Ifrit and Shiva walk together, but only because I stand between them. I'm like an Eidolon intermediary. Though I feel like my body is stretching thin—on the outside, my muscles; and on the inside, my brain—Shiva tells me, "The Summoners of Mist are kind, calming souls; your presence soothes us."

So I'm a complete wreck that comforts others. 

What a fantastic anomaly I'm becoming.

"I do not want to destroy everything when you're here!" Ifrit shouts.

When he speaks, I always feel like dodging something that's about to fall from the sky, like a Meteor spell is about to descend upon us; but nothing's ever there. He is truly a cosmic force, no doubt the King of Fire. Just a couple days ago, this might have excited me, but now every time he speaks, I'm annoyed as hell, because he's so. Damn. LOUD.

We walk by monsters wrapped in bright violet robes, with beady white eyes staring from the deep dark of their hoods. We also walk by monsters with fairy wings; with fleshy wings. We walk by sylphs that aren't Trancy. We walk by everything except another human, and it's only then I realize, I am alone here.

This is world entirely of Eidolon. Of Esper. Of otherworldly beings.

In the center of the town of rounded huts, a granite keep stretches up to the stalactite ceiling; and it simultaneously relies on stalagmites to hold it taut to the heavens, suspending between what's above and what's below. 

I hold up hands with longer, thinner fingers. 

When I glance down at my feet, they seem unusually far away from my head.

Does our body define who we are?—surely it must to a certain extent, right? Like, if I don't look like a kid, does that mean I'm not a kid anymore? But I feel like a kid. I also feel embarrassed for feeling like a kid. I'm not sure how happy I can feel when I lay my head down at night, if all my other emotions remain this inconsistent. My body is a shell containing—

My face lights up. 

"Shell!" I cry out, and a bright blue sphere wraps around me, a swathe of protection that finally deadens the unbearable heat and chill from Ifrit and Shiva. 

Thank goodness; if they flanked me much longer without any support, I'd pass out from chill and dehydration, all at once.

Ifrit pokes curiously at the sphere of light, the Shell spell hugging around me.

Shiva frowns. "Isn't that white magic?"

I nod enthusiastically. Mom used to praise me for my ability to use white magic, black magic, and summons alike. 

"Our green princess of many talents," Ifrit announces, waving an arm over me. Growing pains aside, I'll never be nearly as tall as him.

"But wouldn't it be better if you focused on talents you truly excelled in?" Shiva asks, responding more to him than me. "Your Fire spell is nearly ready for a Fira. Someday, I am certain you can use Firaga. So why worry about white magic?"

"She is scared of Fire!" Ifrit exclaims.

Okay, now they're talking like I'm not there. Irritating.

Just as I lose myself in a brooding pool of layers upon layers of hormones, Ifrit leans right up to the wall of my Shell spell to whisper, "Your Blizzard was pretty good, too."

"You mean the one you snuffed out?" I mutter.

He guffaws. "Yes, that one!"

Inside the fragile yet powerful fortress, two plush blue thrones are framed elegantly by paintings of the most ancient Eidolons: Odin; Bahamut; and Carbuncle. Carbuncle looks like a tortoise had a baby with a peacock, but Odin is handsome and gallant on his white steed, and Bahamut is a violet-skinned man with great, starlight wings rising from his shoulders—a super-sexy dude.

Did I just think, "a super-sexy dude"? I try to wipe the hormones off me, like I'm rubbing off old and flaky skin. Shiva raises an eyebrow at me, and Ifrit booms with his larger-than-life chuckle. 

While the right throne is unoccupied, a turquoise-and-mint-shawled woman sits on the left throne, her head shaped more like a cube than an egg; and on the four sides of this cube, she switches between the faces of a smiling young woman, a raging warrior, a middle-aged jester, and an old woman with a grin creepier than the Ghosts of Fabul Past.

"Lady Asura," Shiva and Ifrit say at once, nodding their heads to their queen.

I feel as nervous as I did when I first woke in Leviathan's mouth. Yet Leviathan is a sea serpent as large as a kingdom; Lady Asura is no bigger a being than Mom, than Dad, than Shiva; so she is like everyone else, if it were not for her four faces on her blocky head. 

Her old woman face chants, "Protect," and a pink sphere wraps around her, similar to my Shell spell. I'm nearly blinded by the brilliance of her white magic; it's tenfold greater than mine.

Then her neck twists, and the young, smiling face asks, "Who is this?"

"Rydia of Mist," I say.

"Trancy cast Haste on her," Ifrit tells her. "Is it possible to Curaga or Curaja her, to relieve her growing pains?"

"Or you can Dispel it," I try. When Asura's face twists again, this time to the jester, I become nervous, but I continue anyway: "I just think it might be better to clean spells off of me—not stack one atop another."

"A purest," Shiva coos. 

Shiva and I exchange smiles that, despite her cool glimmer, feel prickly and warm. I lean a little towards Shiva, trying to figure out what this new tingling is all about.

Asura's face switches to the raging warrior before she says: "I cannot Cure you, nor remove the spell; only Trancy can."

Ifrit opens his mouth, but Asura lifts one of her many arms to silence him.

"That's okay," I say. "Where can I find Trancy?"

The jester's face replies: "Cave of the Sylphs. You can take the portal in the back of town to the edge of their cave. But you will still be in Leviathan's stomach; you will prolong your stay by doing this." As the young, smiling face turns to face us, she adds, "By the time you find Trancy, her Haste may already have moved beyond its half-life to its full duration. It may not be worth your time."

Nonsense. This journey is definitely worth my time. I will travel to the depths of Leviathan's tail, if that's how far I have to go to regain control of my stretching body.

"Ifrit," Shiva starts, "I can take her to the portal. You can head home, if you'd like."

"I want to help Rydia too!" he screams, so ferociously, small pebbles dance along the bedrock beneath our feet. "Oops," he says, after Asura's raging warrior frowns at him, and part of the ceiling shakes free in motes of dust.

Asura's head twists many times so her young and old self equally chime, "Ifrit, Shiva—give me a moment with our summoner."

I don't want them to leave, but my curiosity outweighs fear, so I pretend I'm just fine with losing the only two Eidolons that don't scare the piss out of me. After they ascend the small staircase to return to the glow of the Land of the Summoned Monsters—just a ruby haze, looking out from the darkness of this throne room—I gulp and ask Asura, "What is it?"

She opens her many arms in a welcoming gesture. 

I cautiously near her.

"I am sorry for your loss," all four faces say. "I know it's difficult, going on with your life without your mother. But I am here for you. I want you to know that." Is she trying to offer me a hug? It's scary, given one of her hands is white-knuckling a katana. Just as I decide it's not a good idea, she continues, "Would you let me be a mother to you, Rydia?"

Something deep in my center shifts. Tears well up in my eyes before I can stop them.

I fall into her lap, and though my legs and arms don't feel like they're mine, in my torso, I return to the child I left behind in my burning village.

"You do not need to go to the Cave of Sylphs," Asura whispers. "You can stay here."

"No," I cry into her lap. "I can't."

♥♥♥

First draft: June 18

Second draft: August 18

Word count: 1412

https://youtu.be/BeSlfNbhX5E