The Nisan library was a cavernous room, almost as breathtaking as the chapel in its own way. The ceiling sloped up on one side, following the contour of the mountain as it leaned into the wall and flowed into the next room, always lost in shadow even on the brightest days and merriest nights, no matter how many candles were lit. Billy's eyes were fixed on the bright shape of a window, too blinded by the light to be able to see the true depth of the room, though it could be felt.

Dust motes danced in the air above him, a fair reflection of his thoughts. In his lap, held limply in both hands, was a photograph from the archives of the old war with Solaris.

It ached to look, yet it bothered him not to. The faces were in sepia tone, faded with age, smiling as if no one realized there was a war raging around them: the Holy Mother, her general, and the commanders of her forces, the /Kahal/. Behind them, breaking the serenity of the backdrop of Nisan, was a line of gears bristling with weapons.

How could they smile? Roni was grinning ear to ear. He'd been known to laugh as he ran to battle - insanity was part of the Fatima charm, someone once said.

Bart had fought Deus with a grin plastered on his face. It appalled Billy that he was /enjoying/ the fight, until he'd said: 'There might not be a tomorrow waiting for us, so we'd better smile now.'

He remembered thinking that was utterly ridiculous, and that it was such a /Fatima/ thing to say, as if he knew anything about the Fatimas to begin with.

Billy gave in and looked down again. Dark hands rested on Sophia's shoulders in the photograph, and they didn't belong to Fei - or as he was known then, 'Lacan.' The date below them, penned in browning ink on the border, was mere days before the final battle that destroyed Nisan's forces. Sophia's perpetual smile was as bright as ever, and Krelian stood behind her like a sentinel, his smile slight and his intention clear. He didn't intend to let go.

They all knew the story of Nisan's heroes, but these impressions were new. Billy had looked at the photo before and seen nothing significant. Now, it seemed he noticed everything, everything that was beneath the surface, things that even Elly wouldn't speak of. They even crept into his dreams at night, as if it wasn't enough that they puzzled him in the waking world.

First they'd dwelt on Krelian as he had been in the laboratory. Those long hours were difficult to forget, and packed so tightly with terror that he still woke up screaming sometimes, and he wasn't the only one, though Bart refused to admit it. He'd thought that would be the end of him. But the dreams couldn't end there, no... they made him relive those moments, then constructed fantasies about the horrors of the war five hundred years ago, and in /those/ dreams, he did not have the luxury of being an observer.

He'd hated Krelian when they were fighting Deus. Hate wasn't a becoming emotion for a priest, but Billy was hard-pressed to look at the other side of the matter when so many people were suffering. But it was difficult to cling to that hate when, during dark nights or solitary moments, he remembered /being/ Krelian.

Was he crazy? Was his imagination just working overtime to catch up with everything that had happened since defeating Deus? The others seemed just fine.

Billy was doing the only thing he could think of doing - embracing the dreams and trying to understand, since it seemed he did not have the option of ignoring them. It would do him good, wouldn't it? He would set a good example for Primera by refusing to give in to his hate and trying to see both sides of the story. Unfortunately, though he had searched everything the sisters had regarding the former Nisan general, it was not enough to satisfy his inquiring mind.

He wanted to avoid asking Elly and Fei until nothing was left. They didn't deserve to be reminded of what - to him - seemed such bitter memories. That left one other person.

He slid the photograph back into its folder and left it on the table where it would be picked up by one of the sisters on duty at the library, then resolutely turned his back on it and headed for the door.

He already had a date with that person. He'd hate to keep Emeralda waiting.



(This is a little strange. It's an idea I had a long time ago that I discarded, and it decided to make itself known again when I tried to write Nyuna's request. This story has nothing to do with anything serious.)