Time was slowing down.
Torte had finally, as Mille had known he would, broken away from the Stellar Church. Big Momma, deeply hurt despite the fact that she had known it was coming, renounced him.
Mille had known it was coming, but he hadn’t known how brutal Torte’s device would be. The truth was more gruesome than anything he could have ever imagined.
All but two of Torte’s children were dead, murdered in the cold blood in the bright light of early morning by their adoptive father. Torte himself was gone, untraceable, vanished into thin air.
The three remaining Haz Knights had arrived to search for survivors, and take care of the dead. Damage control had never been Mille Feuille’s favorite part of the job, by any means, but this was the most sickening carnage he had ever seen. Two hundred-some children, all slaughtered, lying in their own blood, which was becoming tacky on the wood floors of the manor. Even stoic Shifon had stepped out onto the yard to retch and gag for a few minutes.
It had been a little before noon when they arrived, and by sunset they were just beginning to make headway. Onion was completely shell-shocked. He had been the only one of them who hadn’t seen it coming. He wasn’t taking it well, either.
Mille and Shifon were about to send him home for the night and continue the work themselves when they heard a noise. The three of them had made their way to the hall closet, where the whimpering noise was coming from. The inside of the closet was perfectly empty, but there was still that pitiful crying sound.
“A ghost...?” Onion murmured, holding a bloody fist to his heart.
Acting purely on impulse, Mille had strode into the closet and conjured the glove of his armour. Then he had slammed his fist into the wood, and pulled away the back wall of the closet. Huddled against each other were two tiny girls. Mille heard both Onion and Shifon gasp, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Tira and Chocolate. He’d been murmuring prayers to them all the previous night, informing them while they slept that they were in danger. They’d woke, it seemed, while the slaughtering was still beginning, and hidden themselves in this secret space behind the closet.
He gathered the two sobbing girls in his arms and walked out of the closet, through the house, and out to the grounds. Shifon and Onion both followed him. When they were both there, Mille sat down on the ground, pulling the girls into his arms. They clung to him, sweaty and smeared with second-hand blood though he was, crying into his chest. He smoothed their hair away from their damp faces, and whispered soothing words to them, rubbing their backs. He was aware that he had tears in his eyes, and he was aware that his two fellow Knights were staring at him in surprise.
It was nearly dark when the two terrified children finally fell asleep against him, clutching at his shirt, their tiny heads resting on his shoulders. It was only then that he looked up at his two comrades, fixing his gaze, after a moment, on Onion.
“Take them home,” he said quietly.
“You want me to...?” Onion looked, if it were possible, even more shocked than he had looked previously.
There was no humour in his smile, only a deep sort of grief. “They’ll need a new family, someone to love them.”
“I...” Onion took a deep breath. “I understand.”
Mille rose, and gently handed the slumbering children over to Onion. Shifon looked to Onion, and Onion nodded shortly. Then Shifon teleported Onion and the children back to Onion’s home in Hordic, the Sorcerer Hunter’s city.
Mille and Shifon stood for a while on the yard, watching the last shards of sunlight slip away beneath the sunset.
“They were her daughters, weren’t they?”
After a time, Mille sighed and nodded. “Yes, they were.”
“And she let you direct them to safety.”
“Yes, she did.”
It was Shifon’s turn to sigh, and nod his head thoughtfully, slowly. “Then perhaps our Great Mother is not lost to all emotion after all.”
Mille watched the shadows lengthen. “Perhaps not.”
“There is something about them,” Shifon mused.
“Yes.”
“What do you think it is?”
Mille looked away from the grounds of Torte’s manor, and fixed his eyes right on Shifon’s. “The Shichuuten.”
The stoic Knight let out a sigh. “Of course. I see it now. The Shichuuten.”

He entered and knelt. “Mother, I know it is too soon, but I have the need to go away for a day or two.”
She sighed, obviously still uneasy after their final confrontation with Torte on the day he slaughtered his children. “I give you my leave, Mille Feuille.”
He ducked his head. “Thank you.”
He rose and left.

The song of the bones was there once again, dancing through his ears, drawing him back into days long-past. He resisted their pull and simply sat on the boulder, staring at the tree and the rattling skeletons, the bright light of sunset warm on the side of his face.
Mille wondered why he had bothered to return at all. Perhaps he simply needed a quiet place to think. But, no, even if he had just needed to get away, there were more peaceful places than this. Even now, in the last light of day, he could feel the ghosts roiling like thunderclouds through the air. He shuddered. He knew he was going to stay the night.
He would stay because he was not taking a vacation, not really. There was someone he had to meet here, outside this mountain cave. He knew this much, but he did not know who he was going to find. He’d dreamed of returning to this place on this day, a prophetic dream, and he’d felt he had no choice.
He waited, in the dark, sending out pulses of warm, invisible energy in order to fend off the ghosts. He had no intention of following Zaha into insanity.
Then everything went utterly cold, breaking down the pulses of energy he’d been sending out, and Mille shuddered not only at the cold, but at the feeling of having some of his magic destroyed.
“You came.”
“Of course.” Mille looked up. The figure was not facing him, but the tree on which the bones of his mother were strung.
“She was very beautiful.” The man had platinum-blonde hair that hung down past his waist. “You look very much like her. The hair, the skin... You turned out well.”
He voice was mild when he finally spoke again. “Thank you, Father.”
The man turned around, and his black eyes glinted, reflecting a light that was nowhere to be seen in the darkness. “The eyes, though... They are mine.”
Mille nodded. “Once, yes, but not anymore.”
“Yes... Promise me you won’t make the mistake of letting your rage touch you so deeply.”
“Of course.” After a time, he ventured, “You knew everything that would happen. You knew from the moment you arrived here.” He motioned with his hand to the rocky plateau.
“Before then, even.” His father nodded. “I know. That was why I left when she died. Because I was supposed to.”
Mille sighed the sigh of a world-weary man. “Do we have no free will in this world?”
“Some.” The black-eyed man said, shrugging one shoulder. “We choose which path our future will take. There are many intervals along the way where our fate splits. We may decide which predetermined path we shall take.”
Mille gave the man a sad half-smile. “So it is up to us to choose the right way.”
His father nodded. “Yes. Always.” His face then stretched into an expression that completely matched his son’s, and extended his hand. “You have places to be, I believe.”
Mille nodded, and accepted his father’s hand.
In the blink of an eye, he had shifted, and found himself standing just inside the doors of a tavern in Bibou City. No one noticed that he had materialized out of nowhere, because there was a fight starting across the room. An angry drunk man was starting a fight with another man who looked like he could easily have been a sumo wrestler, and was equally inebriated. Threatening words were being exchanged. The thin drunkard was about to get pounded into the floor.
He knew, all of a sudden, why he was there.
Taking his life in his hands, Mille darted forward towards the building fray. He threw his arms around the thin mans shoulders and kissed him soundly.
“Darling, oh, I’m so sorry!” he cried, feathering dramatic kisses all over the man’s brow. thanking all the gods he knew that the man was too startled to protest. “Oh, thank goodness I’ve found you! What sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into, love? Promise me we’ll never fight again!” He kissed the man again on the mouth, and then joined their hands in a deceivingly affectionate-looking way. In truth, he has probably squeezing all the blood out of the drunkard’s hand to keep him from saying anything else stupid.
He turned to the huge, rather shocked man. He threw a seductive glance at the sumo wrestler and bowed, before resting his free hand on the man’s chest. “Please forgive him, kind sir. We get into little lovers’ quarrels, you see, and he leaves in a fit.” He faked a schoolgirl blush. “Sometimes his judgment isn’t always the best when he goes out, and he’s gotten into fights like this before. I’m very sorry. He really is a good man, anything he said was just in anger. Please forgive him?”
“Of... Of course, miss.”
Mille smiled sweetly and bowed his head. “Thank you.” He kissed the thin man again, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “Come on, Darling, let’s go home.”
The man let himself be dragged away, out of the saloon and onto the street. Once they had gotten a sufficient distance from the tavern, Mille stopped, and the man yanked his hand out of Mille’s punishing grasp.
“What in hell was that?!” he exclaimed, motioning wildly in the direction of the bar.
“I just saved your life.”
“By pretending to be my lover!”
Milled smiled sweetly and winked. “If you’re interested, I’m always ready for a good roll in the hay.”
The man’s eye widened. “I don’t even know you!”
The Knight rolled his eyes and pouted, sighing. “What has this world come to if a boy can’t even get a good lay?”
“BOY?!?”
Mille winked again. “You got that right, honey. One hell of a man.”
“What are you, a prostitute?!”
This man certainly was excitable. He sighed. “No. I am the Captain of the Haz Knights.”
“You - What!” The drunk man did a double-take and blinked in surprise.
“Do you use magic, Cinnamon Koocha?” Mille asked mildly.
“Of course not!” he said indignantly, his hands turning to fists.
Mille watched the other man’s expression carefully. “But you did when you were a child.”
Cinnamon was further shocked, but his hands loosened from their fists. “I - Well, yes.”
Mille nodded. “Would you come with me? I think I have someone I’d like you to meet.” Cinnamon was hesitant. Perhaps he wasn’t as drunk as he seemed. Or maybe the shock had woken him up enough to be nervous. “Don’t worry, I won’t flirt with you anymore. I only do that sort of thing when I’m not on the job.”
“Uh...” Cinnamon sighed. “Okay.”
“Great!” Mille extended his hand. Reluctantly, Cinnamon accepted it, an they found themselves in the Stellar Church. The man let out a low, impressed whistle.
“Mille Feuille.” Mille looked up. Big Momma was standing there, smiling at him. “I see you’ve brought a guest along.”
He dropped to his knee. “Yes. This is Cinnamon Koocha. I believe he may be our newest Haz Knight.”
And, so it was, after much explaining, and several months of training, that Cinnamon Koocha underwent the Mage Trials and replaced the missing Haz Knight.


“Dammit, no!”
He took a deep breath. “Onion, I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this... But it is Big Momma’s wish.”
“Then ignore it! For once in your damn, gods-forsaken life, ignore what she tells you do do!”
Mille half-scowled at the former Haz Knight. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“You spineless bastard! Their mother is dead. You want to wipe away their only memories of her, their memories of their childhood!”
“Only selected memories, Onion. The ones having to do with Zaha.”
“They deserve to remember!”
Mille fixed a stern look on his friend. “Why? So that they can have nightmares about it for the rest of their lives? It must be done, Onion.”
“But they deserve to know, gods damn it!” Onion looked like he was about ready to pick Mille up and throw him, along with the other two Knights, out of the house - for all the good it would do.
“Daddy, why is Mirufi-jiisan here?”
Onion turned around, to see what Mille had already seen: his children, standing in the hallway, staring at them. Onion sounded slightly horrified. “I told you to go to your rooms! Go back there right now.”
Mille set his jaw. “Shifon, Karuua, take the children.”
Onion stepped in front of the doorway. “You’re not taking them.”
“They will be back, and unhurt when you awake, my friend.”
“You’re no friend of mine, you bastard!” Onion spat. Mille stepped forward, somber, unaffected by Onion’s anger.
“I’m sorry, Onion.” Then he reached out his hand and touched Onion between the eyes. The large man’s eyes slid shut and he fell into Mille’s arms. The Haz Captain lifted the widower in his arms easily, and turned towards the bedroom. He looked over his shoulder, his face a study in controlled sorrow. “Take the children to the Church. I will take care of the Mocha child.”
He watched for a moment as Shifon and Karuua, Onion’s replacement, gathered the frightened children into their arms and prepared to teleport. Then he turned away again and took Onion to the bedroom. He laid out the slumbering warrior with a heavy heart, and covered him with a blanket before teleporting away himself.



It was strange: As time slowed down, things seemed to be happening more and more rapidly. For nearly five hundred years straight, there was a relative, tenuous peace over the land of Spooner. People had left the tumult of the Sorcerers’ rise to power behind them, happy, after a long war, to have any sort of stable government. Even oppression was almost better than year after year of war.
And then, as the end neared, everything fell into place in a matter of a few years. The Shichuuten had begun to appear... Zaha Torte renounced the peaceful ways of the Stellar Church and went off in search of Hokkaishin... Mille finally met his father... Onion had resigned at Apricot’s death... Now, it seemed, the final piece was falling into place. The young avatars of the Shichuuten were taking up the mantle of Sorcerer Hunters.
Things were falling into place. Things were falling into place. No matter how often he said it to himself, it didn’t seem to be any more true. He was too old to believe that peace would be achieved when Big Momma’s Sorcerer Hunters defeated Zaha Torte. The Sorcerers would still exist, would still be ruling. There would always, perhaps, be evil Sorcerers.
Maybe things would change. He could see the end in the future, and he could also see the world beginning again. He could see the Great Mother’s eyes closing in death, and he could sense the pain he would feel when she passed. But he could also see her eyes opening again, to view the world as a new cycle began. Time would speed back up again, and things would continue.
Things would continue. That, he told himself, was all he had to worry about. And he certainly had time to consider that.
As he watched the fated events pass, he was struck with only one thought that stayed with him through the changes. Despite everything, despite the pain, the death, the fear, despite the lost love, the tears, the children grown old... Despite everything, there was an eerie beauty to it all.
High above the forest, he watched the newly formed team of Sorcerer Hunters pass along a muddy trail. He nodded to himself, accepting, in some way, all that was in the past, all that was, and all that was waiting to be brought to completion. He smiled as a single word that described his world perfectly came to mind. Seien.