[CoolNard]

"Excuse me," Tatsu suddenly cuts in, before standing up to retrieve his cloak from the coat rack and leave the house. Silence ensues from Tatsu's abrupt departure, until Suzette nudges me.

"Pssst! Go check on him, Nozomi and I are more than enough to handle things here!" she whispers and slides toward Aisha's side, who is snivelling and snuffling her tears in sniffs. Nozomi shoots me a haughty look that clearly reeks of her exasperation with "guys", then bounds off to Aisha's other side. Resigning the situation to the girls, I, too, make a beeline for the mahogany entrance.

Upon pushing the door open, a wave of sunlight greets me and renews my vision. Greenery; thick, antiquated backwoods. Deciduous willows and sprouting mosses line the outskirts of the forest; bushy thickets and dangling vines form cobwebs of entanglements and overlapping layers of brambles. The wilderness here seems almost dusty to the eyes. It is no wonder Aisha could live in undisturbed seclusion, with this impregnable boscage.

And there is Tatsu, his hands in his pockets, and his legs straight and locked to the ground of the porch. The wind picks up, having every forest feature respond to it, but Tatsu remains still, even though his clothes and hood get ruffled roughly by the now running wind. It is as though Tatsu is an unbelonging part of a portrait. He is gazing up at the sky, but I cannot quite make out his expression, with his face behind his headdress. Unknowingly rewarding my patience, he randomly takes an unguarded step; I decide to put his progress to the test.

I glide toward Tatsu, downward from the bellowing wind, which imbues immense effect in my cloaking skill. Unless he can detect an ant skittering across the spectator stand, in the middle of a gladiator match, Tatsu will never know what hit him. Then, as I near him, readying myself with the intent to strike...

"Swiftant," Tatsu announces, on my behalf, "old pal," he finishes and glances around at me, grinning, from ear to ear. I cannot resist a little curl on my own lips.

"Tatsu," I retaliate in acknowledgement. Upclose, I realize the Tatsu I had known is no more. His shoulder-length hair has grown to his burly chest and is combed neatly to its sides. His face is more bulky and squarish, matured. The eyepatch he once had over his right eye is replaced by a rather hardened but predominant scar. His chin is ruggard with short stubs of shaved facial hair. His garb is battered and tattered, with patches of make-shift fabric sewn messily all over. Tatsu's torn sleeves reveal two full-fledged human arms, ripped with potent tissues of brawn and force; his muscles have fully developed, dressed in absolute sturdiness and robustness. My curiosity concerning the whereabouts of his one artificial limb is reasonably piqued.

But what catches my attention most is his weapons: Despite being tucked away in his robes, I do not remember his accessories having such fiery personalities, before, I can almost feel the flames resonating from his clothes. Sora has a different kind of grayness to it, against my recollection. Perhaps, it is rust from the incessant battles Tatsu has undergone, but like the rest of Tatsu's arsenal, I sense an enveloping will from it. Is it..? No... That can't be. Were his powers always that fearsome?

"Well, Tatsu, business is important, but how would you feel about a little match with your old sparring partner? For old time's sake?" I challenge him, flatly, still feeling sore about my failed ambush, and simultaneously, thrilled at an impending rematch that now boasts very different fighters. My eyes blush red.

"Hah, although you've become more of a chatterbox than you used to be, you never were a person of words, Swiftant," Tatsu retorts.

**Wouldn't it be, like, really something if the outcome of this story were to become the origins of Bahamut?? XD~! So the last sentence here would be, "And Bahamut was born."**