The man in the straw hat took one look at Millagua, whose body was frozen in his last position–crying on the floor–took an introspective peek at the helmet, and finally, one single glance at me. Suddenly, he strode forward, his feet stomping down on the chalky ground with a sense of authority.

The horrible black monsters made way for him, never stopping their fighting, but stepping out of his way all the same. Then one of them was thrown across his cape. The old man turned his head, furiously raising one thick pepper-gray eyebrow.

“Master Shinna,” said the monster. It kowtowed. Shinna glared at it a moment longer. Then, seeming to think better of whatever he had been plotting, went back on his way. The creature scurried aside gratefully.

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Shinna stepped in front of Millagua’s frozen body. He looked at me again, singling me out. Did he know that I was the one who had designed the enchanted helm Millagua wore? How could that even be possible?

Shinna reached down. He grasped the help between his palms. The Tripunctum slipped off of Millagua’s head with ease. Suddenly, the energy beams stopped. The rifts quieted. The monsters, though, still ran amok.

Shinna held the Tripunctum out at me.

“Is this yours?” he said. And even through the din and clatter of fighting and trampling feet, I distinctly remember hearing him say, as if his voice were coming from inside my mind, “Oh nameless one, Baby Godlet of Triangles, I see a great destiny in you.”