Notes: I know some people were concerned that there would be a female Zoisite in this fic. There is not. He, however, will be a mixture of all of his incarnations, as I have never cared for anime Zoisite very much in either the original or the dub.

Chapter One

Three years later

She stood looking into the crystals that lined the room. A neverending display of the past was before her eyes. Again and again the moments replayed—some happy, some joyous, but many sad and tragic. And there was much work to be done.

She raised her staff, focusing on four images that remained the same—depicting lives at a standstill, or that had ended.

“It’s time,” she said. “Awaken and take your rightful places, as your services are now needed once again.”

The images glowed.

The room was dark, the curtains pulled across the old and uncleaned windows. Only a small amount of light crept through the openings at the top and bottom and the sides, illuminating a space that once had been occupied and loved. The furniture, still intact, stood as if waiting for its master to return. With a bit of dusting and more light, the room would be alive again, cared for and loved.

For countless years, the door with the golden handle had never been opened. Silence had reigned in the once-luxurious space for eons. It had forgotten what sound was like. But suddenly, inexplicably, the handle clicked and turned. The door swung aside, squealing on its hinges. It was a hard task to learn about movement after being so still, but though the door protested, it was also exclaiming in surprise and joy.

Green eyes blinked, staring at the space in amazement and awe. Reddish hair, pulled back in a ponytail, swished as its owner stepped inside. A white-gloved hand rested on the doorframe.

“It is still here,” he mused, his voice expressing a deep sense of nostalgia. “I haven’t been back in so long. . . .” With his other hand, he absently twirled a loose piece of fiery hair around his index finger. The returning memories trickling into his mind were fleeting, and yet were leaving lasting impressions on his soul. He had been here many times before . . . it had been his sanctuary, but not for countless years. Not since he had been the protector of . . . someone. Ah, there was a memory that was not fully back yet.

He walked over the soft carpet, his goal the majestic onyx object standing near the window. A hand trailed over the smooth surface and down to the lid. He lifted it, gazing at the ivory keys hidden underneath. As he sank onto the piano bench, a long-ago melody began to roll from his mind to his fingers. Yes, the music . . . the music would help all of them remember. Wherever the others were, dead or alive, they would hear.

“Kunzite,” he whispered. “Nephrite. Jadeite. Listen and remember!”

He was not dead. At least, he did not believe that it was so. Sensations were returning to him, brought on by . . . something. Something . . . or someone, in the far distant past, was reaching out to him. The melancholy notes he could hear . . . were they in his mind, or otherwise for only him? Or did anyone else hear too?

Now he could feel as well as hear. He was laying on something soft, but something sharp was digging into his arm. And something else was beeping.

He was not alone, either. Someone was there, watching, someone unwelcome.

Ice-blue eyes slipped open, focusing on the blonde woman standing to the side. The crisp white coat indicated her profession to be likely either a doctor or a scientist. Or both. Behind her glasses, her eyes gleamed in interest.

“You’re awake?” she mused. “How intriguing. I’ve kept you in an induced state of unconsciousness. What could bring you out of it so suddenly?”

The patient’s expression twisted in revulsion. “You kept me unconscious?” he repeated. “Why? Who are you?”

“At first it was really the only way to save your life, my dear Kunzite,” she smiled in reply. “But as you began to recover, I decided I could learn more from you if you weren’t able to get up and try to escape. So you’ve been in varying states of sedation.” She surveyed him with a displeasing, thoughtful air. “And you’ve spoken quite a bit.”

“. . . Is that how you know my name?” The white-haired man’s voice was cold as steel.

The memories were vague in his mind, but growing more clear as he further awoke. After Zoisite’s death, he had grown bitter against the Sailor Soldiers, and particularly Sailor Moon. The last time he had tried to attack them, his own weapon had been turned against him. He remembered calling to Zoisite as he had died, and then . . .

He had not died? How had he arrived in this unholy place? The woman who had spared his life had not done it out of kindness. From the way she was acting, it sounded more as though she had wanted him to further some purpose of her own. But . . . to learn from him? Learn what? Was she a new spy?

“You could say that.” She smirked. “You spoke a lot of a place called the Dark Kingdom, and someone named Zoisite. I should like to visit this kingdom and explore its secrets.”

“Never.” The light in the room was practically blinding. What he really wanted was to reach up and place a hand over his eyes. But to show any kind of weakness in this situation was what would be the very worst thing. He would defy her. And once he had gathered enough strength, he would be leaving.

“That is the repayment I receive for saying you?” she said, not surprised but with a hint of displeasure in her voice.

“Why did you save me?” His eyes pierced hers, but without learning any of her secrets. “Are you a spy working with the Sailor Soldiers?”

“Certainly not.” She gestured at the equipment in the room. “I work for myself, and only myself, to study the secrets of the human mind. But are you quite human at all? That is what is puzzling me.” She walked away from him, taking a small vial between her fingers. Through the clear glass, an odd substance could be seen. Kunzite’s eyes narrowed further. He knew what it was.

“Your blood is green,” she declared, “yet your body seems to function the same as any normal human’s. How did this phenomenon happen? Did someone else experiment on you in the past?” Her eyes glittered. “Or are you not human at all?”

“That isn’t your concern.” His voice never raised, but it carried a definite warning and an edge. So she was a mad scientist. If he gathered his energy, would he be able to teleport? Though it would not be wise to try it without knowing a destination. Perhaps his quarters at the Dark Kingdom? But did this woman still have his boomerang weapon? He did not want to leave it behind with her. He would need to find it before he went anywhere. And, looking down at the robe he was wearing, he made another decision. He should try to find his clothes.

Pushing himself into a sitting position, he threw back the thin blanket. The cord of whatever was in his arm tugged at him as it was dragged by the covers. He only gave it a cursory glance as he ripped it out of his flesh. A machine beeped in protest.

“What are you doing?” Now the woman sounded angry. “I’m not going to let you leave.” She tried to reach for him, but he responded by pushing her aside. The rest of the useless cords joined the first as he started to push himself off of the bed.

“You don’t have to let me,” he said. His powers were weak, but he could still sense their presence. Holding out his hand, he concentrated and channeled a blast of light from his palm. The woman gave a cry of surprise as she fell back onto the bed. He turned, his shoulder-length white hair whipping with the motion.

There was a locker across the room, which he was now facing. Would it hold his clothes, and possibly his weapon? He took a step forward, his legs shaking. He had lost all sense of the passage of time, but his wound was healed—save for the scar that now marred his skin. Had the woman ever made him get up and walk during this time? He did not remember it, but it would seem that she must have done so. Otherwise, he should not be able to walk at all right now, after having been invalid and then experimented on for however long it had been.

Reaching the locker, he pulled open the door. His clothes were inside, but he would have to put them on later. The woman was not staying dazed for long. She was pressing a button, yelling for her men to come to her. Gathering the apparel in a bundle, he gave the locker a quick check. His weapon was not here. But nevermind. He left the room at a brisk pace. The men were thundering down the hall from another direction. He would go the opposite way.

Still, he would have to find sanctuary soon. His powers were not strong enough yet to do much. He was aware of that. At the end of the hall was a door marked “Office.” Pulling on the knob, he brought the already-ajar door open enough that he could slip inside. He closed it after him, making the motion as silent as possible. Turning the lock for good measure, he moved to survey his current surroundings.

It was typical of an office, with a desk and chairs and filing cabinets. The nameplate on the desk read “Alice Portman.” Was that the woman who had been watching him? She seemed to be the one in charge.

He crossed the room, gripping the handle of the top filing cabinet drawer to ease it open. As it slid out, an object wrapped in a clear plastic bag caught his immediate attention. It was his boomerang weapon, still coated in his blood. His eyes narrowed. This was the last moment it would stay in Portman’s care. He grabbed it out, lifting it by the top of the bag. The sight of it was bringing his final memories to the surface with much more clarity.

Sailor Moon. . . .

He gritted his teeth. Had Queen Beryl ever defeated her and the other Sailor Soldiers? Or had they toppled the Dark Kingdom at last?

He turned, leaving the drawer open as his gaze fell upon the desk. A day-to-day calender, very practical and no-nonsense, had been placed on the left side, near where he was standing. And the printed date turned his blood cold.

“Three years,” he breathed in disbelief. Taking the device in one hand, he stared at the numbers as if they could be proven wrong by the mere force of his eyes. He had been unaware of the world around him for three years. Almost anything could have happened in that amount of time. . . .

And what was that music he had heard as he had been regaining consciousness? It had seemed to be what had brought on his revival. In some deep part of his mind, it was almost as if he could recall having heard it before. But the memory was just out of his reach.

His frown deepened. The only thing he was completely sure about was that he had not heard it at any time during his tenure in the Dark Kingdom. Yet . . . if not there, then where? Where had he even been before the Dark Kingdom? Queen Beryl had insisted that he and the others had been nothing until she had taken them in as part of her army. And, not remembering any other life, he had accepted that existence.

The music, however, was tugging at something in his very heart and soul. Would he hear it again? It had faded after he had fully come back to his senses.

The doorknob rattling drew him back to the present. “We know you’re in there,” a voice threatened. “Open up! You’re not gonna be hurt. You’re the doctor’s prize patient.”

Kunzite’s lip curled in revulsion. He would not be anyone’s prize patient, most of all hers. Maybe he would be capable of teleportation now, if he tried. If he gathered every ounce of energy he had, then perhaps . . .

A loud crash and the shattering of glass accompanied the sight of the door flying free of its hinges. Two of Portman’s henchmen were standing in the doorway, sneering at the man inside. In spite of their claims, both looked ready and willing for a fight. And Kunzite did not have the time for anything so petty.

Ripping open the bag, he drew out the boomerang and let it fly from his hand. The two thugs could only cry in first surprise and then pain as it sliced into their shoulders. Then it circled the space and began to come back to its owner. Skillfully catching it without receiving injury, Kunzite poured all of his strength into the task he now needed to accomplish. In a flash of light he was gone, leaving the lackeys to stand and stare and curse him in shock.

Zoisite gazed off into the distance, lost in thought. The music was helping him as well, bringing shadowy images of the present to his mind. He had limited powers of clairvoyance, and the piece he was playing was drawing them out from where they had slumbered until his revival. Kunzite had been captured, nursed to health by a mad scientist, and now he was regaining enough strength and presence of mind to attempt escaping. And he was not in Japan at all, but somewhere else, somewhere far away. But he would be back soon.

Kunzite. . . . His mentor and friend . . . and something else?

Green eyes widened in shock and disbelief. No, there had not been anything else . . .

But what about their time in the Dark Kingdom, which he recollected only in bits and pieces? Being restored had left him with scattered memories from both his lifetimes, not only the long ago past. His fingers began to slow in the melody as more such scenes and knowledge flashed into his mind.

Kunzite recalled about the Dark Kingdom as well, but his memories of the Silver Millennium had not yet awakened at all. The music had restored him to consciousness, however, and sooner or later the rest would follow. But because of the bitterness he still held, it might take longer.

He was bitter because Zoisite had been killed. . . .

Jadeite was still locked in the Eternal Sleep. If he was alive, he could be brought out of his suspended animation. But the crystal in which he was encased needed to be broken. The music could not accomplish that feat. Someone would need to go back to the Dark Kingdom and release him.

And Nephrite . . .

Nephrite had been killed, but it was strange. No remembrance of how it had happened was coming to Zoisite’s mind. Maybe he had never known the circumstances. He frowned. It was strange that he would not recollect something. Or to even be shown the truth as he was playing. Perhaps that would come later. Surely the how did not matter so much. Nephrite should be restored now, since Zoisite had been brought back to life.

But he was not gaining any knowledge of Nephrite’s current fate, either. That was also odd, considering that he could see Kunzite’s and Jadeite’s locations perfectly clear in his mind. Either Nephrite had not been restored yet, for some reason, or else Zoisite was being blocked from seeing anything concerning him. But . . . why would that be?

His eyes narrowed as his fingers continued to travel over the keys. Whatever he was not remembering was dark . . . ominous. And it was making him uneasy.

Still . . . how horrible could it be?

He would not think about it for now. The most important thing was restoring all of their memories of the past. Though he did not know what, he was aware that a great evil was lurking on the horizon. Perhaps that was why they had been restored, in order to join the fight against it. And it would require them to be at their full strength to defeat it.

She was standing at the window of a small home, gazing out into what seemed to be an ancient Japanese village. People were milling up and down the dirt road, but she could care less about them. She was focused on a tall and majestic figure coming from another direction. He looked as though the last place he would belong was in a town such as this. He carried himself with dignity and grace, observing the villagers as he passed them by. Though she only saw his silhouette, she could tell that he seemed focused on a particular goal as well.

Then she was running to the door, hauling it open as she ran out into the street to meet him. He came to attention, watching her, and as she drew closer he gave a soft smile. His eyes were a deep blue, the color of the sea, and his naturally curled locks tumbled down his back. She recognized him instantly.

“Nephrite!” she exclaimed. “You’re back!”

“Of course I am,” he answered. “I said I would come back once the danger had been stopped. Did you think it was a lie?”

She shook her head. “I knew it wasn’t,” she said. “I’m just so happy you’re here!”

Naru Osaka’s eyes flew open. She was laying on her side in bed, clutching the pillow. Her auburn hair, free of the usual bow, drifted in front of her face. But she barely noticed. Instead she pulled herself into a sitting position, the quilt falling from around her shoulders. Outside, the moonlight shined in from the balcony.

“What a weird dream,” she said to the room. “It was almost more like a memory.” She frowned, taking up the pillow and hugging it to her chest. “But that can’t be true. It looked like it was so long ago.”

A sigh escaped her lips as she looked toward the spot from which the light was coming. Nephrite had come to her balcony on his last night alive. Through the years there were still times when she would wake up thinking she heard him calling to her, and she would run to the balcony to see—only to remember the truth.

Umino had asked her to come to the science fair with him tomorrow. She had said she would, and she still planned to go, but at the same time she was dreading it. They had not spoken further on what to do about their relationship since he had told her that she needed to choose between him and the ghost. And she was certain that he was hoping to get into that at some point the next day.

The problem was, she still did not know what to tell him. Several times she had determined to say that she would put Nephrite completely behind her and that his ghost would no longer haunt their relationship. But every time she was about to pick up the phone and call Umino, the feeling would come over her that she should not, or she would wonder for sure if her mind was made up. This threw further doubt on her decision. She did not want to keep Umino waiting, but she also did not want to tell him something and give him hope when she would regret it shortly afterward.

This dream was bothering her, too. She had seen parts of it for the last several nights, but this was the first time she had been allowed to witness the identity of the man to whom she had been running. Why was it Nephrite? And what was the meaning of the setting? Ancient Japan had not been on her mind at all. It made so very little sense.

Setting the pillow aside, she crossed the room to the balcony doors and pulled back the curtains. It was an average night in Juuban. Though . . . it was getting cloudy awfully fast. She frowned, looking toward the moon. A strange cloud was starting to pass in front of it. Juuban was often a prime target for weird things. Was this maybe another one beginning?

No, that was silly. She was tired and letting her thoughts run away with her. It was just a storm coming.

She turned, letting the curtains fall back into place as she walked back to her bed.

Well, she was half-right.

There was definitely a storm coming.