Author's Note: I began writing a Lunar fanfic back in the 90s and it first appeared on the web in 2000. I abandoned it for a long while but after I recently played the PSP remake, my love for this game and its characters was rekindled. So, I pulled up my old story and after reading it, I decided that was rather unhappy with it. After careful consideration, I have decided to start from scratch because I believe that is the best way to fix all of the problems I have with the story. I had many issues with the old version-far too many to discuss in a short author's note-and many of those could not be rectified with new chapters alone.

Anyway, as the Lunar series is famous for remakes, I offer you one for "Equation." I hope it is to your liking, but I welcome any comments, crit, or flying cats.

Rise from Ashes

Footsteps pounded the marbled floor of the Guild Manor in rampant precision. Each one marked harried, furious time, echoing dreadfully against the newly renovated walls and ornate vaulted ceilings. The sorrow and anguish he'd felt only moments before began to diminish as his stride lengthened, and in their place he found his rage.

Rounding the corner from the east wing, his fingers curled around the tiller of his crossbow, the polished wood fighting against his manic grip. The guards who were on duty in this early morning hour stood at rapt attention as he passed, most not daring to interfere as he quickened his pace. The one who did try to step into his path to query about what had him so worked up quickly retreated as the crossbow was raised. If he'd been in the mood to notice any of their expressions, he might have seen the confusion—or even the fear—in their eyes.

Growling audibly as the raw anger and brutal loathing crested over the last little bit of self-pity, he rushed down the flying staircase, eyes fixated on the gilded doors he had entered not even five minutes earlier. Slamming them open, his face contorted into something animalistic and, without another thought, he raced outside of the Guild, his cloak flowing behind him like a battle flag.

The plaza in front of the Manor was still as the sky above hesitated to breathe. He scowled heavenward at the Blue Star and then fired the bolt from his crossbow towards it, not caring where the arrow actually landed.

The Blue Star's light was an unwelcome visitor to him at the moment. Its soft azure shadows were only causing him the annoyance of memories he cared not to hold onto. How many times had they sat on her balcony just staring at it in comfortable silence? How many nights had it been witness to shared kisses and whispers of devotion? How many wishes had they made on it?

He didn't want to think about it. The Blue Star could fall for all he cared. Hell, he'd make it fall.

His horse was gone, the precious books she had sent him to acquire along with it, but he didn't care. It didn't matter anyway. He flung his weapon to the ground and ripped off his heavy traveling cloak. Being unarmed and cold didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

Glaring at the east wing, he began to chant a spell. Another instant, a tiny gesture, and a well-placed strike of lightning hit the roof in precisely the spot for which he'd been aiming. Shards of glass leapt upwards, spattering the night sky with despair before raining back into the freshly made cavity. But even seeing that did little to make him feel better. No, there was so much more fury—so many more demolished dreams to avenge.

It had been years since he had used Primal Magic—everything since had been trained, calculated, and associated with special words and focal points. He had forgotten the amount of power just one call, one summoning could bring. He crossed his arms over his chest and felt the Storms rise from within him. The electricity in the air tingled against his skin mercilessly as the thunder clasped in the distance as if to answer his plea.

He threw his arms to the sky and with a shriek watched as the Storms appeared and began their assault. Rain pelted against his skin, the winds so fierce it caused the drops to fly sideways. Hail fell; striking the ground with such force it left divots in the grass and cracks in glass. Winds beat the sides of scaffolding and buildings, causing many doors to fly open, some even coming off their hinges. Dark clouds obscured the Blue Star as thunder rattled windows, which blew themselves out. Lightning struck constantly. White-yellow flashes engulfed the city as each bolt charged into random targets. Some hit buildings, others trees—all leaving debris and scorch marks in their wake.

And through it all, he screamed at the clouds as if commanding them with his voice.

He let the Storms rage until dawn, allowing every iota of magical ability to be ripped from his body. All of his power, unbridled and driven by vicious rage, was used against the symbol of his hatred and anger—Vane.