PROLOGUE: Blizzara Tears
The saltiest of sweat runs down the side of his face, making his long brown hair cling desperately to his neck and jawline. They're all depending on him and it is imperative he not fail. After all, he can end all the world's suffering - the battles being fought in the streets of Dollet and support requested to the Garden, the hundreds of orphaned children living with only hope of surviving with life and limb - but he hesitates and almost chokes. Irvine, so calm and collected before his peers, isn't ready for this kind of pressure. He's just a kid.
He weighs his options. He could just run now. But he has the power to end this. What if she retaliates? She'd have to break through those iron gates and find him first. What if he misses? There's no guarantee he would if he doesn't make the shot at all.
"Irvine Kinneas!" A voice shakes him, the teen beside him bringing him back to reality.
There are two teens with him as he hides atop a parade flat. Beside him, a male with a large unforgiving scar across the center of his face. Before him, a petite brunette female in a long blue sweater.
"I.. I can't..." He answers stammering. "I'm sorry. I can't do it. I always choke like this... I try to act all cool, joke around, but I just can't handle the pressure..."
"Forget it. Just shoot," the male teen orders, signalling with his hands.
"My bullet... The Sorceress..."-at this Irvine chokes-"I'll go down in history. I'd change the history of Galbadia... of the world!" Irvine turns away from the male teen. "It's all too much."
"Enough! Just shoot!" He says, cutting his arms through the air visibly frustrated.
"I can't, dammit!" Irvine bites back. He brings a hand to his face to hide the shame of the tears welling in his eyes.
The male teen bows his head for a brief moment and takes a deep breath, composing himself. "Irvine, calm down. Everyone's waiting on you." The teen's voice drifts from its previous tone of impatience to that of nurture and calmness. "I don't care if you miss," he continued. "Whatever happens, just leave the rest to us. Just think of it as a signal. A sign for us to make our move."
Irvine drops his hand and steals a glance at the other teen. "Just a signal..."
The male teen nods assuredly. "Please."
Raising up, Irvine breathes deep and wipes the heavy sweat from his face. He clears his mind and tries to alleviate each and every ounce of doubt that clawed at his lonely, pitiful heart.
"Just a signal..." Irvine repeats.
It's now or never, he thinks and so he takes aim with professional expertise and flawless precision, pulling hard on the trigger. The plangent whistle of the bullet is nearly muffled by the roars from the crowd below, though some recognize the sound and respond instantaneously, instinctively, to it; taking cover or looking for its source or shielding the ones for whom they care most.
Irvine doesn't watch them though, the civilians crowding the street in blind celebration, presidential in size and definition. Irvine keeps his eyes on the bullet barreling from his rifle toward its victim. He imagines the bullet to be a lifeline, a timer, a death toll set in the infinity that is but milliseconds. The briefest of moments to others, though to him, an era of waiting, of fear, of sorrow, of pain, of complex emotion a boy of seventeen isn't yet equipped to handle. And to him the moment lasts a hundred years.
His fear sets in, and he was right all along. Just as he knew he would be. Something goes awry.
The target, beautiful and pale-skinned, puts one of her thin, twig-fingered hands up. The Sorceress' hands are the only thing unappealing about her - lengthy and sharp. Her face is sculpted with grace and a feminine elegance not many women acquire in a lifetime. Her petite frame is complemented by a modest form-fitting black dress and an intricate and well-garnished golden headdress calls out in self-importance. But the Sorceress' hands - they are but bladed claws, warding off the many who fall victim to her enchanting allure.
With her bladed hand in air, the bullet deflects from an invisible barrier around her and barrels back into the crowd.
Irvine falls back, stunned, not knowing what would come of this. It was his first mission and the only way he could prove himself. But Irvine's faith broke there, for he had failed.
"I'm sorry," Irvine admits. His voice is nearly inaudible.
To Irvine's surprise, the male teen's reply is automatic. "It's okay. Your aim was perfect," he stressed. "Just leave the rest up to me. I'm goin' in for the Sorceress. Irvine, Rinoa, just be ready to back me up." Irvine remains unresponsive though it does not deter the male teen. "Take care of Rinoa."
The male teen jumps far down to the street from atop the parade float and disappears in the crowd of onlookers.
Irvine is at odds. His mind racing, he is unable to catch up to his thoughts.
Did he really just fail? What would be the consequences for his failure? Would he have succeeded if he had just followed through? And what if?
"Irvine."
What if he hadn't hesitated? What if he had taken the shot a few seconds earlier? Would that have made the difference between her life gone forever and his forever changed? And what if?
"Irvine."
What if he hadn't been sent on this most crucial of missions? Who would have taken his place? And would they have been able to follow through? What if-
"Irvine!" Rinoa's hands clench as forcefully as the can on each of his shoulders. "We can't-Are you listening?-We can't do this right now."
"What?" Irvine stands up, his height over her aiding to break free of her grasp.
"I must have called you a hundred times. Snap out of it. We don't have time for this right now. We need to go help."
Rinoa bends forward, grabbing her weapon, a pinwheel boomerang, and his from the ground, pushing his rifle to him. She grabs Irvine by the wrist and rushes toward the edge of the float.
"Here we go! Jump!"
Rinoa jumps into the air, her right hand still grasping Irvine's left wrist and Irvine follows after her. She meets the ground with a small stumble and he meets the ground rolling. A few onlookers in the crowd are startled, looking toward the two teens in bewilderment, and the two are off.
Rinoa is in the lead, her small frame weaves through the crowd with ease. Spying her sweater trailing in the wind is all Irvine can do to keep up with her.
"Soldiers to the left!" Rinoa warns, sliding to a stop and sprinting right. "Come on. Hurry."
Irvine follows, taking his eyes off her and listening for her voice above the crowd. In the distance a grand archway grows larger and larger, the details in its stone facade becoming more visible and intricate, its wrought iron gates forboding. Even from here, Irvine can see the male teen, his gunblade brandishing light as it clangs against that of a blond swordsman protecting the Sorceress. A few more advances and parries take place, the crowd in a confused arrangement of excitement and fear as Rinoa and Irvine arrive at the gates.
"Too small to get through here." Rinoa says, breathlessly. She peers around and spies an opportunity. "There!"
The male teen draws his offhand back, balling his fist and Irvine and Rinoa turn a corner, heading for a small gap in the gate. Rinoa eases her way through first though Irvine has to hunch over, his back to the stone wall.
Rinoa still running, slides into a barrel roll as the blond swordsman is launched from the Sorceress' float onto the street below. She rebounds quickly, kicking the swordsman's weapon away from him to the edge of the gate, Irvine now on her heels in pursuit.
"A SeeD," the Sorceress' sharp, icy voice pierces the night air, "planted in a run-down Garden."
Rinoa rushes up the stairs onto the platform of the float and stands besides the male teen, his gunblade still brandished, ready to cut down his enemy.
"I can fight if I'm with you! That's why I'm here," she lets her position be known.
Irvine trots up beside the two. "I have to redeem myself." His body gasps for breath.
"The accursed SeeD," the Sorceress states emotionlessly.
The male teen starts quickly toward the Sorceress, his gunblade stretched out to his side for a haymaker and Rinoa raises her arm, getting it eye level, takes aim closing her right eye and shoots her pinwheel boomerang.
The Sorceress stretches her palms out in front of her, the male teen gaining on her. A small orange glimmer materializes above her hands, shining brilliantly before igniting into a large ball of fire. Irvine can feel the heat from the fire as he kneels to take aim with his rifle. Instantly, the ball of fire is propelled forward at racing speed. The male teen is scarcely quick enough to block with his gunblade, the force thrusting him, his feet sliding several feet backward on the platform before he parries it, sending it toward Irvine who falls to the ground as the flame hits the stone wall and vanishes.
Irvine raises his head. Sidestepping with too much ease a small blur of blue and black he can only judge to be Rinoa's opener, the Sorceress points an unforgiving finger at Rinoa. Above Rinoa's head, sparks begin to buzz and crackle. Irvine raises to his knees but the male teen is faster, tackling Rinoa to safety and catching her pinwheel boomerang while a bolt of lightning strikes the place where she stood seconds ago.
The Sorceress readies another fireball and with no one before him, Irvine brings up the sights on his rifle for a clear shot. Without thought and hesitation he shoots three shots. The first two bullets he sees cause the wall behind her to crack and crumble though she had forseen the third, the flames in her hands drawing it in like a vacuum, the flames dissipating just as quickly.
Have I failed again? He thought. At point blank range?
The Sorceress, however, doesn't believe in failure. To her, there exists either victory or death. There is no between, no mercy for those who fall. Entranced and distracted, her eyes glazed over in cruel indifference, the male teen assures himself that she doesn't notice him as he sprints toward her for a second assault. Rinoa and Irvine can only stare helplessly as the event unfolds before them.
With his silver gunblade in hand refracting the festive parade lights in miraculous hues of scarlet and orange and gold, he launches himself toward the Sorceress, readying himself for attack. She senses the danger. Lifting one of her hands high into the air, small blue particles of light dance and coalesce above her, forming a razor sharp object expelling cool, icy smoke. Irvine opens his mouth, as if to warn to dodge or parry, though he only thinks. The Sorceress is yet too fast, hurling the icy object toward the male teen.
His gunblade in hand, his chest pierced through, he is pushed backwards through the air and off the platform. Rinoa races to the platform's edge, teary-eyed and unbelieving, reaching a fragile hand out to her hero.
"Squall!"
It's a moment that replayed in Irvine's mind a million times the instant it happened. Squall rushes to attack. He's confident. He's prepared. But Sorceress Edea conjures an ice spell and hurls it toward him. And he takes the hit in the chest.
And he dies.
Squall dies.
And it replays in his head. And he dies. Again and again.
What if Irvine hadn't hesitated?
Rinoa is pulled away from the edge though her eyes are too tear-laden to see so she struggles against them. A brunette girl in a shoulderless yellow ensemble-an ally named Selphie-wipes the tears from Rinoa's eyes gently, ignoring the ones spilling from her own.
"We don't have the time for that," Selphie says.
"Move!"
The order comes from a bossy, bespectacled blonde in a pink dress who has also joined the fray. She is grasping a thick black whip whose end is wrapped around the Sorceress' neck and a tawny hound accompanies the assault, biting hard at her ankle. Selphie grabs Rinoa by the wrist and leads her away without further question, passing a disgruntled Irvine as he looks toward the edge of the float, his mind unable to fathom what his eyes have just seen.
Still kneeling, Irvine reaches in his back pocket, taking out a large magazine and quick-reloads. He raises his rifle to position once more and lets out a barrage of bullets.
The Sorceress counters anew, erecting a wall of ice that blocks the bullets and severs the whip from her neck. The ice begins to fade, as if it never existed and simultaneously, more sparks of lightning buzz overhead. Irvine rolls off the platform and onto the street below, falling next to the blond swordsman.
What if he'd just shot her when he was told?
He lifts himself up to his elbows and sees a familiar face hovering over Squall's ice-stricken body. His blond hair is spiked and gelled up into points and his aqua eyes, usually full of life and optimism are replaced with forlorn . On the left side of his face is a black tribal tattoo painted in dramatic swoops and arcs. Zell.
And Zell is frantic. His hands are trembling, his face tear-drenched, hunched over, vomiting. Raising to his hands, the body still lays still before him. Unruly brown hair and a deep scar across the bridge of the nose. Short, black jacket rimmed with faux fur and a gunblade still gripped tightly in one of his gloved hands. A gargantuan ice shard is lodged in his chest and a final vision of shock is etched upon his face as he gasps for air.
Irvine crawls to Zell's side and kneels beside him. Zell is spitting curses into the air, spewing saliva around himself. His rage and disbelief is so flagrant, he nearly misses the low and soft whisper of a dying man's last request.
A gurgle startles them, and they looks to their friend. His lips are moving slowly, but assuredly, and Zell has to suppress his whimpers to make out the words but cannot.
Irvine starts "Squall," but Zell interrupts him.
"Save your strength, buddy," Zell tries to quiet his dying friend. "We're gonna make it through this. Together."
What if he hadn't been afraid?
Using the remainder of his strength Squall grabs a hold of Irvine's hand. Squall's arm falls limp to his side and Zell grabs for Squall's gunblade with his gloved hands.
A sense of blame, of culpability rushes over Irvine for a second and he is unable to hear the sounds of battle behind him, unable to see the vision of enemy weapons pointed at him as the tears well up in his eyes.
However he is able to hear the stark opposition when the clamor of the crowd and battle rapidly die down and he dries his eyes.
It's barely noticeable at first; Squall's body begins to glow and haltingly lifts from the ground where it lay, his skin, his hair, his clothing emitting a visible aura in vibrant colors beyond the ordinary spectrum. Irvine is uncertain of the happening, questioning it and putting distance between himself and Squall. Beams of energy flow like rapids from his core, altering and animating everything they touch. Upon impact with the raw energy, the heavy gate lifts open, the walls change color, several witnesses age forward and backward and Quistis, taking a direct hit from a beam in the back of the head, disappears completely, leaving behind just a smoking leather combat boot. Selphie quits her assault against the Sorceress and Rinoa reaches out for her pet dog.
"Run!" Selphie orders to the two boys.
Selphie and Rinoa fly off in opposite directions. Zell climbs to his feet clumsily, nearly slipping in his puddle of bile and sprints away, Squall's gunblade still in hand.
What if he hadn't run from his duty?
"What have you done, Edea?" Zell demands the Sorceress answer him.
Edea's face is etched with fear unbecoming of her. She turns frantically and begins to flee. The citizens of Deling City are wiser, already running from the scene as the beams change the whole of reality of everything they touch. Most citizens are already disappearing over the horizon unashamedly leaving the slower stragglers in their distant wake. Zell strengthens his grip and begins to run, and then sprint, exiting the archway, Irvine right behind him.
A thunderous boom breaks the air and ruptures Irvine's eardrums, making them bleed while a strange force throws him into the air and he becomes a weightless projectile. Kicking and flailing his arms, he soars dangerously between other airborne debris; an uprooted tree and a luxury car, both closing in on him. He slices and swipes at them with the rifle but they are both just out of reach.
What if...?
Then everything stops. Midair. Mid projectory. Vehicles and whole buildings, street lamps and parade floats and living people fill all dimension of the still night air. Zell, too is stopped only thirty or forty steps ahead of him. Irvine dares to look over his shoulder. Growing in every direction, a darkness consumes everything. The beams of energy stretching out from it remain the only things perpetuating motion all around him.
...he had not been such a coward...?
This is no normal explosion he knows so he panics, screaming out, and others do the same. The darkness grows on everything taking them all aggressively and without retaliation. He can feel a change in the temperature, the humidity, the sheer intensity of the air as the darkness moves in on him, taking a hotdog stand and crying preteen girl with it.
...and if...?
He sweats, unwelcoming of the oncoming doom, but to his surprise, the darkness stops before him reversing twice as fast as it had come. For a few seconds everything still hangs in the thinning air. Irvine can feel the sharpness of the air; it's becoming more and more difficult to breathe. It happens quickly. Everything first blown away by the magnitude of the explosion gets dragged backward toward it with twice the force.
...if...?
A mechanical sound of grinding and crushing screeches through the air making him grind his teeth. Everything behind him seems to be compressing into one point. Irvine is crushed between the tree and car, yelping in pain but never letting go of his rifle.
What if...?
He remembers their faces well that last time he saw them. Zell. Selphie. Quistis. Rinoa. Eyes all filled with tears, they had all been crying. They had been crying Blizzara tears.
What if this is his fault and he knows it?
Irvine is sucked into the void. The darkness is the last thing he sees.