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Ritz watched Marche run off across the street then out of sight and couldn’t help but worry. He never acted like that: spouting cryptic jibber-jabber and saying things like I’m sorry. Besides that, he put his hand on her shoulder—something she hated and that he knew she hated.
I’m sorry, she thought as she walked, replaying Marche’s words. Yeah. And I’m sorry for not letting you get squished by that truck, would have saved me the grief of whatever you were talk-
She stopped mid-thought and shook her head. She knew that she shouldn’t think such things of Marche. He was a genuinely nice person, and one of her better friends. It was still strange that they were friends, but they were friends. Back in Dream Ivalice, they had crossed swords, each of them fighting to their fullest to try and fulfill their separate goals. She was so adamant about staying back then that she would even try and destroy the one person she knew was in her best interest.
“Ritz.”
Looking up from her thoughts, Ritz saw Mewt, closing the door to his house and securing it. She smiled at him.
“Hi, Mewt.”
“What’re you up to today?”
Ritz pointed down the street, at the yellow house at the end. “Doned called and said he wanted to talk, so I’m heading over to his house.”
“Odd.” Mewt walked to stand in front of Ritz. “That’s where I’m headed, but I called him.”
“Oh?” Ritz frowned. “Really?”
“Yeah, Marche just left about ten minutes ago . . . he was acting weird, so I decided to call his brother to see if he would know anything about it.”
Ritz cocked her head. “How was he acting weird?”
“He was asking if I hated him and seemed to be in a hurry to get a answer . . . the way he was talking, it felt like he had just gotten back from Ivalice.”
Ritz bit her bottom lip and looked down at her feet. Saying that Marche was acting like that was really saying something. She remembered what the atmosphere was like the day after coming back from Ivalice. They all woke up and, after almost a year and a half of engagements, clans and monsters, they suddenly were back to live their normal, real lives. The feeling of waking up, in your bed, from a dream that long, that involved was possibly the worst feeling there was. Ritz remembered that when she woke up her entire body felt heavy and she had to stay home from school (not hard to fool her parents, she was pale and sweating cold). The first thing she did was cry, long drawn-out tears that streaked down her face and onto her pillow. She never admitted that to anyone; it was an act that was very unlike her.
“Maybe Doned will know something,” she said. “Can I walk with you?”
Mewt nodded. “Sure.” And he smiled at her.
************
Doned was sitting near the kitchen picture window, looking at the yards and people, all of which were covered in a growing layer of snow. He had his arms crossed over his lap and had a red blanket over his legs. Everything outside looked like a painting to him, framed in glass and motionless: the grey skies, angel white snow, both layered on the ground and falling in sparkling crystals from the sky. The weather outside had been progressively getting worse throughout the day; Doned had watched it go from gray skies to breezy rain to now, which was just snowing lightly. The world amazed Doned; it was always changing, always growing. Weather went from calm to stormy, trees grew and fell and the sun rose and set each day, cycling and progressing.
Doned sighed ruefully, a wash of disappointment coming over him. Looking out at the world outside was a double-edged sword for him; it brought him great joy and set him at ease, but also instilled a kind of sadness in him—a sadness that constantly reminded him of his condition and the way he had to live. He looked down at his legs and patted them, reminding himself that he wasn’t paralyzed, just sick. There was a chance that he’d get to walk someday. He held onto that hope and thought of it whenever he felt bad.
He forced a smile, then looked back up at the window, this time seeing both Mewt and Ritz walking down the sidewalk to his house. He watched them for a second, and spun his wheelchair around to go greet them. He made a detour in the kitchen first, to get a tray of assorted cookies and fruit; something his mother put together before heading to work (she always told Doned to be courteous). With the tray on his lap he wheeled himself to the living room and carefully shifted it onto the coffee table. Just in time, as there was a knock-knock at the front door as he did.
“It’s open!” Doned said, raising his voice a little so his friends could hear him. He heard the door open and close; he rolled his way to the entry hall to see a snowy Mewt and Ritz both kicking off their shoes and removing coats and hats.
“Hi, Doned,” Mewt said, rubbing his hair to clear it of snow.
“Come on,” Doned said, “let’s go talk in living room. My mom made some cookies.”
The trio walked from the entry hall to the living room in silence. Mewt and Ritz sat down on the sofa and Doned parked himself opposite of them, across the coffee table.
“So . . .” Mewt said, reaching forward to take one of the orange-frosted cookies. Ritz’s nudged him and pointed at the watermelon slices next to them. Mewt took one for her and went back to sitting straight. “Let me just jump right in here: Marche told me that he had a dream last night. Did he tell you what it was about, Doned?”
“Well, uh . . .” Doned hesitated. “He did but I don’t want to say anything that he wouldn’t want said. And besides, he didn’t say much.” Another sigh. “He never does.”
“Well, that’s Marche for you,” Ritz cut in, swallowing a bite of melon before speaking. “I mean, I’ve only known him for about a year and some months, but I still know that if Marche has something happen to him that drags him down, he never shares it.”
“I think it’s because he doesn’t want anyone else burdened,” Doned said.
Mewt chuckled under his breath, bust still audible enough for him to draw the looks of both Ritz and Doned.
“What?” Ritz asked.
Mewt shook his head. “It’s just that I didn’t understand what you meant at first, that you’ve know Marche for over a year . . . I wasn’t counting dream-time.”
Doned nodded. “Yeah, Ritz and Marche saw a lot of each other there, or so I hear.”
“We did.” Ritz put the watermelon slice’s rind down on the table. “We became good friends, despite . . .”
“Despite what?” Mewt asked.
“Our trains of thought. I wanted to stay and he wanted to go home. I’ll always find it strange that we’re friends now.”
“It is an odd emotion,” Mewt said. “I remember what I felt there, having the power of royalty and having a mother . . . it was so fulfilling, like my deepest dreams had come true. While I was there, I hated Marche . . . I’ll admit that, but when we came back . . . I don’t know . . . it was like we had known each other for years.”
Doned spoke up. “I’ve thought about this for a long time, and I’ve come to the conclusion that dream Ivalice and St. Ivalice are two different places--”
“Well, yeah,” Ritz jested.
“I mean, different not only in appearance and location, but different in that we’re different there. Like . . . like we’re us . . . but . . .”
“True.” Mewt’s voice was flat and concise. “It felt like every whim, every weak part of my persona was coming out to its fullest and I was just a spectator.” He laughed a little. “Of course, all of that is in retrospect. But I get what Doned is saying.”
Doned looked at Ritz. “That feeling of knowing Marche for years, when you only knew him for a day or so in St. Ivalice, is your Dream Ivalice self being with him.”
“Wait,” she said. “Let me try and clarify this psycho-blah-blah. What you two are saying is that in Dream Ivalice, I wasn’t me? That I was a different me?”
“You were you,” Mewt said. “Just with all of what you thought your flaws were fixed, at least, in your eyes. Your hair was red, you could fight and . . .”
“Shara was with me.” Ritz’s eyes closed. “I understand. So all the time I was in Dream Ivalice, Marche and I, all of us, were growing closer on a more . . . mental level?”
Doned shrugged. “This is all a guess, remember. I don’t think any of us really have any idea what it is.”
“It was that book that started it all,” Mewt said, moving forward for another cookie and watermelon slice.
Ritz smirked. “Yeah. I’m glad we buried that thing the day after we got back.”
“I’ll say.” Mewt handed Ritz the watermelon slice. “I couldn’t wait to hide it away . . . the day after we came back, it was all I could think about during school.”
Ritz coughed as she choked in surprise. Her finger went up to point at Mewt.
“You went to school the next day?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t easy, but I did.”
“You’re a better man then I,” Doned said. “All I could do to avoid dying of depression was to play sick and sleep all day.”
“Me too.” Ritz chimed in, “It was horrible, that feeling of such loss. There was such a void . . . going from a world as vast and populated as Ivalice to here, this snowy country town . . . it felt like a million pounds on my chest.”
“I wonder if Marche felt the same way?” Mewt asked.
“He stayed home with me.” Doned leaned forward for a cookie. “He was pretty blue.”
“I wonder how much he really lost,” Ritz said. “He got what he wanted.”
It was quiet for a few minutes, the last words spoken still hanging in the air. It was true that Marche got what he was fighting for, but to everyone, it seemed he was hurt the most.
“Ritz killed Marche,” Doned said bluntly. “In his dream.”
Ritz gasped. “What?”
“That’s what he said. He said you were in Judge’s armor and that you killed him.”
Ritz looked down at the ground, knocking her socked heels together. She took a breath then stood up, determination on her face.
“Where are you going?” Mewt asked.
“I have to talk to Marche. I have to ask him if he was hurt coming back from dream Ivalice.”
“Of course he was.”
Doned huffed and wheeled himself to in front of Ritz, blocking her path.
“Take me with you,” he said. “I can get dressed warmly and you can push me. Take me with you to find him. I need to see him as well.”
Ritz smiled and didn’t hesitate. “Of course! I wasn’t going to leave you.” She looked over at Mewt. “Coming?”
“What do you plan on asking, exactly?”
“Well . . .” She frowned. “I’m going to ask what he felt and . . . why he apologized to me.”
Mewt stood up, “You’d better let me ask him why he gave me the third degree on hating him earlier.”
Ritz nodded and without another word, the three started to get ready to go.
***
The grave was just as Marche remembered it. It had the same worn, blank stone marking it and was snug between two large oak trees. He stood looking at it for a long time before falling to his knees and franticly digging with un-gloved hands, the cold dirt crumbly and loose.
I have to see it again. I have to understand and I have to correct my mistakes.
The snow was getting worse and Marche could feel chills going down his spine. Out of all the possible places he could be, he never thought he’d end up back here.
”Forgive me,” he said and collapsed over the grave to reach down and grab the leathery spine of the book he helped bury. He pulled it up with a grunt, then rubbed the cover before flipping it open and muttering the words etched inside.
“lta oron sondus kameela.”
He felt tears start to well up in his eyes; they were the warmth that sent him to sleep as he collapsed on his side, headed back to his dreams.
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