowing sword from out of nowhere. “We don’t want anyone to hear you scream.”
The pole of a Sorcerer laughed throatily again. “I’m afraid you and you Goddess are quite misguided. I will not be the one to die.”
The Knight with the magical sword moved to speak, but his white-caped companion silenced him with a sideways glance and a raised hand. “Rue Parosela, you are charged with crimes against humanity and the abuse of magic. Do you wish to repent?”
“Of course not, you fool. You stupid terms will -”
“Your punishment, then, is death.” Before the Sorcerer could say another word, the purple-haired man blasted him with a bolt of amber-red magic. Parosela fell to the ground, dead. Mille closed his eyes and sighed. Another evildoer dead, another life on his hands, et cetera, et -
Parosela was back on his feet, his skin charred and peeling. He cackled eerily, his voice sounding as dry as his skin looked.
Bajiiru stepped forward, bluish energy crackling on his fingers, but the still-living Sorcerer was too fast for the newest Haz Knight. The magic Parosela had been charging flew at full-tilt into Bajiiru’s armored frame. It touched the armour, which turned red-hot before melting away into nothingness. Bajiiru, bare and defenseless, dropped to the ground without making a sound, intent on not giving the Sorcerer the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Mille knew the feeling. They all wanted to die with honor.
For a moment, none of the other Haz Knights moved, allowing the Parosela to continue to laugh in his parched voice. Then, with no preamble, Mille raised his hands into the air. He spoke a single word, and channeled all the lightning of the storm above into the the inch-and-a-half between his two palms. Then he lowered his arms in a quick motion, so that they were in front of his chest. He spoke another word and thrust his hands straight out in front of him, sending the lightning at Parosela.
The Sorcerer reduced to nothing but a pile of ash. In the moment he’d released the blast, the rain had broken from the clouds, pouring down over the desert. It rolled down the sides of Shifon’s protective shield. The three remaining Knights could feel the magic dissipate within the sheilded area, some if it leaking into their skin, along with the shock of the lightning, and their hair crackled with the energy in the air.
Mille crossed to where Baino was cradling Bajiiru’s limp form. The purple-haired Knight closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opening his eyes, he removed the young Knight from Baino’s arms and let him levitate at about shoulder-height in the still-shimmering air. He closed the man’s eyes, and shut the jaw, which had fallen open from shock.
Fighting back tears, Mille moved his hands over the floating corpse,and then placed his hands over Bajiiru’s heart. At the contact, the body turned into diaphanous blue-white energy, which dispersed in a breath-stealing explosion.
He closed his eyes once more, lowering his head in mourning. Bajiiru was dead. The Haz Knights were one short.
Shifon let the barrier float away, and they stood there a moment before they teleported back to the Stellar Church, simply feeling the rain fall harshly on their skin.

Not a week later, a woman merchant in Bibou City passed away in the night. A seemingly unimportant phenomenon. Death happened often, more often during a war that had never really ended.
He arrived, unaccompanied, by horse. Big Momma had understood his need for a few days away, and knew he was still uneasy after his young companion’s death. She took pity on him. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t really pity. After almost a century of unerring loyalty, anyone would need a vacation.
It was evening when he made his way through the south gates of Bibou City. No one took any notice of him, beyond a few catcalls. He was dressed as one of the Hourei Koi, after all. After the fall of the non-magical Spoonerian government, most of the social groups had collapsed as well. The era of the koukyuu had crumbled. In its place had grown a group of keikoku-like women, the Hourei Koi. The women were powerful, beautiful prostitutes, who mostly hung on the arms of the Sorcerers. They were, due to the new Sorcerer regime, untouchable. They were mostly hated, as well, but no one could lay a hand on them without permission.
It was Mille’s way of using his past to his advantage. He could affect the opulent manner of a rich man’s mistress better than many of the Hourei Koi could. He was used to dressing sensually, as well. He wore a tight black shirt, a shoulder wrap that was the colour of his hair, and heavy, gathered harem pants. His shoes were flat and simple, and all his jewelry was of smooth gold. As in the old days, he always had on make-up, adding to his usual look a small, black, circular mark in the middle of his forehead: the symbol of one of the Hourei Koi. He ensured his safety by marking his face in this way, when he was amongst the general populous.
In any case, he arrived at the cemetery where the merchant woman was buried. He dismounted and tied off his horse before walking quietly into the graveyard.
He found the grave, it was one of the few fresh ones in the place, and still had flowers about the headstone. He dropped to one knee beside the headstone, bowing his head.
“Rest well, Uan Suy. You have lived a long, good life. Doubtless, you will be reinstated honorably in your next life. I am glad that you were not long as a keisei. Such a life can break even the strongest of us.” He smiled, and a single white rose materialized in his hand. He kissed its soft petals, and set it with the other flowers. “Rest well.”
He rose and left the cemetery without another word. He rode to an inn, paid for a room, and slept through the night there, having no dreams.

Mille rose the early next morning, and left Bibou City, hoping with half his heart that he would never have to see the place again. He rode out the north gate of the city, and through the forestland, into the foothills. The grey mountains rose above the so-called City of Beauty like ancient guardians, armored in stone.
He urged his horse forward, up into the mountains, through the forested part and into the desolate area where little life could survive. It was nearly noon when he reached his destination.
Two sets of bones hung from the petrified tree there, suspended by threads of strange, fiery light. The last time he’d seen this place had been around the same time of day, nearly one hundred years ago. He’d been a mortal child, then, abused, lonely, frightened. He’d killed the only people he had ever known that day, and he’d stood, in shock, listening to the eerie song of the bones rattling that echoed inside the cave. He’s stayed there until sunset, when he’d fled the place in fear of the ghosts that would forever creep across the stone.
This time, he would not have to stand so long, listening to that strangely beautiful song.
“It’s a haunting sound, is it not?” He did not turn around.
“Who are you?!? What are you doing at my cave?”
He gestured languidly to the skeleton on the right. “I am her son.”
“You?”
He nodded, still not turning around.
“You monster!”
Suddenly, there was a weight on his back, and he toppled to the ground, his head cracking against the hard stone.
When he managed to get up, only seconds later, a man in a black cloak had mounted his horse and was galloping hurriedly away from the cave. A hunt, he thought, how wonderful. Just what every vacation needs. He laughed, and the sound echoed off the walls of the cave, mingling the with tune the bones were making.
He levitated, and ran at an inhumanly fast clip after the horse and rider, the soles of his shoes a few feet above the earth. When the man threw a glance over his shoulder, Mille was only about three hundred feet behind him.
The man’s purple eyes had widened and he spurred the horse violently. The immortal just laughed joyously and continued the chase. They ran across the mountain range, westward, with the sun. Mille was thoroughly enjoying chasing the terrified thief.
It was late afternoon before the horse finally collapsed, able to go no further. The man leapt from the stolen steed’s back, his cloak fluttering. Mille just laughed, not even having broken a real sweat yet.
Finally, the thief pulled to a stop and turned around. Mille stopped himself, and waited, mid-air. The man’s purple eyes glittered for a moment, and he threw a bolt of bright magic at Mille. The Haz Knight dodged it and laughed. The magic took a bite out of the huge old tree behind Mille before it sank in the ground, leaving a burned depression.
“You really are a demon!” he gasped, throwing another ball of roiling energy.
“Other things, yes, but not a demon.” Mille winked, and then gazed at the horse several hundred feet behind them. “I think you may have killed my horse.”
“What are you?” The theif-come-magician was shaking, and he fell to his knees on the mossy ground, his energy completely expended.
Mille stepped down easily, standing once again on the solid ground. “I am Mille Feuille, Captain of the Haz Knights.”
“The Haz-” The man cut himself off, staring. “I’ve heard of you.”
“Of course you have,” Mille said nonchalantly, spreading his hands. He toyed with a lock of his curly hair. “However, what I find more remarkable is that I have heard of you, Zaha Torte.”

Not long before Mille’s first encounter with Zaha Torte:
“Mother, it does not bode well on my conscience.”
“It does not have to,” she said quietly, looking away from him, into the shimmering gloom. “You shall do it because I have told you to.”
He was silent for a very long time, staring at her, somewhere between anger and fear. “What do you know that I don’t, Kanure? What do you see in the future that eludes my feeble skills.” His voice, and his words, were a little more cutting than he had intended.
“I know you are worried for my sake, Mille Feuille.” Her voice was still quiet and gentle. She had adjusted quickly and gracefully to her position as a goddess. He, however, still held too tightly to his mortal emotions. “I have looked into the future, and this must be done. He is the one to replace Bajiiru. You must not let the past interfere with the present.”
He was suddenly beside her, and she turned to face him. He reached one long-fingered hand out to stroke her smooth cheek.
His voice was plaintive, and soft, when he finally spoke, his fingertips still resting on her face. “I have always loved you, you know.”
She nodded. “Yes, I know.”
Her face was so serene. He dropped his fingers and turned away, his hands turning into loose fists at his sides, his entire body several shades tenser. “Yes, of course, I had forgotten.” His tone was bitter “The Great Mother knows all and sees all.”
Before she had a chance to reply, he had teleported away, down to where his horse waited for him, read to take him to Bibou City.

“... You have heard of me... I can’t believe that.”
“It’s true. You may be nothing but an erimetical, failed holy man now, but you shall be the Lord of Fire, in the future.” He glanced at the tree behind him. “I can already tell that you are strong.” He sighed. “If I may ask, what drew you to that cave up there?” He looked up the mountain, as though he were able to see through the trees back to the cave where he had been born.
“I heard the voices of the damned there. They called to me... I... came to try and heal them.”
The confession sent an inadvertent shudder down the Haz Knight’s spine. Few were able to hear the cries of those condemned to hell. Most who could were either insane, or evil to the core. But this man... He seemed so innocent, so kind. And yet, Torte’s words called to mind a vision from a dream he’d had on the the night of Bajiiru’s death. A man in a black, gold-hung cape stood atop a natural stone column, calling the souls of the damned to him. They had floated through the dark, star-lit night towards him from deep inside the earth, eerie blue spheres of light and magic and power.
“Are ... Are you all right?”
Mille blinked and found himself gazing into concerned purple eyes. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Torte had stood up and was watching him cautiously, as though he might faint at any moment. He was quick to regain his strength, Mille noted. It would make him a formidable opponent.
“So, why are you here?” the black-haired man asked, seating himself on the ground. “Were you just coming to visit your mother?”
“No, I came to find you by order of the Goddess of the Stellar Church. It was simply strange coincidence that you were living in my old home.”
“The Stellar Church,” Torte sighed. “What was your business?”
Mille studied the man. “To recruit you.”
Torte’s eyes widened. “Me?”
Mille sighed and repressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, you. As I have said, one day you will become the Lord of Fire. Big Momma wants you as one of the Haz Knights.”
“That would make me one of your men, wouldn’t it?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes.”
For a while, they both simply stared off into different parts of the lush forest. After a time, Mille focused a sharp look on Torte. “Are you willing?”
Zaha Torte rose, looking dramatically decisive. “Yes.”
“Good.” It was always good when things went according to plan, whether or not he, personally, approved of the plan. “Have you anything you want to bring with you.”
The dark-haired man shook his head. “No. A hermit has nothing of value, after all.”
“Fine, then.” Mille conjured his armour, surprising the other fellow. He extended his gloved hand, and Torte hesitated. “Take my hand, and I’ll take you back to the Stellar Church.
They joined hands.

He knelt before her, Torte standing some feet behind him. Behind her throne, Baino and Shifon stood motionless, obviously scrutinizing Zaha Torte very carefully.
Big Momma smiled magnanimously, her purple-blue eyes sparkling with her gladness. “You have done well, Mille Feuille. Thank you.”
“Of course, Mother.” He inclined his head in a slight nod, and did not move from his position kneeling on the cool floor.
She turned her attention to the man behind him. “Zaha Torte, welcome to the Stellar Church.” Mille heard a shuffling behind him an Torte bowed deeply. “If you are not too tired, I should like to speak with you in private. Perhaps you would enjoy a walk around the grounds? The sunlight at this time of evening makes the gardens very beautiful.”
“Certainly, Madam.” Torte bowed again, and she stepped down from the dais, smiling. Mille felt her power touch him as she passed by him. The door to the inner sanctum opened flooding the room with a pale, pink-tinged light, and all went dark when the door was closed again.”
After a moment, Mille rose, dusting off his knees. Shifon and Baino walked carefully from behind the throne, off the dais to stand by their commander.
Raising one eyebrow, Mille asked, “Well, what do you think?”
“‘Madam’? Who in the seven hells does he think he is?” Baino snorted.
Shifon shrugged, his face more or less impassive. “You were as gallant when you first joined.”
Baino shot a look at his comrade and shook his head. “Oh, shut up.”
“But you haven’t answered my question,” the Captain persisted, smiling in a strange way. “What do you think of our newest Knight?”
“He seems nice enough, although there is a strange scent about him,” Baino mused.
“Trouble.” Shifon was not one to waste words. The other two glanced at him. He nodded curtly, his arms folded stiffly across his chest. “The scent is that of the damned. He is trouble.”
Mille sighed. “I agree. I cannot trust him, somehow.” He lowered his voice, and the air elementals hummed uneasily for a few moments. “He confessed to me that what drew him to the place he was living was the sound of the voices of ghosts. Our new fellow Torte hears the damned, my friends. No,” he finished darkly, gazing at the door, “I cannot trust him.”


Shifon sighed. Even he was getting tired. “Suppose you are being attacked by a stone golem. What type of magic would you use?”
Torte blinked, and darted his eyes, thinking. After a moment, he said, “Third-degree concentrated earthquake?”
“Are you sure?”
“I... Yes.”
“You have it all wrong.” Baino sighed, looking pained.
“But, no, I’m sure now that one would use a third-”
“That’s not what he means,” Shifon cut in. Zaha looked quite confused.
“Look, I’ll show you.” Baino turned to Mille. “This is how it should go, properly.” After a pause, Baino asked strictly, “You are being attacked by a stone golem, what attack do you deploy?”
“Third-degree concentrated earthquake,” Mille returned quickly, without missing a beat.
“Are you sure?”
“Certain.”
“Deploy.”
“And then I would do a third-degree concentrated earthquake on the target.” Mille jerked his head in the direction of the battered target across the field.
“That’s all well and good for you three to say, but you are already Mages.”
The three Knights and the Mage-in-training turned around. Their purple haired goddess was standing behind them a bemused smile playing on her lips.
“Mother,” the three Knights chorused, inclining their head.
She extended her hand. “I’ve come to rescue you, Zaha. Those three have been working you since daybreak.”
Blushing slightly, Torte rose and and took her hand. Without another word, they disappeared.
The moment they were gone, Baino groaned and massaged the bridge of his nose. “You were right, he’s been nothing but trouble.”
“Shouldn’t she come to have rescue us from him?” growled Shifon. Mille knew it was a bad day when stoic Shifon complained
Mille chuckled. “As I recall, Shifon, you and Lammint quizzed me rapid-fire for forty-eight hours before our benevolent Mother even batted so much as an eyelash.” Shifon let out a quiet snort of laughter in reply.
“Oh, what a headache have I.” Baino continued to rub his nose.
“Perhaps your headache would be better if you elected not to heckle our fragile student.”
Baino made a face at Mille. “No, I think only your headache would be lessened by that. Heckling happens to ease my pain.” Shifon snorted again. Baino then made a hurt face, leaning back in his chair and stretching. “He laughs at our suffering, my friend.”
“Let him, man. Perhaps it eases his headache.”

Deep within the Stellar Church, the overall air pressure shifted.
“He’s done it, then. There is another Mage in this world.” Mille stared into darkness.
Baino pulled a face that was barely visible in the darkness. “Oh, miserable day... May the gods preserve us.”
“Go to sleep, you two,” growled Shifon. “We shall have work to do tomorrow.”
The Knight let out a heavy, complaining sigh. “I don’t know how you can sleep, Shifon. My ears are ringing like mad.”
It earned him a whack with a pillow from his Commander. “Just go to sleep, Baino. Shifon is right, of course. We have work to do tomorrow.”
Baino saluted in the direction the pillow had come from. “Yes, Commander!”
Not long after, there was only the sound of light snoring, all changes in air pressure ultimately ignored.

He adjusted his hair so that it pillowed his head, and pulled his white cloak tighter about himself. He heard his fellows shifting nearby, but did not bother to open his eyes.
“Damn the cold. It’s only October.”
“Baino, do us all a favor and shut up.” Shifon sounded bone-tired.
“Agreed.” Mille shifted on the hard ground, and was rewarded by hearing his spine pop.
“Gods, how can Zaha sleep so easily?” Baino didn’t seem too content on shutting up.
“Ah, but he has the love of a beautiful woman to keep him company,” Mille returned dryly.
Shifon let out his rough half-laugh. “Only you would say such a thing, Mille.”
Mille sighed. “Yes, that’s true, isn’t it.”
He had the feeling that Shifon knew what sort of past he’d had. Mille had the feeling that Shifon had been one of the number who came to abduct the young Kanure Stellar so long ago. They had, of course, never spoken of it, but occasionally, Shifon would say something like that, something that hinted at a greater knowledge than the gruff man let on.

“Momma, I must speak with you.” He stood in the doorway of the throne room.
She smiled at him from the dais. “Certainly. Shall we speak in my chambers?”
“That would suit my purpose.”
In the blink of an eye, they were both in her bed chamber. There was a large, stained-glass window that filled the room with a pinkish glow. “Will you sit?” She motioned to the bed.
He gave her a controlled nod and sat. She sat beside him.
“What has been troubling you, Mille Feuille.”
“Forty years ago, I told you that Zaha Torte’s addition to the ranks of the Haz Knights did not sit well with me -”
“And I had thought we had put the issue to rest, dear Mille.” She looked tired, and just a little sad. The sadness, he realized, was her form of regret. She felt sorry for him, that he could not let of of his unease regarding Torte.
“You, of all people, Kanure, should know that the past never lies still for long.”
She sighed. “Should I?”
“Old friends reappear, children of dead Sorcerers return nursing grudges, deities are reincarnated in new dimensions... Old flames die hard, Kanure.”
“Please...”
“What?” Mille’s jaw clenched, his whole body tense.
“Please, don’t call me that. I’m not Kanure Stellar anymore. Sometimes, Mille, we just have to put the past behind us. This is one of those times. We were not destined for each other then, we are not now.”
“I had thought you trusted me, Mother. I thought that as Commander of the Haz Knights, I was your confidant, someone who could be believed.”
“I do trust you. But not on this particular issue.” Beneath her serene expression, there seemed to be true sorrow lurking.
It wasn’t a question when he finally said it. “Because I still love you.”
There was a long silence as they simply stared into each others eyes. “Yes.”
After another lengthy pause, he leaned forward. “It’s not jealousy, Kanure,” he said. “I’m not jealous. I know what is to come, and I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Her words were a moistness against the side of his face. “I, too, can see what is to come. It is all necessary in order to achieve our means. I have accepted it.”
He took her words into consideration. “Then the lives that will hang in the balance will not be lost for good. Then everything will be all right, in the end... ”
“Yes...”
“Have you foreseen this?” he asked quietly, closing the very last bit of space between them and kissing her gently on the lips.
There was a knock at the door, and they pulled away from each other. Before Mille rose from the bed, and she went to the door, she caught his eye, and said one word.
“Yes.”
Then she moved gracefully to the door, and he stood, trying not to look shocked and seem as professional as possible. In truth, his heart was thumping in his chest an he felt rather dizzy. Did she really say what I think she said?
It was Zaha at the door, looking concerned. “Did I interrupt something important?”
“No,” Mille said, finally collecting himself. “Mother and I were just done speaking. I was about to leave when you knocked.” So he brushed past Big Momma, and then past Zaha, and stalked into the hall.
He needed to go somewhere to think.


The peace they held was tenuous, delicate. The evil Sorcerers were not obliterated, merely forced to sign a treaty by which no one would really abide.
But already times of war had become a distant memory. Most of those who had fought the war were long dead. All those, save the immortals.
Peace was tenuous. But, then, a great many things are tenuous. The quality of early morning light lasts only a few minutes, but is so infinitely beautiful that it is worth the desperation ones feels as it becomes simply daylight. A child does not remain a trusting infant forever, but a parent will remember their progeny in that gentle state forever, no matter what happens.
They say that time begins to pass more and more slowly the closer you get to the end of the world, where time stops. Then, when the cycle begins anew, time will speed up once more.
Time was meticulously losing momentum.

He knew full well that he looked like a sulking child. But he couldn’t help it. The dark-haired Sorcerer Hunter was eying him carefully, a little nervous. He watched back, from behind his fellow Knight, his arms folded over his chest and a dangerous gleam in his eye.
Actually, he liked this man. The Sorcerer Hunter was very handsome, and he had slowly come to the decision, while standing there, that he would flirt mercilessly with the man, if only in order to annoy Torte.
But, for the moment, he was the solemn back-up, guarding over the negotiations from the shadows.
“You have served Big Momma for fourteen years, Onion, my friend! Don’t you want something greater than that? This is your chance.”
Onion, the Sorcerer Hunter, looked at Zaha warily. It was quite obvious that the man was undecided as to whether he would accept or not.
“Your children are destined for greatness, Onion! They will destroy a great threat to Spooner in their time. Don’t you want them to be proud of who their father is?”
Mille wondered idly whether Zaha knew that he was the threat Onion Glace’s children were destined to destroy. No, of course he didn’t. Zaha knew nothing about the future, he was only parroting off what Big Momma had said to him. An interesting realization, actually, in that it meant that Big Momma was not telling him the truth. Perhaps she was not lying to her lover, but the fact that she was not telling him the truth was, none the less, intriguing.
Then again, what was she supposed to say. ‘We’re in love now, Zaha, but you’re gonna go psycho and I’m going to try to kill you. So let’s just break it off now’? He thought not.
“My children, if I have any, will be proud of me whether I am a coal miner, or a Sorcerer Hunter, or a Haz Knight, or a traveling junk salesman.”
Mille suppressed the urge to smile. The man had a very good point. Besides, he took a vicious pleasure when people cut Torte down. He couldn’t help it...
He tuned out of the back-and-forth debate - Could they really make any difference? Did it matter, for justice? Who would care for his wife? Who would raise his children while he was serving as a Haz Knight? How could he consider himself when the lives of so many hung in the balance? - in order to consider other things.
Baino had finally understood Zaha’s destiny, and he had retired. Mille couldn’t help but agree with him. He, personally, was beginning the regret his immortality. He was only going to live to see more deaths and more wars, and live through more heartache. Or perhaps he didn’t really regret immortality so much as he regretted becoming a Haz Knight. As a Mage, he could make a difference in the world. As a Haz Knight, he was forced, more often than not, to sit back and watch, record, the horrible things that happened. They were fated atrocities, and so he was powerless to stop them.
He didn’t know, not really. Perhaps he just envied Baino for settling down with a wife, mortal though she was, and getting a teaching position a a local Parsonner school of magic. Maybe he just envied his former comrade that certain sense of normalcy that he had never truly had.
But he didn’t have time to consider it thoroughly. Onion Glace soon agreed to replace Baino Lotus as the fourth Haz Knight.


“Onion, this wife of yours must be a very good woman to put up with a womanizer like you.”
Onion chuckled. “She’s the most patient woman I’ve ever met.”
“Patient, and as beautiful as you say? Is it possible?”
The dark-haired man pretended to sulk. “I should say so.”
“Apricot is a Sorcerer Hunter, isn’t she? You two were a team, yes?” The mortal Knight nodded, and Mille got a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I’d like to meet this wife of yours. What say you we accompany her on her next mission?”
Onion laughed. “This is bound to be interesting.”

“Apricot, darling, something must be done with the hair! Honestly, how can you stand to just let it sit there like that! A French roll, curls perhaps, something dramatic! It’s so beautiful! You can’t let it go to waste like that just sitting there tied back!”
Onion groaned, and Apricot laughed quietly. “Mille, stop playing ‘sleep over’ and shut up.”
Mille let out a long-suffering sigh. “They never let me have any fun!”
“We’re on the job, Mille! Work isn’t supposed to be fun.” Onion looked very tired
“You’re just jealous because she liked me better,” Mille teased, wiggling his eyebrows at Apricot, who laughed.
Onion shot a good-natured glare in her direction. “Glad to see someone’s enjoying themself.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Onion, dear, Apricot isn’t the only one having fun.” Mille leaned heavily against Onion’s shoulder. “I’m simply having a ball!”
“I’m never letting you go with us again, Mille,” the man grumbled, giving his Commander a half-hearted shove. Needless to say, he never carried through with the particular threat...

“He’s simply beautiful, Onion.” Mille smiled paternally.
Onion gave his friend a look. “I hope you mean that in the most platonic way possible, man.”
Apricot laughed, and Mille winked. “Of course.” Becoming a bit more serious, he asked, “Your first child. What are you naming him?”
“Carrot,” the husband and wife replied in one, proud voice.
“Carrot Glace,” Mille repeated solemnly, brushing a lock of black hair from the sleeping baby’s forehead. “Godspeed, Carrot Glace.”

“Mother, that child... There is something about him.”
Big Momma nodded, and then stepped down from the otherwise empty dais. Zaha, Shifon, and Onion had already gone to the banquet hall to have dinner. “Yes, I know.”
“And...?”
“Onion’s son is Hakaishin.”
Mill gasped. “The Destruction God?”
Big Momma nodded solemnly. “The very same. His brother shall be Tenrin-Ou Yakushia. Some of the others are already living, as well.”
“But... How? So soon?”
“It is not ‘so soon,’ Mille Feuille. It has been over six hundred years since I joined the Church. The world is bound to come to its end soon.”
“I...” Mille was, for once, at an utter loss. The Shichuuten were coming into their human forms... “Dear gods...”
Big Momma shook her head, and smiled gently. “Don’t let it worry you. Everything is going according to plan.”
I know, Mille thought. That’s what has me so worried.

Alone in a goddess’ bed chamber:
“Mother... What’s wrong?” She looked ill all of a sudden, as though she might faint, and he watched her carefully.
She sighed, sounding for all the world like all she wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep. “Come here.”
He approached her. When he was close enough, she took his hand and put it against her stomach. When he resisted, she put a finger to her lips. Then he gasped. He felt a swift pressure from the inside of Big Momma’s body push against his hand.
“I am with child,” she said quietly, her hand resting atop his.
“You’re...?” He looked her in the eye. “Congratulations,” he whispered.
She nodded, smiling. “The first of two. Both girls.”
“Is it his?” Mille found that he loved the feeling of Momma’s warm stomach beneath his hand, and the occasional kick.
“The child is Zaha’s, yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“When she is born, I will send her to Zaha’s estate. Her sister will follow. They will be told they were adopted, if they ask.”
He lifted his hand from her stomach, taking hers with it. Mille lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her skin gently. “They’re going to be beautiful.”
Momma nodded, looking terribly sad. “Yes, they will be.”

Onion’s scimitars were ripped from his hands by one of the monster-warriors. “My scythes!”
“Don’t go after it!” Mille hacked at one of the offending creatures, sending it back, but not killing it - yet.
“That thing has my blades!” Onion returned, obviously wondering how Mille could stop him from going after it.
Mille conjured a new scythe of gleaming reddish light, and tossed it to his fellow Knight, who caught it, looking surprised. “Use this, we’ll get yours back later.” Onion nodded and went back to fighting. Mille, for his part, turned around and swung his own sword through the thick neck of one of the four-legged, armored beasts. The creature’s death howl was cut off when his head was severed from his body and rolled to the ground.
“Captain!” It was Shifon, who had his eye on the sky.
Mille looked up. Zaha was standing some ways above the battle, in mid-air. The Captain of the Haz Knights watched in horror as Zaha silently made a motion with his wrist. Spheres of blue light lifted from the corpses of several of the beast-warriors and floated towards his hands.
Zaha channeled the magic between his hands and sent the blast down at the Sorcerer they had been battling. Mille acted as quickly as he could, turning Onion’s magical scythe into a shield, but the only non-Mage Knight still stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. The Sorcerer died in agony, and when his life force was snuffed out, the strange beasts they had been fighting stopped moving and turned to stone.
Shifon, who was shuddering from the ghost-magic, went to check on Onion. Mille simply stood, his sword clenched in one hand, his other hand a tight fist.
“You fool!” he yelled at Torte, who was still in the air, his armour glistening in the hot sun.
Zaha looked at him coolly. “You call me a fool?”
“Do you know how dangerous that is?! That is practically Kinjyu!” His voice was cold and harsh, tightly angry.
“But the Sorcerer is dead, is he not?” Zaha spread his gloved hands and cocked his head.
“Perhaps, but you could have killed Onion.” Mille gestured in the fallen Knight’s direction, and noted that Shifon was glaring venomously at Torte.
The black-haired man half-shrugged. “But I didn’t.”
“Only because Shifon saw it coming.” Mille look a deep breath, trying not to rip Torte to pieces. “You are never to use such magic again, do you understand.”
“Certainly, Captain.” Zaha mock-bowed, with a dramatic flourish. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, disappearing before Mille had a chance to protest.
Growling, Mille strode over to where Shifon was kneeling by Onion. “How is he?” He dropped to a couch on the other side of the fallen warrior.
“Unconscious, but not dead.” Shifon scowled. “This does not bode well.”
“No, it does not.” Mille’s face was tightly controlled, his jaw set, his neck taut and corded. “We must take Onion back to the Church. Alert his wife, after we have him settled.”
Shifon nodded. “And Torte?”
Mille scowled and picked Onion up, before throwing a significant look in Shifon’s direction. “I’ll deal with Torte.”

“Mille, you can’t be angry with Zaha...”
“You’re awake.” He turned around in the doorway of the dim room. The hallway outside was even darker.
Onion let out a wheezing laugh. “No kidding. Wish I was still asleep, though...”
“Get some rest.”
“You can’t be angry with Zaha,” he persisted. “It was an accident.”
Mille’s voice was cold and biting. He looked at Onion with troubled eyes. “It was an accident that should not have happened.”
“Zaha is a good man. He takes care of orphaned children. My children love him.”
The Captain looked away, unable, suddenly, to look Onion in the eye any longer. “Even good men do bad things, sometimes, my friend.”
“I don’t know what you know that I don’t, but... I hope you’re right...”

When Mille materialized on the front yard of Torte’s country manor, he was greeted by several of the man’s many adopted children.
“Mirufi-jiisan!” they cried, pulling on his arms and touching his cloak and armour, as curious children are wont to do.
He smiled and produced apples from thin air. The children shrieked with laughter and ran off, each clutching their apples.
“What are you doing here?”
He looked up, sighed, gathering his thoughts. “Zaha.”
“What are you doing here?” the other Knight repeated. Torte was standing on the steps of his home.
“You almost killed Onion today.”
“I did what needed to be done. You obviously weren’t getting anything done with your swords.”
He shook his head slowly. “It is not Big Momma’s way to use magic unless she must. We should kill quickly and efficiently. We are not torturers.” He sighed. “That Sorcerer today died in agony.”
“ ‘We are not torturers.’ Fine words from a man who killed his entire tribe when he was five.” Zaha sneered.
“I do not need to explain myself to you. But I will say that those men deserved death.”
“So did this man, today.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, Zaha. Just know that what you did today was a grievous mistake. The souls of the damned should not be touched for such purposes.”
Mille did not miss Torte’s last words before he teleported back to the Stellar Church. Torte’s voice was low and eerie, and left him feeling cold inside even after he was miles away. “The souls of the damned are mine.”

The sun had nearly sunk beneath the hills when he made it to a small stream on the grounds of the Stellar Church.
He dropped to his knees on the riverbank and set about cleaning his sword with fresh water and a cloth he produced from nowhere. When his weaponry was sufficiently clean, he removed his armour and set about removing the stains on the bright metal.
“Who are you?”
Mille did not turn around, continuing to wipe off the blood and grime. “You should be resting.”
“I don’t care. Who are you?”
“You know that.” He scrubbed at a rather thick layer of dried blood.
“I don’t mean my commander.”
“What do you mean, then, Onion?”
“You said to me, shortly after I joined your ranks, ‘A man during war and a man during peace are two completely different persons.’ Who is your man during peace, Mille?”
“You speak very eloquently, Onion. But I think you know my so-called ‘man during peace.’ You’ve met him.”
“You’re my friend, Mille, and I hope that I am yours... Granted, you may scare me at times, with your flirting, but I guess old habits die hard.”
Mille stopped mid-swipe. “What?” He resumed his cleaning, making slow, even strokes with a cloth over the metal.
“Zaha has told me some things your past -”
“Zaha knows nothing,” he cut in sharply. “Not about me.”
Onion was silent for a long moment, and Mille was fairly sure he’d shocked the other Knight. Then there were footsteps through the soft grass, and Onion dropped to a crouch beside him. “What is there to know, then? Will you tell me something of your life in times of peace?”
“In over six hundred years,” he said quietly, “I have never been at peace.” Then he told Onion.


“Momma, it is coming.”
“I know.” She looked sad, but resigned. “I, too, can sense it.”
“Is there nothing...” His heart was tearing at him, urging him to go and stop the fated atrocities before they could happen. He wanted to... “There must be something we can do.”
“No, Mille Feuille.” Part of him could not believe she was so resigned to this. Her own children hung in the balance, that much he knew... Even if she was willing to let her own daughters die, he was not. When the time came, he would have to do something to protect them. But he wanted to do more than that. He wanted to... “This must happen. It is our only choice now. Destiny requires it, no matter how painful it may be.”
“Is there nothing to be done, nothing at all?”
She sighed. “I know what is on your mind.” She lowered her voice, and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I give you permission to protect Chocolate and Tira, when the time comes.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. A small victory. “Thank you, Mother.”
He knew what he really wanted to do, though, something more than simply protecting Big Momma’s daughters...
He wanted to kill Zaha Torte.
“Nothing more, though,” Momma cautioned. “We must let this play out, I’m afraid.”
He looked up, watching her sorrowful features, feeling as though he were underwater.
Time was slowing down.



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