Disclaimer: Wee! I've been looking a long time for the first draft of this story! It's been a while since my last Tales of Destiny fic, huh? I lost the only copy of this fanfic some time ago, but recently found it . . . so here I am. ^_^ Tales of Destiny and its characters and world belong to Namco. This means, of course, I'm not getting money out of this. I don't care; I love Leon too much to not write about him. *grins*

This story is based on the alternate ending of ToD (Yes, there is one; I didn't believe it myself until I saw it, though. . .) where Stahn, Rutee, and Mary defeat (read: kill) Leon in Harmentz. Readers should be warned that this story reveals many spoilers from the game and should be avoided if you don't want to spoil the game. And here is your first spoiler: In my story, Hugo Gilchrist isn't being controlled by Kronos/Berselius. Kronos doesn't exist in this story; Berselius is Berselius.
Started: July 12, 2000
     With draft: July 12 (13), 2000
     Off-draft: August 22, 2000
Finished: September 20, 2000
     With draft: August 14, 2000
     Off-draft: September 20, 2000

He crumbled to the ground and fell to his side, drained completely of energy. Stifling of a moan, Leon Magnus released his hold on his Swordian and shut his eyes in agony. When was the last time he had felt such pain and humiliation. . .? Nothing came to him, and he lay there, unable to move because of the ache running through his body.

"Ha!" It was that Lens hunter, Rutee Katrea, coming over to gloat over the young swordsman. Dressed in dark leather and brandishing the Water Swordian Atwight, Rutee had gained a notorious reputation throughout the country of Seinegald. "You're just all talk and no action!"

For all of his pain, Leon was able to open one violet eye. He didn't speak, however; his pride had been beaten down too much. He watched, through a glaze of pain, as his soldiers ran away in terror, leaving him to the three criminals' devices. Cowards. . . All of them. . .

"Ru-- Rutee. . .!!" the blonde young man in the trio gasped, stepping forward. Out of the three, he looked the most innocent. "What are you going to do?"

Rutee glanced at the long-haired teenager, then declared, "I'm gonna make sure this brat can't go whining back to Darilsheid and the king. He'll be an example to anyone that gets in our way."

"N-- no!" Stahn Aileron sputtered. His blue eyes were wide with shock. "Mary, stop her!"

Mary frowned and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Stahn, but I'm going with Rutee with this. We don't get any respect." She was easily the oldest of the three, her face sharp and weathered with experience. Gleaming sanguine eyes appeared under bangs of red, taking in all aspects of the scene around them.

Death. . . No. No, I won't give up that easily! Shutting his eyes, Leon succeeded in curling his fingers weakly around Chaltier's hilt. None of the three Lens hunters noticed his movement, for a voice cut through their minds. Everyone's minds except for Mary's.

Rutee, stop!

The eighteen-year old glared at her Swordian, aiming her violet gaze at Atwight's Core Crystal. "Stop what, Atwight?" she demanded. "He's in my way; he attacked us first!"

But Rutee, what you are doing is murder outside of battle! I've never taught you to do this.

"You know, Atwight, you're starting to annoy me. . ." Rutee gave her weapon a dark look, Stahn watching worriedly and Mary frowning quizzically.

Rutee. . .

Taking the distraction as an advantage, Leon painfully jerked himself to his elbows, Chaltier shining in his hand as a spell flared up. "Stone Blast!" Rocks rained from the sky and pounded on the three, allowing Leon to get up and scramble away as fast as he could. His muscles screamed in agonizing protest, but he continued to run.

Mary let out a curse, raising her arm to protect her face as she unsheathed her sword. "I can't believe he's still able to run!" she gasped. "He's gonna get away!"

"Oh no, he isn't!"

Rutee was off in a dead sprint, gaining on the black-haired boy as he raced up towards the higher side of town. As he turned up the path, Rutee snatched his cape, pulling at him with all her might. Leon gagged under the sudden pressure, grabbing his throat as air burst from his lungs. Tears biting the edges of his eyes, the young swordsman released the clasps on the garment, still leaning forward. He was propelled forward and to the side, falling right into the deep pool on the side of the path, leaving a gaping Rutee Katrea holding his cloak as he disappeared under the water.

He did not resurface.

He sat, huddling and shivering, on the moving cart, bloodshot eyes glazed with fatigue. He didn't mind the way the wagon bounced when it met bumps on the road, cargo rattling in their crates all around him. He would only react to the gritty sound of the crates sliding against each other, reminding him bitterly that they could topple onto him. The wagon's cargo seemed to mock the passenger with each grating noise.

His hands shuddered as they wrapped the drab coat-garment around his thin body, hiding the blade sheathed at his side. His thoughts were a blur as he sat, blankly staring at the crates placed in front of him as his brain tried to sort through his muddled memory. His very demeanor was feverish, as if he had been deprived of everything that kept him alive for so long, then was abruptly given back his life force.

When the wagon stopped, he didn't take notice; his mind was elsewhere. It wasn't until the driver's voice cut through the air that he looked up. "Hey, kid!" His voice was gruff and harsh. "This's your stop! Darilsheid, right?"

"Yes . . . that's right," the boy murmured softly, a wracking cough causing his small frame to shake. He stood slowly and steadied himself against the side of the wagon, head lowered as he made his way to the exit. He tripped and had to grab the side of the wagon for support again.

The driver watched the boy, frowning in something close to concern. "You okay, kid? You look worse than before. . ."

No, I'm not all right. . . I've lost every shred of my dignity. . . ". . . I'm fine, thanks." He slipped off the wagon and began hobbling towards the city entrance, coughing all the while. The wagon driver stared after him for a moment, then sent his horses into a slow trot away.

Why did you lie, young master? He would have helped you. . .

The boy wheezed and covered his mouth to cough, then rasped, "I . . . don't need this . . . right now, Chal. . ." He removed his hand from his mouth, groaning softly at the sight of blood on his hand. Atamoni, I'm bleeding internally. . .

Where are we going?

"Home."

Chaltier quieted at that, allowing his master to move on without the Swordian's voice echoing in his head. His limbs ached terribly as he moved through the streets, avoiding the eyes of the people that looked at him. He must have looked like hell.

"Mama, lookit that hobo over there!"

"Hush, Trevor! It's not nice to point."

All right . . . he did look like hell.

His sanctuary appeared on the horizon, glimmering in the early evening's sunset. He stumbled through the streets and tore through the front gate, limping over the walkway before approaching the front door. He pushed at the door, wincing at the pain that went through his shoulder at the action. For his efforts, the door flew open. He shuddered again and stepped into the mansion, his fatigue finally getting the best of him. He fell forward, his body hitting the tiled floor with a barely audible thud. He had passed out before feeling the ground underneath him, eyes fluttering shut and face wracked by weakness.

A maid walked out into the hallway at the sound of door opening, her mouth dropping at the sight of the sprawled form on the ground. She rushed to the prone body, dropping her broom and propping the unconscious boy's head in her lap.

"Someone get Marian!" she screamed, her voice resounding through the house. "It's the young master . . . and he's hurt!!"

She sighed and twisted the washcloth tightly, water straining into a bowl on the table. Marian Bowalyn lowered the wet cloth onto the boy's forehead, pushing back the black locks that rebelliously fell forward carefully. The boy shuddered under the thick blankets, fever wracking his lithe form. The caretaker slowly stood and walked out of the room, almost walking straight into the white-haired Rembrandt. The older man frowned sadly at her, looking past to the still form in the room.

". . . How is he, Marian?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"Not very good, I'm afraid," Marian said, obviously tired. The woman had stayed up a good while, staying with her young charge most of the night. "He's running a high fever and coughing blood. . . I'm afraid for him, Rembrandt. I'm very afraid for him."

"Don't worry, Marian. Leon is very tough; he won't die on us."

". . . His name is Emilio, not Leon." Marian looked at her friend with pleading blue eyes. "Rembrandt, you know that. I don't want poor Emilio to have an identity crisis."

Rembrandt sighed and took the woman's hand both of his. "I apologize. I always forget that there aren't any foreign ears present."

". . . Chaltier has filled me in on what has happened." The two turned to see Hugo Gilchrist climbing the stairs, Emilio's Swordian clutched in his left hand. "Apparently, the Lens hunters that he went after had two Swordians with them."

Rembrandt frowned deeply. "I thought they were all lost. . .?"

Hugo shook his head, his shoulder-length black-gray hair gently moving side to side. "No. They had found one of them and was shipping it over on the Draconis, but it went down and the Swordian was lost."

Marian's eyebrows knitted together. "They are extremely powerful, aren't they? What will happen with those weapons in those-- those rogues' possession?"

"I will bring that to the attention of the king," Hugo stated. The two servants nodded, happy with their master's words. "He will know what to do." He was silent for a moment, glancing into his son's room. ". . . How is Emilio?"

"He's coughing up blood," Marian reported sadly. "Those Lens hunters really did a number on him."

The President of Oberon Corp. sighed heavily. "The king believes he's dead," he remarked quietly. "In all reality, Leon Magnus died two days ago in battle against a Lens hunter gang in Harmentz."

Rembrandt and Marian shot a questioning glance at each other, then stared at the head of the household. "What are you saying, Master Hugo?" Marian queried.

"We must wash away all evidence of Leon."

A shared gasp rang from the two servants. "Y-- you don't mean to kill the boy!?" Rembrandt managed after a few false starts.

"No, no . . . of course not. I think it's time for Sir Magnus to permanently disappear."

Their eyes widened in sudden realization. "You mean. . ."

Hugo's violet eyes shimmered as he nodded. "It's time that Emilio Gilchrist was reborn."

Another day passed before the traces of blood in Emilio's throat stopped; Melange Gels and Oberol EX drinks had been forced upon Emilio in his troubled sleep to heal his internal injuries. Two more days passed before he finally woke up.

Marian, of course, was right by his side when his burnished, purple eyes opened. "How do you feel?" she murmured quietly, brushing back the boy's hair in a maternal gesture. She managed a tired smile for him as he lay there.

"I . . . feel. . ." The boy groaned and shut his eyes wearily.

The woman -- caretaker to the Oberon heir and head maid of the house -- laughed softly. "Don't worry, Emilio. You've been asleep for a very long time."

". . . How . . . long?" His voice relatively dry.

"Three days."

He took a deep breath and sighed, clutching his already-white knuckles weakly as he continued to inquiry. "The . . . hunters . . . where. . .?"

"They got away." Marian squeezed Emilio's hand gently. "Don't strain yourself, Emilio. Rest. You need to rest."

Emilio looked at her sorrowfully and slowly complied, his eyes closing to the world around him. Rembrandt slowly into the room from where he had stood at the door, hands clasped behind his back. "The boy woke up?"

Marian didn't look up from the sixteen-year old she sat next to. "I let him go back to sleep; he shouldn't overwork himself."

"There is much work to be done. The master wants to speak to him when he is better."

". . . . . . Of course."

The son of Hugo Gilchrist was bedridden for another two days, making it a full week since the death of Sir Leon Magnus in Harmentz. No one outside of the Gilchrist Mansion knew that the "dead" swordsman now sat in the parlor of his home, garbed in navy blue garments as he spoke to his much-esteemed father. His time in sickness hadn't been kind to the boy; he was much paler than before, having lost a lot of strength -- and weight -- over the week.

"Everyone believes you to be dead," Hugo remarked, taking a sip of his morning coffee.

Emilio nodding broodingly and sipped his tea. "It's understandable; no one's seen me for over a week." He let out a sigh. "What am I going to do? My reputation's in shambles, I'm in more pain than I've ever been in my entire life. . ."

"Leon Magnus is dead, Emilio. Let it go."

Almost immediately, the boy's eyes snapped up. Despite his physical pain, he was still the same determined, emotional firecracker from before. "I've spent almost my whole life making that persona!" he hissed, bright eyes narrowed and lips tightened into a frown. "I am more Leon Magnus than I ever was Emilio Gilchrist!"

"Emilio, don't say that." Hugo looked at his son sternly. "You are my son, be it as Leon or Emilio. But Leon is dead, and we are all afraid you will suffer an identity crisis."

The teenager could only glare. "I'm not so mentally unstable that I would lose my mind over something like that. I enjoy my sanity."

"I am glad to hear that, son. Now . . . will you stop with façade? It's time for you to take up some responsibility."

A hand ran through a shock of black hair. ". . . Fine." It was said begrudgingly. "I guess it's time for me to stop fooling myself." Violet eyes focused on violet eyes. "I'll become Emilio Gilchrist again."

Selene Keatty, one of the many maids in the Gilchrist Mansion, smiled as she passed Emilio while serving dinner. Tucking a lock of blond hair behind her ear, she said, "I like your new haircut, young master."

Emilio frowned and ran a hand through his hair, which had been cut by Rembrandt earlier in the day. He fingered the line of bangs that flopped over his forehead, remembering what he had screamed upon seeing the condition of his hair. While he had never been considered vain, he held a bit of pride in his unique shock-hairstyle. As a result, he had turned on the old caretaker of the mansion, violet eyes flared with alarm.

"Don't you DARE cut anymore!!"

With that in mind, the boy muttered crossly, "I hate it."

Selene laughed lightly and patted the young man's shoulder before starting toward the kitchen. As she left, Marian entered and hugged Emilio from behind, smiling warmly as she took her seat next to him. Hugo sat at the head of the table, Emilio to his right and Rembrandt to his left. This was the normal setup at the dining table when the two masters were home; there were times when the master was acting as a foreign ambassador for the king or when the young master had missions and army exercises to carry out. Such times allowed all the maids to eat together at the main table -- such occasions were rare, though.

"Well, we must speak about the Lens gang tonight," Hugo announced as dinner was served. "It has been barely two weeks and they have already caused great horrors in Seinegald."

Emilio's brow shot up. "Really? Are you sure these are the same people that killed Magnus off?"

Hugo ignored the sarcasm in his son's voice, instead raising a hand to count off fingers. "Mary Argent, Stahn Aileron, and Rutee Katrea. . . Yes, they are the same," affirmed the man. "They have taken Harmentz under siege."

"Impossible!" Rembrandt's eyes widened in shock.

". . . The power of two Swordians," Emilio murmured, almost in explanation. He frowned and lowered his eyes to sip his tea.

"What about the Seven Generals?" queried Marian, setting down her fork and knife for a moment. "Hasn't the king done anything?"

"As a matter of fact, he has." A grim frown creased the man's face. "Two of the Seven Generals have been killed trying to assault the town. Apparently the Swordians have gained in power more than I had believed."

"What can the king do. . .?" Rembrandt asked.

Hugo sighed. "As far I can see . . . nothing."

"I have heard of your son in the past, Hugo, but I had never seen him before. Is this him?" King Seinegald looked at the boy before him. He was young and extremely pale, the black suit and red shirt making him look even paler. Along with those features, he was also quite frail in appearance; he looked like the type of person people would worry about breaking in strong wind.

Emilio Gilchrist remained quiet, blue eyes downcast. Hugo smiled assuringly and said, "He is a bit shy, Emilio is, Your Majesty. But I can assure you, sire, that he is more than prepared to become my Vice President. Isn't that right, son?"

The dark-haired boy looked up at the acknowledgment, smiling faintly. "Yes, Father."

"So, the young man speaks," chuckled the king. "Young man, where have you been hiding yourself?"

"I have been studying business in Neuestadt, Milord," Emilio replied quietly, his voice liable to be lost in any amount of noise above silence. ". . . With Ms. Ilene Rembrandt."

"Ah, you have been overseas. . . How unfortunate." King Seinegald allowed a small frown. "I have recently lost a prodigal young soldier to a Lens hunter gang. Perhaps you have heard of him. . . Leon Magnus?"

Emilio shook his head. "Unfortunately, I do not know him, sire. But I am sure he was a good man."

The king nodded slowly, a thoughtful, yet sad, half-smile stretching across his face. "He will be missed, that boy. So energetic, so determined. . . He was a good boy -- a great soldier."

It took all of Emilio's strength to not say anything to King Seinegald that would give himself away. Instead, he asked through gritted teeth, "What do you plan to do about his . . . murder?"

Immediately, the king's face hardened. "I had ordered a manhunt of the three, but they have already taken the town of Harmentz. I am sure you have heard of that already. Two of my generals have already been killed by the hooligans. I'm sending for my best tacticians to tackle this problem."

Emilio nodded stiffly. "I hope you succeed, sire," he commented, trying to sound sincere.

"We must take leave now, Your Majesty," Hugo started, stepping in front of his son. "Emilio and I have much to discuss."

With a wave of dismissal and an exchange of farewells, the two Gilchrists left the audience chamber.

He glared straight ahead as he stalked next to his father, running a hand through his shortened hair. "I am never doing that again."

"Emilio, don't say that," Hugo muttered, taking a glance around to see if anyone was looking at them. Fortunately, no one was.

Violet eyes, hidden behind lenses of blue, burned into the older man. "I will not act like that again," he stated. "Do you know how frustrating it is to hear my name . . . alias . . . said to me as if I'm not there!? I don't want to be spoken of in the past tense!!"

Hugo pushed back tendrils of graying black hair, sighing quite audibly. "Emilio, stop it. Leon, to everyone, is dead. You can't stop people from thinking otherwise. No one will believe that Leon Magnus is still alive."

Grumbling angrily, Emilio turned sharply at a corner and stormed off towards home. Letting out yet another exasperated sigh, Hugo hurried after his son.

How are you feeling, Leon? I haven't spoken to you for quite some time now. . .

He paced in his room, frowning the whole time. "Haven't you heard, Chal?" he queried, holding the Swordian as he paced. "I'm Emilio Gilchrist now. Leon Magnus is dead."

I had heard of it from Berselius, but there's no reason to be bitter, young master.

"No reason?!" seethed the boy, glaring ahead at his bare walls. "They expect me to act!"

Why would you be acting, young master? You truly are Emilio Gilchrist. It is your birth name.

"But Emilio's not my personality!" snapped back Emilio, giving up on his endless pacing and sitting down heavily on his bed. "Leon was my personality. I know nothing about Emilio."

You will confuse yourself at this rate, young master. . . Tell me, do you even remember why you made the persona 'Leon Magnus?'

". . . Because I didn't want to be called a spoiled rich kid." Emilio set Chaltier down at his side and held his head in his hands. "I wanted to join the army and I didn't want people thinking I was just Hugo Gilchrist's son."

That's right. But look what happened to 'Leon.' Carrying out orders, he was killed in battle.

"No!" His emotions flared up again at the statement. "He survived, Chaltier! You were there! I thought at least you would understand!" He beat his pillow mercilessly, releasing his anger on the inanimate object. "I want to be Leon Magnus. I want to carry you into battle, Chal, and lead armies to victory. I want to be the youngest master swordsman in Seinegald." He threw the pillow to the ground, feathers spouting into the air at his action. "I don't want yes-men surrounding me, I don't want to handle a company, I don't want to sit around and sign papers. . . I don't want to be Emilio Gilchrist. Not now."

Young master, please. . .

"No one understands what it's like." Emilio grabbed his other pillow and buried his face in it. "I had a great life ahead of me as Leon. . . All I see is despair as Emilio."

"What's wrong with you tonight, Emilio?" Marian looked at the boy in concern, seeing him pick at his food. "You haven't eaten anything yet. . ."

It used to be so exciting, leading a double life. . . Emilio's eyes were aimed down, keeping the others at the dinner table from seeing the wistful look on his face. I loved hushing the maids when they would almost slip up in front of guests. . . It was also fun to hear what people thought of 'Leon.'

"Emilio? Are you all right?"

He looked up, eyes clouded over strangely. ". . . I'm fine." . . . No, I'm not.

Marian gave him a dubious gaze. "I don't think so. Are you feeling well?"

"Please . . . I'm fine, Marian." Emilio frowned and returned his eyes to his food, refusing to look at his caretaker. His ears, however, were tuning into the conversation between Rembrandt and his father.

". . . Ah, so the king plans to attack again tomorrow evening. . .?"

"I've advised him against it, but he's very set on it. He's only going to get more people killed."

"What other choice is there, Master Hugo? Surely you don't believe in allowing the Lens hunters get what they've demanded for. . ."

". . . If they want all the gold in the royal vault, they should have it. I'm not heartless, Rembrandt." Hugo sighed and cut into his steak half-heartedly. "They plan to withdraw troops tonight and replace them by tomorrow morning. I can't help but pity those soldiers."

The conversation ended there, the two men returning to eating. Emilio ate as well, silent as he subconsciously lifted his spoon and put its contents in his mouth before returning it downward for more.

An idea was forming in his head.

Young master, I'm not quite sure I understand what you're trying to do. Why are you getting dressed like that? You should be going to bed.

Isn't it obvious, Chaltier? He plans to leave.

W-- what!? Th-- that is absurd. . .!

Emilio buttoned his blue shirt, glancing at the two others in the room as he fastened his belt around his waist. "Berselius is right, Chal. We're leaving. All of us."

Y-- young master. . .!

It was inevitable; I saw this coming from the very beginning. You are planning to stop the Lens hunters, aren't you?

The boy smiled thinly, looking at the Holy Swordian as he nodded. Berselius was always on top of things; there was no doubt in Emilio's mind that the Swordian had been a grand leader in his past life. "You catch on quick. . . This may be my last time to have an adventure of some sort."

A chuckle emanated Berselius' direction. Somehow I doubt that, Emilio. You'll find more ways, I'm sure.

The sixteen-year old grinned mischievously, looking more like a child than he usually allowed himself to. "Enough with the 'Emilio' stuff for the time being. For now, my name is Leon Magnus."

. . . . Back from the dead. . . .

Smirking, he sheathed Chaltier at his waist and slung Berselius over his back. Then, fastening his pink cloak over his shoulders, the youngest master swordsman in all of Seinegald left the room and Hugo Gilchrist's mansion.

Leon Magnus was back.

Running a hand through his annoying black bangs, Leon dismounted his tired steed and approached the town silently. Despite the many lights of fires behind him, Leon had discovered the army's camp had been sparsely populated; no doubt the troops had already moved out for Darilsheid. The town of Harmentz was very quiet; most, if not all, of the occupants of the town were probably cowering in their houses in fear of their lives.

It's so silent. . . Leon, what are you going to do?

Leon eyed the houses, arcing his head up to Walt's house looming in the distance. It was the only house with any significant amount of light coming from it. ". . . We'll go for a direct approach," he replied quietly, moving steadily toward the large house. He turned along the dirt path, stopping to gaze darkly at the still lake to his right. Unconsciously, he allowed his hands to curl into fists.

Young master. . .

". . . 'Just thinking, Chal," he murmured, snapping his violet eyes back to the path. He walked slowly, glancing down at his blue boots every once and awhile to make sure he wouldn't step on anything that would attract any attention to him. At the top of the hill, Leon crouched and watched the house in silence.

Cowards. . . All of them. . .

"I'm gonna make sure this brat can't go whining back to Darilsheid and the king. He'll be an example to anyone that gets in our way."

Death. . . No. No, I won't give up that easily!

"I can't believe he's still able to run! He's gonna get away!"

Leon, are you hesitating?

". . . Why would I do something like that, Berselius?" scoffed Leon, hearing the Swordian beyond the flashbacks. He stood up, pulling free the Holy Swordian and approaching the front door. Making short work of the lock on the door, Leon stepped into the house.

The hinges of the door, thankfully, had been well-oiled; his stealth wasn't given away by squeaking. Loud voices could be heard echoing from upstairs, which sent Leon in a tense positioning. Adjusting his grip on Berselius, he hurried down the right hall and up the stairs, checking his surroundings carefully as he crept around.

"So we're gonna head for Janos next?"

"If those idiots back in Darilsheid try anything funny, yeah. But, seeing as we've already killed their precious 'master swordsman' and two of the Seven Generals, I doubt it."

That has to be Rutee. . . No one else could be so overconfident. . .

He charged into the room, taking in the positioning of the furniture to see what he could use to his advantage. His sudden appearance startled the three already in the room, the sound of blades leaving their sheathes as weapons were drawn.

"Who the hell are--" Rutee Katrea stopped, violet eyes widening as she properly scrutinized the boy before her. His black hair was significantly shorter and his skin was as pale as death, but there was no mistaking who the boy actually was. ". . . It's you!!"

Leon couldn't help but laugh at Rutee's aghast expression, burning it into his memory to enjoy later on. He brought Berselius up, raising the longsword into a position learned in martial arts; he crouched low, Swordian parallel with the ground as he held it with both hands. "Nice to see you too," he hissed, eyes narrowing considerably.

He's using a different stance from before. . . "I had a feeling you wouldn't die so easily, kid. . ." Mary Argent stepped forward as Rutee readied for battle. Stahn Aileron lingered for a moment longer in hesitation, then half-heartedly raised Dymlos.

Damn, they're going to triple team me again. . .

Do not be afraid to use my power, Leon!

"What the--?!" Rutee jerked back in shock, having heard Berselius' voice clearly. Stahn reacted in much the same way. "A Swordian!?!"

I don't believe it. . . Can it be . . . Berselius?

I recognize that voice. . . It's Dymlos!

Chaltier!

Mary blinked in confusion as she watched the three around her stagger back in shock, as if they had been bombarded by many questions at once. "What's going on here?!"

Dymlos and Atwight . . . why are you helping them? They are trying to take over the country!

We . . . really don't have much of a choice.

Berselius' surprise was almost tangible. Lens hunters, you shall rue the day you enslaved those Swordians!

As if on cue, Leon raised his blade, the Core Crystal shining brilliantly as a spell was activated. "Holy Lance!" Greenish-white spears appeared virtually nowhere, slashing through Rutee violently. Screeching, the girl backed off to heal herself.

"You'll regret that, Magnus!" Mary charged Leon before he could cast another spell, driving him backwards and into the adjoining room. Leon deflected the moves with the best of his ability, cursing as Mary managed to get past his defenses and give him a thin cut down his left forearm. Wincing and dropping his left arm from where it had gripped Berselius, Leon fended off more of Mary's ferocious blows. He fell into a defensive stance as Mary backed off. "Majin Ken Kai!"

Leon cursed as the Power Missile sped across the floor, shielding himself from most of the damage. Wasting no time, the black-haired swordsman raised the Swordian longsword up high, screaming out. "Indignation!!" The powerful Holy Wrath spell rocked the room, centering on Mary and sending spiraling holy energy her way. She shrieked in pain, the magic flinging across the room and into a table, which cracked in two upon impact.

Twitching from the pain streaking up his arm, Leon dropped Berselius and brandished Chaltier, adjusting to the lighter weight and twirling it expertly. Stahn shook nervously, lips quivering as he stood between Leon and Rutee. He fingered Dymlos carefully, eyes never leaving the younger boy before him.

Stahn, you don't have to follow Rutee. . . If you don't want to do this, just surrender.

Stahn trembled, his mind racing with thoughts of the past. He had a family to go home to; he had a hometown that was waiting for him. Tears silently creeping up, the blonde fell to his knees and allowed his grip on Dymlos to fail, dropping the Swordian to the floor.

Leave him be, Leon. He doesn't want to fight.

Leon looked down at the crying blonde, a bit of pity for the older teenager reaching the edges of his mind. In the moment that the black-haired boy delved into his sympathy for Stahn, Rutee arose from behind the kneeling form of Stahn, Atwight drawn menacingly.

"Traitor!" she hissed bitterly, stabbing forward with her Swordian venomously.

Oh, Atamoni . . . NO!

Stahn!!!

Before Leon's eyes, Stahn stiffened and screamed, the very tip of Atwight appearing through the skin on his left side. Rutee yanked her blade out, watching the boy slump and fall to the ground, holding his lethal wound weakly as blood dyed his white clothes red. Magnus was immediately on her, Chaltier becoming a storm-maker as he slashed wildly at the Lens hunter.

"You monster! . . . . No, you're lower than the monsters you kill for Lenses!! Kuu Shuu Ken!" he roared, pulling off a Flying Dragon attack and forcing Rutee into the far wall. He slashed violently, knocking Atwight out of the girl's hand and to the floor. "Surrender or I'll pass judgment on you where you stand, bitch!"

"Never, brat!" spat back the violet-eyed girl, looking up stubbornly at her young assailant. "You can't touch me; your precious king would have your hide!"

Leon's own violet eyes glimmered darkly, finding twisted humor in Rutee's words. "King Seinegald doesn't hold me," he murmured, frowning. ". . . I'll never forgive you, Rutee Katrea. You've put this entire country through hell, you've killed your own comrade. . . But most of all, I can't forgive you for killing Leon Magnus." When confusion appeared on Rutee's face, he sneered. "I am Emilio Gilchrist, now and forever. But I am also Leon Magnus, who you killed in everyone's mind but my own. . . May Atamoni deal with you in the way that only she can. . ." Chaltier shone brilliantly as he summoned up the most powerful spell he could possibly muster.

"Demon's Lance!"

Rutee shrieked as the world went dark around her, the red eyes of a demon catching her attention and holding it as a long, glowing spear appeared in its hand. It threw the lance down, wrenching a scream from Rutee as it stabbed through her chest and out her back. Her eyes quickly lost their shock and agony, glazing over as she fell, dead.

I almost pity her, young master. . .

Squaring his jaw, Leon whispered, "Me too."

Boy, get back over here! Stahn's still alive!

Leon tensed, bending down and picking up Atwight before hurrying back to where Stahn had fallen. ". . . The Water Swordian," he remarked, holding the bloody sword over the blonde. "First Aid!" Green sparks showered over Stahn, the wound gradually closing shut.

Leon, people are coming!

Damn. . . The young swordsman jerked up his gaze, seeing the rising sun beyond the windows and hearing the shouts of soldiers charging up the hill. He dashed across the room, grabbing Berselius and sheathing him before taking Dymlos and his scabbard from the unconscious form of Stahn Aileron. Leon slung the Fire Swordian across his back as well, the two Swordians forming an X on his back. Snatching Atwight's scabbard, Leon headed for the window, quickly opening it and looking at the sloped roofing below. Double damn. . .

It was then that loud footsteps could be heard, at least a dozen soldiers piling into the room at once. Leon cursed under his breath, looking back at them as they took in the scene around them. The commander, dressed in different colors than the others, was gasping for air. "Wh-- what happened here!? They-- the Lens hunters are. . .!!"

"Sir Leon!??!"

"Sir Leon! Leon Magnus!!"

Leon again cursed, realizing that soldiers from his former squadron had caught sight of him at the windowsill. Shaking his head, he jumped to the sloping roof, balancing out as he skidded down it and to the ground below. He heard shouts of surprise as he took to the shadows, pressing himself to one side of the house as soldiers pressed against the windows in an attempt to catch sight of him. Their loud remarks drifted down to his ears.

". . . W-- was that really him??"

"N-- no! Sir Leon died almost three weeks ago!"

"A ghost, then!?"

". . . A g-- g-- ghost?"

". . . . Great Atamoni! Sir Leon came back to seek revenge on his killers!"

Young master, we must leave before we are spotted. . .

Nodding, the boy turned to leave. But, as he walked off into the woods behind Walt's mansion, he couldn't help but hear one soldier's shout out to Leon Magnus' "ghost". . .

"Thank you, Sir Leon!! We'll never forget you!"

Stahn Aileron clutched the crutch under his left shoulder, hobbling up the path toward a large group that had gathered in front of the village gates. Lilith Aileron ran forward to greet him, tears pricking her eyes as she embraced the brother that had finally returned to her. Grandfather Thomas came up as well, holding his two grandchildren close as they all cried.

The blonde swordsman released his family from the hug, turning to see a quartet walking up to Lienea's gates. Two soldiers flanked the famous duo that approached, one male and the other female. The female with into her thirties, dark-haired and friendly-looking. The male was a great deal younger, dark blue eyes glinting behind a fringe of low-hanging bangs. He was wrapped in a black suit, the collar of a red shirt appearing just below his neck.

Grandfather Thomas averted his attention from his grandson to the two, bowing slightly in formality as he recognized the two's auras as that of high-class. "Thank you very much for bringing Stahn home," he began, looking between the two in an attempt to figure out who was in charge.

The male of the duo, a boy stray a few years of being a man, smiled thinly. "He was as much a victim of Rutee Katrea's plans as those that were killed in the fighting. He didn't belong in jail."

"What about the other one? There were three of them. . ."

"Mary Argent is behind bars," replied the woman. "She will remain there until we receive information as to why Rutee did what she did. King Seinegald has yet to announce what will be done with her after that."

Thomas Aileron nodded, offering his hand to the boy. The teenager frowned slightly and shook his hand, returning his hand behind his back after they had finished. ". . . Lilith, help your brother back to the house. He'll be needing rest."

Stahn shook his head, waving off his little sister as he limped forward. "Sir Emilio . . . I'd like to talk to you. Privately."

Emilio Gilchrist arched a brow, earning a concerned glance from Marian. He silently motioned for her to leave, watching the crowd disperse and his three companions leave for the Draconis. Frowning and digging his hands into his pockets, he queried, ". . . What is it?"

A weak smile stretched over Stahn's face as he managed a chuckle. "I know who you really are," he murmured, rolling one shoulder absently. "You're really Leon Magnus, aren't you? This whole 'Emilio Gilchrist' thing is just a disguise, isn't it?"

The boy smiled softly, raising his left hand to flick back his bangs before lowering it to his coat. Instead of stuffing his hand back into his pocket, he used it to pull away his coat. Behind the protective blackness of his jacket, Emilio had strapped a familiar blade to his left side. . . The Earth Swordian, Chaltier. "Does this answer your question?" He answered Stahn's question with another question, chuckling quietly as he let his jacket fall back into place. "I'll be seeing you around, Stahn Aileron."

Stahn smiled broadly, waving with his good hand as the younger teenager turned around and began to walk away. The sun was setting and sending sunlight straight into the blonde's eyes. Beyond the light, however, he could almost imagine a pink cape twisting in the wind, marking the presence of a living spirit that paid no heed to anyone. Not even Death itself.

I've finally made peace with myself. I've reached the understanding I've been searching for.

Emilio Gilchrist, Leon Magnus. . . They both are my names.

Leon is my past, Emilio is my present. . . My future is still shrouded in mystery.

But my past is part of my present, and both will be part of my future.

I am still the youngest master swordsman in all of Seinegald and a bearer of a Swordian. I am still the stubborn and charismatic boy that would die for what I believe in. I dress differently and am a little wiser -- that's all. Nothing else has changed in me.

That is the truth. That is the most truth I can give this tale. . .

This tale of destiny . . . is my own.