DISCLAIMER

Emerald, Princess of Vernea, does not own Final Fantasy 8 and is not associated with it or its creators in any way. This is a novelisation of the game and Emerald only lays claim to the written form and original scenes and dialogue that do not appear in the game. Everything else is copyrighted to SquareEnix, the creators of Final Fantasy 8.

Final Fantasy VIII

Emerald Princess of Vernea

Prologue

I'll be here…

Why…?

I'll be 'waiting'… here…

For what?

I'll be waiting… for you… so…

If you come here…

You'll find me.

I promise.

Rinoa Heartilly stood at the heart of a vast, flowery field. It was a beautifully crisp and clear day, just like it was the first time she came to this place. The flowers were in full bloom, filling the fields with splashes of colour. A gentle breeze was blowing through the field, carrying with it the sweet scent of the flowers. The sky was a vibrant blue with only a few light and wispy clouds that moved slowly over the land. Just like it was back then…

The young woman ran a hand through her long, dark hair, brushing the strands away from her face. The breeze grew stronger, pulling numerous petals from the flowers and sending them swirling through the air around her. It was as though she was shrouded in a cloud of flying petals, and she watched in awe as the petals went soaring into the sky, dancing on the wind.

Rinoa held out her hand. A petal floated over and landed in her open palm, drawn to her by some mystical force. Rinoa closed her hand over it, holding it in her palm. When she opened her hand the petal was gone… replaced by a small, white feather.

The wind blew past her and lifted the feather from her hand. Rinoa watched as the feather, caught on the wind, soared high up into the sky along with the petals. It flew higher and higher, until it vanished amongst the clouds.

The young woman continued to watch the sky long after the feather disappeared into the sky—a sky that was as endless and circular as time. Time… If time truly was a circle, then perhaps that feather would one day find its way back here to this place. She wondered where its journey would take it. Into the future… or into the past?

That was a question that only time itself could answer.

When Squall arrived at the Balamb Training Grounds it was not yet raining. The sky overhead was dark and thick with storm clouds, but there were a few patches where the clouds broke and the night sky could be seen. As the first drops of rain began to fall, Squall closed his eyes and let them fall on his face, drenching his brown hair. The rain grew heavier. He listened to its repetitive rhythm as the raindrops splashed onto his leather jacket, soaking the fur collar and dripping from his gloved fingers onto the stone ground.

Squall opened his eyes. Standing across from him was a tall young man with short blond hair that was brushed back over his head and pressed flat by the rain. His long grey trenchcoat was slick with water, but the rain did not bother him. If anything it was a bonus, a challenge to overcome. The young man raised his weapon—a long, steel-bladed sword that had a gun in place of a hilt—and pointed it at Squall.

Squall grabbed hold of his own sword and pulled it out of the ground. The image of a legendary lion was carved into the side of the blade, along with a matching keychain dangling from the hilt. Squall also wore a heavy metal necklace with that very same lion around his neck. Holding his sword with both hands, Squall charged at his opponent. The blond man waited a moment before he charged as well.

The two young men clashed blades and the air became filled with the sounds of battle. The blond man had superb skill with a sword—they both did, fighting with equal skill and vigour. Squall raised his sword and brought it down. His opponent dodged it smoothly and ran past him. Squall turned. The blond man was standing behind him with his sword resting against his shoulder. With a mocking smile on his face he gestured for Squall to come at him again.

Squall did as he bade and charged. Again and again the two men crossed blades, swiping and slashing and stabbing, each one trying to catch the other off-guard. His opponent thrust his blade forward in a stabbing blow, narrowly missing Squall. Squall then brought his blade down again, but his opponent caught the blow easily on the flat side of his sword. They pushed against each other, but his opponent came out stronger and pushed him back.

The blond man swiped his sword across him and Squall ducked down to avoid the blow. He was then forced to jump back out of the way as another blow came whizzing past. The rain had stopped at this point but the ground was still slick; Squall could feel his boots slide across the wet ground as he charged forward. He attacked in a ferocious assault, landing numerous hefty blows at his opponent. The blond man raised his sword and blocked every one of the blows, letting them ring off his sword.

Seeing that he was getting nowhere with a direct assault, Squall jumped back once again. He decided to try using magic to distract his opponent, and then strike while his attention was diverted. Squall charged forward with his hand held out, calling on the magic stored within him.

However the blond man had thought of this, too, and was already making his move. Flames began to swirl around his outstretched hand, gathering into a ball in the palm of his hand. The flames glowed white-hot before firing out at Squall. Squall barely had time to raise his sword to defend himself before the magic hit him. He was thrown clean off his feet and fell onto the wet ground. Steam rose from his clothes as the heat from the rapidly vanishing flames caused the raindrops to evaporate.

Before him, his opponent smiled smugly. This battle was his, and he knew it.

Squall grunted and climbed onto his knees. A shadow fell over him and he looked up to find his opponent standing over him. The blond man's blue eyes looked down on him almost cruelly as he raised his blade over his head, preparing to strike. For the first time in his life Squall froze, staring, as his opponent brought the blade down. It sliced across his face, cutting a long but shallow gash down his forehead and onto his cheek.

He felt the warmth of blood on his face. As he watched it spilled onto the ground in front of him, forming a puddle. Squall stared in shock for a brief moment before his eyes narrowed angrily. He glared up at his opponent, standing in front of him with Squall's blood on his blade. He was still smiling.

Anger welled up within Squall. He stood, his boot sliding on the ground, and swung his blade. The tip scraped across the ground as he brought it up and slashed it across the face of his opponent, who only had time to tilt his head back. The blade slashed across his opponent's face in the same manner. Blood spilled down Squall's blade.

Then… everything went white.