PRELIMINARIES: None of this belongs to me. Final Fantasy VI, and all worlds, characters, etc. associated with it are the property of Square. Square is not affiliated in any way, shape, or form with the creation of this story (a fact for which, I suspect, they would be profoundly grateful). I have made liberal usage of their characters and settings in this story; this was done without their knowledge or permission, and is technically an infringement of Square's copyright. As this story is, at the most pragmatic level, free promotion of the Final Fantasy franchise, it is hoped that they will regard this story (if at all) with a benign ignorance.

If you paid a wooden nickel for this story, not only have you been drastically overcharged, but whoever charged you has done so illegally, and I disavow any association with said individual(s).

Don't copy this story onto your archive. In the first place, if you want to it probably means that you were high on something when you read it; in the second place, it's an "in-progress" work; in the third place, I want to keep a very tight leash on its distribution. E-mail me if you simply must have this story, but do not anticipate my response and post it before I get back to you.

All feedback is welcome, up to an including line-by-line critiques (provided they fit in my mailbox).

Once again, I must thank Shack and Kami, my beta-readers, both for their invaluable assistance with this story and for putting up with me. I couldn't do it without you guys.

Now, sit back and either enjoy the ride, or (more likely) enjoy thinking of what you'll do to me at the end of it...

The Author

What do you see?

I see a...a knife.

Do you know it?

I--yes, I know it. It's...

It's the Striker....?!

What is it?

Footsteps. I hear...footsteps....

Baram...?

Who--NO!

"ULENA!"

With a loud cry I bolted up out of yet another nightmare and into my own personal hell--a kaleidoscope of light, color, and agony; ever changing, ever the same.

Sometimes, the pain would focus on my stomach, a steady throbbing culminating in the return of my old nemesis the chocobo. At others, it would be my limbs or back that would suffer the aftermath of my sudden situps.

This time, it was my head. My teeth shivered and vibrated so badly that I feared they would fall out, while my poor parched throat made breathing a conscious chore. My temples bore the brunt of the assault, though: a sharp, piercing sensation that was only exacerbated by the light shooting through the window, setting off small chains of explosions behind my eyeballs. It was--wait. LIGHT?!

My head shot up of its own accord, exposing my unprotected eyes more fully to the white gold rays streaming into the room. I quickly threw my arms up over my face--so quickly, that the momentum carried me backwards, cracking my head against the wall. Yet, even as I rubbed my skull, a chuckle made its slow, tortured way to my lips.

SUNLIGHT!

The doctor had done it! I rolled over the side of the bed--momentarily forgetting I was still tangled in the sheets--clambered free, and scrambled across the room, throwing myself headlong at the open window with such force that I almost fell through.

Ever since that first night, I had wanted to see the wakened side of this jewel called Albrook. After so long, it seemed impossible for that long-awaited first glimpse to live up to my expectations.

It came close. As I squinted and shielded my eyes from the full brunt of the morning light, my vision sought the horizon and beheld the sapphire airscape, vibrant and cloudless, stretching into the distance. The burning orb sitting prominent in its midst cast down a brilliant array of pearls upon the emerald sea, rippling and dancing among the numerous boats plying their trade.

I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the lightly salted caress of the morning breeze, before the tolling of a bell drew my attention to the docks. One of the boats was just casting off, and I could hear the sailors singing a shanty as they worked.

That sailor. My mood darkened as I recalled last night. By the time I left the petrified innkeeper and followed Terra upstairs, she had already shut herself up in her room. She refused to answer my knocks, and I finally retired after telling her door that we would be discussing this on the morrow.

Concern for my state of mind was all well and good, but if there were others like that man...

A timid knock interrupted my pessimistic reverie. I ambled over to the door, pausing to throw on my robe, and opened it a crack. A young maid stood before me, looking very much like she did not want to be there.

"Y--rrk!"

The maid jumped back at my strangled outburst. It was supposed to be Yes?, but I hadn't realized just how bad a state my throat was in. After a few seconds, she stepped forward again, peering at me cautiously. "M-master Shadow?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Master Paparo asked me to see if you were awake." I cocked my head to one side, and she flushed a deep red. "I--I mean, if there was anything you wanted! For breakfast?"

"Oh." I sucked in a painful breath and thought. It figured that the innkeeper would want to keep me away from the other guests. "Just some fruit juice." What he really wanted was to keep Shadow away...for whatever reason.

A relieved look washed over the maid's face. "Thank you, thank you," she chirped, then bounced in a small curtsy before she realized how this must have looked to me. "I mean--that is--"

I waved her off, my mind elsewhere. I needed some answers, and the sooner the better. "Could you let Terra know I'm up?"

The maid hesitated. "Terra, sir?" I glared at her, and she let out a startled squeak. "I'm sorry, sir, please don't kill me, I thought you knew, I thought she'd told you, she said she'd taken care of things and I thought--"

I grabbed her by the shoulders, and her babble cut off as if it had never existed. She flinched, and as I looked at her terrified visage her words finally registered. Please don't kill me?!

I forced my mind back to the matter at hand. "What is it?" I kept my voice at a low hiss to spare my throat. "Where's Terra?"

The maid swallowed, her frightened eyes never leaving mine. "She left, M-master Shadow. I don't know where."

When I emerged from the baths and returned to my room, I found that the maid had left my juice on the corner table. She had also left a pouch and a letter addressed to me, both compliments of Terra.

The pouch contained a fair quantity of gold, though not so much as to be noticeably heavy, and the Striker, nestled snugly in a reinforced leather sheath which I strapped around my waist. Terra's letter, in addition to warning me not to look for her, suggested that I visit an apothecary on the outskirts of Albrook to see about some medicine. With little else to do, I decided to take her advice.

Thus it was that I found myself standing in front of a door bearing the ever-so-reassuring title of "World's End," with my hand resting on the knob--just as it had been for the past five minutes. I could not say why, but something about this ramshackle mound of brick set my nerves on end.

Still, I couldn't stand here all day. I took a deep breath, then pulled open the door and stepped inside.

The door slammed shut behind me, cutting off the light from outside. I breathed in sharply, then broke off in a violent fit of coughing as my lungs sampled the smoky interior and found it not to their liking. I hunched over, hands on my knees, and let the fit run its course before I looked up to take in the shop's interior.

I had to stifle another gasp. The only light inside World's End came from a pair of braziers in the far corners of the room. They cast a thin layer of smoke over the entire shop, while their dim glow illuminated a multifaceted rainbow of bottles, vials, and other vessels that stretched clear across the three far walls. They shimmered and glowed through the balsam-scented veil, and for a long moment I simply stared, almost forgetting to breathe.

"Can I help you?"

The voice came out of nowhere, and I let out a strangled shriek as I spun around. Then, I saw its source. "Gah!"

The shopkeeper of World's End was recognizably human...barely. His skin was nearly as pale as Setzer's, with a limp black mat of hair and bags under his sunken eyes that nearly reached his chin. He was a hunchback, and kept his hands clasped before him, rubbing his palms in a manner that did not set me at all at ease, given the almost lecherous sparkle in his eyes.

As I gaped, he cocked his head to one side. "I said, 'Can I help you?'" The ghoulish voice fit his body perfectly.

I shook myself out of my daze. "Uh..." I winced at my throat's reaction, and dropped my voice to a whisper. "I'm looking for some medicine, I was told you might have it."

"Of course." He smiled, and had my head not been swimming from the incense, I would have turned tail and run. "What are you looking for--elixir? Incense? Herbs?"

I blinked. "Pardon?"

He sighed loudly, and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "What ails you, friend?" Judging from his tone, I wasn't the first to fail to understand the question.

"Oh." I choked down a brief surge of irritation. "Headache and sore throat."

"Hm..." The shopkeeper rubbed his chin, then clapped. "I have a tonic in back that should help. Please, wait here." He turned away, then glanced over his shoulder. "How many doses?"

"Ah...five, I think."

"Five tonics...250 gold pieces, then. Very good, sir. Please wait here." He ambled to the far end of the room, stepped behind a table, and sank into the floor.

...sank into the floor? I blinked. I couldn't have seen that right....I walked over to the table. There, almost indistinguishable in the half light, I found a staircase cut into the ground. I could still hear the shopkeeper's footsteps receding as he descended.

I shrugged and turned away. As I did, a vial on the shelves to my right caught my eye. There was nothing special about it--just a plain blue vessel in a sea of greens, reds, and purples--but something about it captured my attention. It seemed almost...familiar.

I reached over, grasped the vial between thumb and forefinger, and held it up to the sparse light. The solution inside shifted as I tilted it; it was almost clear, with only the slightest hint of a mist within.

Why was this so familiar? Was it some kind of medicine? I carefully removed the stopper, and lifted the vial to my nose.

"NO!"

I blinked. "Eh?" Only a second before, I was sniffing at the vial; now, it lay shattered at my feet, while the shopkeeper stood before me with an almost terrified expression. "What--ack!"

The shopkeeper drove a fist into my gut. As I doubled over, he forced my head back and jammed another vial into my mouth, pouring a truly vile concoction down my throat. He ignored my coughs and protests as a good portion of...whatever it was went down my windpipe instead. "Drink it! Drink, damn you!"

After what seemed like an eternity, I managed to choke down enough of the liquid to satisfy him, and he shoved me roughly to the floor. "You idiot!" As I sat up, rubbing my back, he towered over me with a glare that almost made him look like my doctor. "What did you think you were doing, playing with my poisons?"

I looked up sharply. "P--poison?!"

"Yes! Poison!" A hunchback, I was discovering, could be very intimidating when looking down on you. "What did you think they were--fertilizer?!"

"What in the world do you carry poison for?!"

"Rats, mice, you know." Still scowling, he stepped back and allowed me to regain my feet. I adjusted the Striker on my waist, and his eyes lit up, the frown melting away. "I do weapons treatments, too--can't be too careful, with all the monsters running around outside."

"Thanks, but it's already been treated. I--"

"All the better, then! There's only one knife I know that doesn't need to be re-treated from time to time, and I doubt you have it. Let me take a look, and I'll tell you what it's got. How about it?"

I looked down at my knife. Locke had seemed awfully nervous about it. What was so special about this weapon, anyway? "Well, all right." We walked over to the table, and I reached across my body and tried to draw the Striker. It only got partway out before it caught in its sheath, and I looked at it in puzzlement.

"Problem?"

I ignored his amused expression. "No, no problem." What good was a weapon that you couldn't draw? After two more attempts with my right hand, I gave up and tried to use my left. It felt awkward (and probably looked even worse) but I finally managed to draw the Striker and place it on the wooden surface. "What can you tell me about this?"

I glanced up, only to see him staring at me with wide, horrified eyes. "That's...that's the...where did you get that?"

I blinked, taken aback by the intensity of his response. "...I found it."

"You 'found' the Striker." He snorted. "Friend, I hope you picked that knife off of Shadow's cold dead body. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes if he's still alive!"

"Let me worry about that." I did my best to sound confident. I don't think I did very well. "What can you tell me about it?"

"You knew this was the Striker, didn't you?" I nodded. "Well, then you probably know most of it already. Great balance, damn near indestructible, and it's treated with one of the deadliest poisons I've ever seen."

"What poison?"

"Couldn't say for sure--this is that one knife I was talking about before. Black lotus, probably. Likely some greenwort and mandrake dust, as well. I can tell you that once that stuff gets into your bloodstream, you're dead. Paralysis sets in almost instantly, and it hits the heart and lungs within half a minute. I should know--I saw Shadow use it once." He shuddered. "That was one time too many, if you ask me."

I risked my life to get this thing? A chill ran down my spine. "Why do you say that?"

"Because it was Shadow, that's why." He shook his head. "Anyway, I have your tonics here. That will be five hundred gold pieces."

"Five hundred?! But before, you said two hundred fifty!"

He gave me a withering look. "That includes the poison you wasted, the antidote I had to waste on you, and my appraisal of that...thing."

I smiled weakly. "I see." I counted out the money, and turned to go.

"A free word of advice," the shopkeeper called out as I reached the door. "Get rid of that knife as soon as you can. It's not good for anything other than killing, and it's almost as much a status symbol as a weapon--everyone will want to take out the man that killed Shadow."

I stopped and turned back to him. "And if Shadow is still alive?"

The shopkeeper smiled at me. It was not a nice smile. "In that case, friend, I hope there's enough of you left to bury."

I frowned as I stood in the shade outside World's End, draining the first of the tonics. Piecing together my past had been, thus far, much like working a jigsaw puzzle with only the corners. The shopkeeper had just provided me with a sizable piece, and I didn't like the picture that was beginning to form.

First the sailor, then the innkeeper, now this. Even Terra had hinted that there were skeletons in my closet. I rested my left hand on the Striker in its sheath. Who was Shadow, anyway?

I specialized in the Striker, obviously. But what kind of a fighting style was that? A knife was a close-quarters weapon--useless from afar, unless I threw it; and if I missed, where would that leave me?

Did I simply rely on my speed to get close? That would explain some of my scars, surely, but not all of them. And given how much trouble I'd had drawing the Striker--

I blinked. It should have been easier. So why...?

I looked down at my weapon again. And when the answer finally hit me, I struck my forehead in turn.

The sheath was backwards. I'd buckled it on the wrong side!

I glanced around, then hastily took off my belt and rebuckled it the right way. The Striker now rested just behind my right hip, within easy reach of my strong hand. I gripped the hilt, and frowned again. Now, I could draw easily--but the point would face down, not upwards. That suggested a quick slash, drawing and striking all in one motion--perfect for a weapon as lethal as the Striker.

It still didn't answer the question of what I did about enemies from a distance, though. Somehow, I doubted someone like Kefka, whatever he was like, would let me get close.

A flash of light down by the seafront caught my attention. It came, I realized a moment later, from the top of one building on the shoreline--from...a giant pair of crossed swords?

I glanced down at the Striker again.

Perhaps I should look for a knife after all.

A great burst of light assaulted me as I opened the door to Leo's Sabers, Etc. With the sun behind me, I was unprepared for the white, blinding flash that enveloped me as I stepped inside. I stopped and blinked rapidly in a vain attempt to acclimate myself to my surroundings. Soft, soothing music was carried from the far end of the store by a light, cooling breeze.

"Welcome..."

The spots finally began to clear from my eyes, and I took in the interior. Leo's Sabers, Etc. was lit by a series of lamps set along the four walls of the store. Opposite each lamp was a large shield--brass and iron, alternately--polished to a high shine. It was this barrage of reflected light that had left me insensate.

"...sucker?"

At one end of the shop stood a long counter. Behind it, a young woman leaned forward, watching me intently.

My mind finally registered her words. "I beg your pardon?"

She smiled. "I said, 'Welcome to Leo's Sabers, Et cetera. Can I help you, sir?'"

I peered at her more closely. She had short hair, cut long on the bangs so as to frame her face almost like a helmet. This served to draw attention to her deep brown eyes, which blinked innocently even as I watched.

I sighed, and let the slight go. "I don't know. I'm looking for a knife...I think."

The woman's eyes lit up, and she glanced down to my waist. "A trade-in?"

I followed her gaze to the Striker. "No." Her face fell. "That is, this one is poison-treated--I need another knife, one that won't kill at first blood."

"You sure?" I nodded, and she sighed. "All right then. Let's see here...." She turned, and began rummaging around outside of my view.

I looked down at the counter. Though it was solid wood, the top had been hollowed out, and a number of weapons rested under the glass.

One of them was a knife that looked about the same size as the Striker. "What about that one?" I asked, pointing.

She stood back up, glanced down at the counter and shook her head. "You don't want that one. I've got a much better knife right here....Voila!"

...It was a knife, all right. I could just make that out--but this blade glowed in the lights of the shop even more than the shields that lined the walls. I gripped the hilt and hefted...only to have it drop back to the countertop under the unexpected weight. This thing was heavier than my hip pack!

"What is this?!"

She smirked triumphantly. "Pure gold blade. You can't go wrong with this beauty!" Her grin expanded into a smile, and suddenly the knife wasn't the most blinding thing in the shop.

I flinched back and squinted. "How much?"

"A bargain--seven thousand gold pieces."

Terra had only given me ten thousand. "You've got to be kidding me."

"No, really!" I moved to put the knife back on the counter, and she grabbed my wrist with an uncallused hand. "Go ahead, try it!"

"All right." I glared at her as I stepped away. "This had better be worth it."

"Oh, it is."

I hefted the knife and glanced down at the Striker, then shook my head. This blade was too heavy--there was no way I'd manage an upward slice.

So. Upright it was. I turned away from the smirking clerk, and felt my weight shift forward as I fell into a low crouch. My right arm was wrapped across my body, with the flat of the blade resting against my left biceps. It felt right, somehow.

I rolled back on my heels, then lunged forward, snapping the knife out and across at chest level--

"Ack!"

--and, I noted as I looked at the knife, very nearly snapping the blade in the process. It had been bent at a right angle by the force of my swing. I gripped the blade between my thumb and forefinger, and bent it back into position. It was as soft and pliable as tin.

"Pure gold." I looked up at the gaping clerk. "I don't suppose you have one with a paper blade, as well?"

She swallowed and shook her head.

"What else do you have?"

That shook her out of her daze. "What else--hey! Aren't you going to pay for that?!"

I positioned the blade at an angle over the glass counter and pressed. It folded like an accordion.

I looked from the knife to the woman.

"Right. Um..."

An unusual, star-shaped knife caught my attention as she removed the countertop. "What's that?"

She followed my gaze, and made a face. "That? Don't even waste your time. It's some kind of fancy steak knife, that's all!"

I picked up the knife, holding one sharp end between my thumb and first two fingers. No hilt. It seemed familiar, somehow...

"See? It's useless! You can't even hold it strongly enough to press without cutting yourself!" I glanced at the shield behind her. Wait a second... "It's a waste of--eep!" With one swift motion, I drew back and whipped the star forward. It buried itself in the center of the shield.

A throwing knife. Now it made sense. I used the Striker when I got in close range, and when I was far away, I used these...these...

"Shuriken."

The clerk's head whipped from the shield to my face, and her eyes narrowed. "How did you..." She clapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late.

Steak knives, huh? "You knew what these were." She nodded reluctantly. "How much?"

"...Thirty each."

"I'll take twent--" Her face lit up. "Ten."

She groaned, but made no other protest.

"Now..." I gestured to the Striker-like knife I'd seen before. "Show me."

She handed it to me without a word.

"Well? What can you tell me about this one?"

She refused to look me in the eye. "It's called the Blossom."

I waited a moment, but she said nothing more, so I turned my attention to the knife. It was lighter--not as light as the Striker, of course, but a good deal better than that golden monstrosity I'd tried earlier. I would be able to try a Striker-like slash with this one.

I reversed my grip on the Blossom, and brought it to rest behind my right hip, over the sheathed Striker. As I lowered in a crouch, my left foot extended out, and I nodded as I thought about it. The force needed to draw the knife from the sheath would already be turning me to the left, so if I pivoted in that direction, I could get greater momentum, and a stronger cut.

It would also turn me around, I realized, leaving my back exposed. So one strike only...but most of my scars were on the front of my body, not the back. How could I be an effective fighter when--

I slapped my thigh with my free hand as I realized. That would only be the case if I were standing still. Running past the enemy would leave only one side of my body exposed--the side where the Striker would cut--and my momentum as I went past would turn me around to face the enemy again--at his back, with my weapon already drawn and ready.

Fast and effective.

But did it only work on the one side of my body? That didn't seem right....

Only one way to find out. I shifted the Blossom from my right hand to my left, and reversed my stance. My knees dipped...and then I exploded upwards, the knife tracing a vicious uppercut as I completed my spin facing the clerk. The look on her face was priceless--a look of fear, of regret, of...

I shook myself. What was I thinking? I stepped back to the counter, and laid the Blossom down on top of it. Why would she have shown me that gold knife before this one? I had a hunch, but... "How much?"

Her head drooped. "3200."

Bingo. "I'll take it."

She sighed as she retrieved my shuriken and a sheath for the Blossom. "Three thousand, five hundred gold pieces. I don't suppose there's anything else?"

"No...well, maybe." It couldn't hurt, could it? I finished buckling the Blossom behind my left hip, and looked up. "I'm looking for a woman." The clerk scowled at me, and I held up my hands. "We got separated this morning. Green hair, green eyes, wears a sword--"

"Red dress with a split skirt?" The clerk glanced around nervously.

That sounded like one of Terra's outfits. "Probably...eh?"

She placed two manicured hands on my shoulders. "Five hundred gold pieces," she whispered.

"What?"

"Come on," she hissed. "Do you want to know about her or not?"

She glanced toward the back room again, and I finally understood. An under-the-table deal, eh? "All right."

She beamed. "Thank you, sir," she said in a much louder voice. "Come, I'll walk you to the door."

She took me by the elbow and led me to the exit. When I stepped outside, she remained in the doorway, and held out one hand expectantly. I sighed, and gave her the agreed-upon sum.

She pocketed the money and smirked. "Your friend paid us a visit recently--bought a nice diamond vest." She sighed. "I wish I'd gotten that commission." As I suspected. "She seemed pretty angry about something."

"Really?" That seemed familiar, somehow. But surely Terra couldn't still be that angry over last night. She'd left me the Striker, hadn't she? "When was this?"

The clerk smiled widely, even as she stepped back. "Yesterday."

The door slammed in my face.

The sun was hot.

The sun was simmering.

The sun had company.

That's not to suggest that I was considering going back to the weapons shop, or that I was imagining teaching that miserable con artist a lesson. No, I wasn't dreaming of using the Striker to knit her guts into a vest, or using the Blossom to give her a face like Setzer's, or--

Well. I might have been, had I not been concentrating every ounce of willpower I possessed on placing one foot in front of the other. Nothing else. Not the bells of returning ships, not the scent of roasted fish wafting through the air, not the...

My stomach rumbled, and I came to a stop.

Food. Yes, food was just the thing. Food would help me take my mind off of that conniving thief, and how I'd love to shove the Striker halfway up her--

I shook my head briefly, then pivoted on my heel and set off in the direction of the fish.

It wasn't fifty steps later that the fishmonger came into view...and into earshot. I was still too far away to make out the words, but the woman behind the gleaming white cart was waving her arms in the air and bellowing at the top of her lungs. If there was an argument here, the man in front of her had surrendered long ago; he was no longer making the slightest show of resistance, only flinching each time she raised her voice.

This did not satisfy her, though, and as I came closer, she exploded. "SO WHERE IN KEFKA'S TEN HELLS DO YOU GET OFF TELLING ME I CAN'T COOK?!"

The man whimpered.

"WELL?"

I reached the cart. "Um...excuse me..."

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" she roared, whipping around to face me.

"Eep!" I jumped back.

She blinked. "Oh, sorry. Excuse me a second." Her face hardened as she turned back to the other man... "GET OUT AND--hm?"

...where the other man had been, at any rate. He had taken advantage of my distraction; even as we watched, he ducked around a distant corner and disappeared from sight.

The fishmonger sighed in disgust, then turned back to me. "Anyway, what can I do for you?"

My stomach rumbled, and I felt my face heat. "Um--"

Her face lit up. "Oh, a customer! Here, I've got just the thing." Before I could say a word, she ducked behind the cart, and came out with a smoking...something on a stick. She shoved it into my hand, then looked at me expectantly.

"Um, thank you." I bit into the...whatever it was--and my eyes went wide.

"Eighty gold pieces, please."

MY MOUTH WAS ON FIRE!

"Um..."

The hot sun beating down on my head had nothing on the scalding thing burning away my tongue.

"Hello?"

Pain! PAIN! I staggered forward, grabbing the cart to stay upright.

"Money, please?"

In desperation, I turned away and spat the...spat it out, then fell to my hands and knees, gasping for breath.

"Hey! Are you deaf?"

I looked up at her and glared. "What the hell was that?!"

She gave me a look that clearly questioned my intelligence, if not my sanity. "A fish. Now, about my money..."

"Fish?" That was fish? "Are you sure you didn't give me some charcoal on a stick, by mistake?"

Everything went quiet. A passing cloud covered the sun, and in the dimmer light, the fishmonger's eyes had narrowed. "And just what," she said in a calm voice, "is that supposed to mean?"

Uh-oh.

"Are you suggesting I can't cook?"

Oh shit. "I'm--"

"You stand there, eating my fish, without even paying for it, and you have the--the gall to say I CAN'T COOK?!"

I never asked for this, did I? With an effort, I kept my already-frayed temper in check. "In my opinion--"

"OPINION?!" Poor word choice, on my part. "You can have an opinion AFTER you pay me, AND NOT A SECOND SOONER!"

"Hey!" I snapped. I had had enough. "I never said I wanted--"

"WHO CARES WHAT YOU WANT?! GIVE ME MY MONEY! NOW!"

I felt the Striker's reassuring grip against my palm. She's leading with her right shoulder. If I can land a cut there...

The fishmonger towered over me. "YOU HAVE UNTIL THE COUNT OF...of..."

Wait a minute. The Striker?

I blinked, and the red haze drained away. I found myself pivoted to the side, ready to lash out with my right hand.

With the Striker.

Slowly, deliberately, I released my grip on the knife, and brought my hand up to my face. I just--I nearly--

I looked up, into the frightened eyes of the fishmonger.

She knew it too.

I turned, and fled.

In retrospect, running might not have been the brightest thing I could have done. I needed to get away, true, but this was the first day back on my feet. I wasn't in the greatest of shapes to begin with, World's End tonics notwithstanding. (It also may have prompted the cries of "THIEF!" coming from the fishmonger's direction, but that was only a secondary concern.)

I can't take much more of this.

My lungs were on fire, and my side ached. Finally, I had no choice but to stagger to a halt, leaning heavily against a nearby building and doing my level best not to sink to my knees.

I wasn't sure I would be able to rise again, if I did.

"Are you all right?"

I whipped around with a startled cry. Unfortunately, my feet got tangled up in each other, and I collapsed in an inglorious heap. I looked up to see a young woman looking down on me with concern in her eyes. She reached down to me. "Are you okay?"

"Leave me alone!" I slapped away her hand.

"Ah!" She jerked back, and her eyes widened momentarily. "I'm...I'm sorry, I just..."

Guilt washed over me. What had she been doing, but trying to help? "No, I'm sorry." I clambered to my feet, rubbing my sore backside. "I'm not feeling..." As if that's an excuse. "I'm not myself."

"I see." She looked at me for a moment, then nodded. "You should sit down for a minute. Here, come inside."

I noticed the apron she wore. Was she working? "I don't want to bother you...."

"Nonsense!" She took my wrist in an insistent grip. "Come, come."

The interior of the building was dark, but not as dark as World's End; there were a couple of dim lamps, and a few rays of sunlight snuck through the shaded windows. My eyes quickly grew accustomed to the lighting, and I began to make out a number of dresses, shirts, pants, and vests hanging from the walls. "A tailor's?"

She turned to me, blinking in surprise. "You mean you don't remember?"

"What do you mean?"

"Those clothes." She gestured towards me. "I made them."

"Oh."

She cocked her head. "You really don't recognize this place?"

"No, I wasn't the one who bought these."

"Are you sure?" She pushed me gently into a chair in the corner. "Those fit you very well, and they haven't been altered."

I smiled. "The person that bought them was one hell of a guesser."

"Guesser...oh! Miss Branford! So you're the one she was shopping for!"

"Branford?" Was she confusing Terra with someone else? "Green hair?"

"And eyes." She looked at me in surprise. "You didn't know her last name?"

"No." Terra Branford, eh? She hadn't mentioned that. But then, Terra hadn't mentioned my last name, either. Was that because she didn't know?

Shadow....Who names their son "Shadow?"

I shook my head. "Actually, I'm looking for her. Have you seen her?"

She smiled. "As a matter of fact, I have. She stopped in early this morning to order a dress."

I blinked. "A dress?"

She gestured to the far wall. A brilliant sky-blue dress caught my eye. "She asked us to split the skirt on that one. It should be ready next week."

"I see." Little chance she'd come back today, then. "Did she say where she was going after that?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"It's all right." I stood and stretched my arms. "Thank you for your time. I really appreciate it."

"Not at all." She smiled. "Come back whenever you like. Any friend of Terra Branford is a friend of mine."

Friend. It seemed like a long time since I'd heard that word. "Thank you. I..." I trailed off as the hangings by the door caught my eye. "Are those masks?"

The seamstress blinked. "Yes, they are. Are you interested in one?"

Hmm. Locke said I wore a mask.... "Maybe. Can I try one on?"

"I don't see why not." She glided across the floor to the rack, and returned with a leather strip. "Here."

Even as I pulled the eye-mask across my face, I knew this wasn't it. "This doesn't feel right." If they couldn't recognize me without my mask... "Do you have anything that covers the entire face?"

"Let me see." She closed her eyes for a minute, and tapped her lower lip. "I think I have a couple. Do you want one that you strap on, or a hood?"

Which would be more likely to hide my identity? "Let's try the hood."

"All right." She took the eye-mask from me, and a moment later replaced it with a dark shroud. "Here you are. The eyes are--"

"I see them." To my surprise, I did. This hood had a firm frame, plated in brass (or was that gold?) around the crown of the head. The eye holes weren't actually holes--instead, a thin blue mesh veil was actually stitched into the mask.

I held the hood out before me a moment. I took a breath, then plunged headfirst into the blackness.

I opened my eyes, and couldn't help but let out a startled gasp. This thin film stretched before my eyes did almost nothing to hinder my vision--indeed, it would effectively conceal where I was looking without blurring what I was looking at. It felt...it felt right.

"Oh, my!" I glanced at the seamstress, remembering at the last second to turn my head so she would know. "It fits you very well! Here, let me take you to a mirror."

I let myself be dragged across the shop. Finally, I'm getting somewhere! I wondered whether Terra would have let me try on the mask, had she been with me--then, we were in front of the mirror, and the visage staring back at me drove the breath from my lungs.

The veil did not hide my eyes as I had thought. It highlighted them. If anything, they were even more sinister than I'd judged them the first time I looked in a mirror. No, not more sinister--more suitable. This was the face of Shadow, I realized with a start; these veiled eyes the only feature visible as he lashed out with the Striker--the last thing one would see, if he struck true...if I struck true.

For the first time, I began to understand just why my name could hold such sway.

I took a deep breath...

-flicker-

"The Reaper is always a step behind me."

-flicker-

...and gagged, as a sickly sweet fragrance that hadn't been there a second before filled my nostrils. What...

"Sir?"

I know this smell. It's...

Blood! Suddenly, I could not get the mask off of me quickly enough. It smells like blood! I clawed at the edges, nearly tearing the fabric in my haste. Get it away from me!

"Sir! Are you all right?"

As I felt the cooler air hit my eyelids, I drew in a deep breath, then exhaled with a relieved sigh. The scent was gone. "I...I'm fine. Just give me a minute." What was that?

The seamstress looked at me worriedly. "All right." She touched my wrist. "Do you want me to put the mask back?"

I glanced down at the fabric in my hands, and barely kept a wince off my face. "No....No, I'll take it." Whatever it was, it was a clue to my past--and I was in sore need of those, however unsavory. "How much?"

"Fifteen hundred."

I numbly handed over the money, then turned to the door.

The seamstress was there before me. She opened the door, letting in a flood of crimson light, then turned toward me, a silhouette in the setting sun. "Thank you very much for your patronage. I hope you feel better soon."

"Yeah. Me too."

"Give my best regards to Miss Branford when you see her, Mr...." She paused. "Oh, my! I just realized--Miss Branford never gave me your name."

Hi, my name is Shadow. Yes, that Shadow. Want to be friends? I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. "No. She didn't."

Without another word, I squeezed past her and stumbled towards the blood-red horizon.

The inn was a welcome sight for my exhausted eyes. It had only been a few hours since I left it, but it felt like much longer. My feet were sore, my side ached, and I wanted nothing more than to drop into bed and not move for the next week.

Spotting Terra's distinctive hair through a ground floor window was just an added bonus. I redoubled my strides. Nothing was going to keep me from getting some answers now.

A man fell face-first to the ground in front of me. "Ooh...help..."

Well, almost nothing.

I knelt down and rolled him onto his back. "Hey! Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I think so." He spat out a mouthful of gravel. "Just give me a sec..." He clutched his chest as his body spasmed with a painful cough.

That decided me. I grabbed his wrist and hauled him over my shoulder, much as Terra had done for me a couple of weeks earlier. "Here, let me get you inside."

"Inside?" He looked up, then began to struggle as I stepped toward the inn. "No! Not there! Not that inn! The innkeeper--" Whatever the innkeeper was (and I'd certainly have believed just about anything about him) was lost in a coughing fit, but his struggles were wearing on my already drained endurance. His body began to slip, and he grabbed my wrist tightly.

"All right, then. Let's at least get you to some shade, okay?" I took his silence for affirmation, and struggled into the alley next to the inn.

I set him against the wall, and he slid down in a boneless heap. He retained his vise-like grip of my wrist, however, and held on even more tightly when I tried to pry his fingers loose. "Hey." I bent down. He seemed to be breathing easier. "Are you feeleing better? I--" His eyes flashed open. He grabbed my chin in his free hand and spun around, slamming me face-first into the wall. "Yaagh!"

"Much better, thank you."

I struggled to my feet, but before I could speak, he was there, and I felt a searing pain in my left side. I tried to scream, but he covered my mouth with one hand. He stabbed me!

"Nothing personal, you understand," the man continued as he twisted the knife, driving it deeper into my torso. "I don't usually take sick men, but thirty thousand gold pieces is thirty thousand gold pieces." I pressed weakly against the wall, and he chuckled. "You like it? My own special paralysis agent. Another thirty seconds and you won't be able to move at all." He paused. "Not that anyone will be looking for that when your throat's been cut and your money's gone. Now, then..." He gripped the knife in my side, and braced to pull it out.

Twenty seconds... A light flashed on in my mind, and once again my instincts took over. I thrust my left elbow down over his, locking his arm, then pivoted on my left foot, slamming him back against the wall--and driving my right elbow into his solar plexus. He gasped for breath, and his knife fell to the ground as I staggered free.

Ten seconds! Now's your chance!

In one smooth motion, I spun back the way I'd come, knife flying out of its sheath and slicing across his belly. It was only as I came back around to face him again that I realized--I'd attacked with my right hand.

The Striker.

We stood there motionless for a few seconds. My attacker slid down the wall, truly limp this time, eyes widened in disbelief. His skin had begun to take on an unhealthy blue tint. "How..."

A few seconds later, I fell to my knees. I felt an incredible weight in my wrists and head; it was all I could do to stay upright. The Striker slid from my nerveless fingers and struck the ground with a clatter.

"No! That knife!" My attacker stared at me in horror, and I stared back. Before my eyes, his face began to swell. "You...you're..." His voice faded, and his eyes glazed over. His skin was now nearly black. One last breath rattled through his lungs, and his body settled. Then, he was still.

I stared numbly at the corpse, inertia struggling with nausea.

"Oh dear God."

I didn't realize my vision was beginning to blur until I tried to glance back to the alley's entrance. I could barely make out a figure, and the only thing that let me know just who stood before me was an indistinct green blur, tainted with almost obscene red highlights. "Terra?"

"Shadow! What happened?!"

I tried to gesture to the unseeing corpse beside me, but I could barely move my hand. "Eh. Told you...I needed...training..." With a monumental effort, I heaved myself around to face her, and I succeeded--but only at the cost of my balance.

I didn't feel my body hit the ground, or hear my head crack against the cobblestones. My world simply turned sideways, and as my eyes closed I saw a pair of red boots hurrying toward me.

"SHADOW!!!"