It was just another day in Archades, Hope told himself as he fidgeted his fingers. He scrubbed at the dirt smudged on his skin while the dark-skinned, gruff officer before him scanned the contents of Hope's application. The office around them held lines of other kids his age, all wearing similarly worn clothing and unkempt hair. Hope pushed harder against the dirt, but only spread it further.

The officer glanced between him and the paper. Hope stiffened and straightened his back. The air in here was stifling, smelled heavily of sweat, and the buzzing and whirring of machinery sounded above them. Outside, ships zipped about, but he couldn't see them from this floor. As it was, he could see streets some five floors below them appearing as thin lines in the distance.

"You're aiming for a position in the hospital," the officer droned, "in the hybrid suite?"

Hope nodded a little too quick. "Yeah, I've been told by-"

"You're too young." The officer slapped the paper on the desk with a thud and pulled out a stamp. "Most in your position do well as apprentices for the local healers. We can contact one of the specialists with an opening."

"But that's an unpaid position."

The officer regarded him with a bored expression. "You think you can get paid, healing straight out of the orphanage? Do you know how many kids we got coming out of there and how little money we have going into your schooling?"

"I've been teaching myself. The orphanage was rudimentary, I admit, but-"

"No." The officer slapped the stamp on the paper with an echoing thud. "We'll contact you when we find an opening in the apprenticeships."

Hope's fingers went numb as he accepted the receipt the officer handed him before the man called out, "Next!"

He didn't stay to hear what the next boy got. All he could see was the "training required" printed out across the middle of the receipt underneath the section detailing a summary of his "alleged" capabilities.

"Well, well," came a raspy whisper from the back of his mind. "What did I tell you?"

Hope crumpled the paper in his stained hands. The teachers all assured him he was advanced and could make his way into the general hospital, told him the voice in his head was just a manifestation of his own lack of confidence.

"You know they were just lying, though. Those old women, going about convinced they could be rid of you faster if they use such appealing words."

Dozens of guards and officials bustled about, many of them leering at him as he passed. His kind wasn't welcome here – or really anywhere. He couldn't count how many times he'd heard of all the orphans who turned to gangs or other shady organizations to scrape their way in life. Many who failed the schooling program became pickpockets and thieves that attracted the attention of the policing force.

He found the elevator without trouble, but boarding led to him being trapped in a small crowd that shied as far away from him as they could.

"You don't belong here," whispered the voice. "You've always known that you belong to something greater – something beyond what this world has to offer."

Madness.

"Not madness. Don't fear the light, little one, for it marks great things unto which you shall attain."

The bell dinged at the bottom floor and Hope slipped as far away from the people as he could. He had a chance at an apprenticeship, which he wouldn't even start on until a position opened up.

Hope left through the front door and the streets of Archades filled his view. Bodies pushed past him, tempting Hope to use one of the tricks he'd picked up from the orphanage. One rough hand collided with his head and he slammed into the stone below him. He caught himself, but not before his chin scraped the ground and knocked his teeth together.

It was just another day in Archades.

"Why do you continue to tolerate these creatures?"

Hope pulled himself back to his feet, face stinging. "Because," he said, "this is reality."

The voice growled in offense.

Though the doctor recommended fighting against the voice, pushing back always seemed to encourage it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of what looked like rose petals floating his way. But when he turned to see where they came from, the image dispersed to reveal the trailing debris of a nearby factory. Particles of charcoal.

Hope hurried on down the street and avoided the looks of anyone around him.

"You want insanity? What else would you see in the mindless repetition and justification you provide yourself when I've given you such a clear path to your goals?"

It was the voice's fault, Hope thought as he rushed back to the orphanage. If it weren't for him being crazy, then he would have a better chance at getting a real job. It was the voice's fault that he couldn't start saving up.

"And what would you save for, hm? Your own practice where you take on unpaid apprentices yourself? Getting into the academy that only accepts the best of the best? They don't care about money there, child, they care about prestige, background, and wealth."

"I don't care," Hope mumbled, hoping no one heard him.

He stopped before the doors of the orphanage, where he heard children not much younger than him scurrying about to get to lunch on time. He longed to go in, but they required a fee now that he was older.

The sun beat down on him from its position halfway in the sky and he held a hand to his eyes to shield them from its burning rays. "It's too warm to freeze at night and so long as I can find shade during the day, being homeless may not kill me."

"Optimistic words. I hope you know what you're getting into."

Hope swallowed at the thought of living in the streets of Old Archades for however long it took for those at the office to process his request. Much as he hated the thought of working for free, being an apprentice would secure him a bed each night for up to a year.

People bustled around him, voices blending into an incomprehensible din. Hope wished the volume of the crowd could drown out the low rumbling of the voice. "I've heard of some of them picking up odd jobs," Hope said. "Perhaps I can find someone willing to let me help with some of those."

"Don't be optimistic. Most of these people would kill you sooner than look at you."

"Maybe."

The voice didn't respond to that, its rumbling gone quiet. Hope took that as a good sign and left in search of the first inn he could find – he'd heard that those places offered miscellaneous jobs in exchange for a little compensation and maybe it would keep him from returning to the underground magic exchanges.

On the way, he could swear he felt eyes burrowing into his back, but he learned long ago to dismiss such notions. He was insane, after all.

He paused in his way after almost running headfirst into a man in tight leather and a fine dress shirt. He didn't wear the finery typical to nobility, so Hope assumed him to be one of those brigands that he heard stalked the roads at night. Interesting that it was the middle of the day, though.

"Oi," said the man, stopping to look at him with intent eyes. His voice didn't match most street prowlers. "Didn't your parents tell you that staring is rude?"

"Sorry," Hope said as the man turned again and continued on his way. Hope watched him for a moment before hurrying on. He caught sight of other strangers in the crowd, like a scantily-dressed lady with pistols at her hips, a dark-skinned man wearing green robes after a style he'd never seen even in stories, and a boy with a staff twice as large as Hope was.

He hurried on.

It was just another day in Archades, after all.

Larsa remembered nightmares some time ago. He remembered standing before the windows that adorned this office and worrying that he would slip though and fall to his death. Vayne used to assure him that the glass was as tough as a judge's armor and would require the assault of a sizeable fleet to get to Larsa. That wasn't particularly reassuring, but he didn't tell Vayne.

And now he didn't feel a twinge of fear, not at the thought of falling, at least. He feared at the thought of being trapped in here for the rest of his days. He hated these windows for the entrapment they provided.

A knock sounded at the door to his office and Larsa answered, "Enter."

It opened to reveal the silver-haired girl. "I found him," she said simply before shutting the door behind her and falling into one of the chairs.

Him. It took a moment for Larsa to remember her goal on this world. "The boy?"

"Hardly a boy anymore, but yes. I think he's your age, actually."

Larsa set his hands on the desk. "And?"

"And he doesn't remember." Seven put a finger to her lip in thought. "It's not abnormal, but I might step away for a few years."

"A few years?" repeated Larsa. "Was your issue not of a time-sensitive nature?"

"It's… kind of complicated."

"How many years?"

"If he's not remembering now, it'll be closer to when he's twenty-four. Ten years, give or take."

"… I see."

"It could take me a bit to get a good day next decade, so I'll wait around for a bit first, just in case." Seven pulled a pen from the table beside her and flipped it between her fingers. "If you don't have anyone else coming by, I might just keep that room you gave me for the next week or so."

Larsa pulled back and rested against his chair. "Of course."

"I'll keep an eye on the sun cycles. Let you know." Seven made for the door again and gave a foreign gesture. "I suggest you all increase your vigilance, because having one of these guys on your world doesn't tend to be a good sign. Especially this kid."

"Of course." Larsa frowned as she left and rested his chin on his hands. He didn't know where he and Archadia would stand in ten years, much less what would become of the boy Seven was looking for.

A sudden fatigue and Larsa squinted his eyes shut. A familiar sensation, and one that never left him after it started with that fight on the Bahamut. A faint ache in his back.

It lasted as long as usual and within moments his energy returned to him.

Pulled out a sheet of paper and got to writing a response to Penelo, something he'd put off for too long. Her last letter requested a visit, and Larsa had yet to decide on a day. He preferred to sort out this issue with Basch first, but alas.

He thought for a moment that he should put off the visit longer. But he knew that if he did that, they would no doubt schedule it themselves and arrive unannounced within the month. And then Larsa would have to deal with the inevitable fallout and that left him with a sickening sense of unease.

The door opened again to let in Basch, who shut the door behind him and removed his helmet, revealing sweat-slick hair.

"Impeccable timing," Larsa said.

"The protests in the residential square have been resolved," Basch said. "No casualties."

"Good. Were the perpetrators caught?"

"Some." Basch tucked the helmet under his arm. "Witnesses reported at least six culprits, but we only apprehended three. I've sent them to the dungeons for assessment."

"Well enough. I suspect they won't give up their answers easily."

"It is not common in men like these."

"It'll be difficult to resolve, but for now, I should hope that this is an isolated incident."

Basch turned his gaze to the window. "It'll take some searching."

Larsa tapped the paper he used to start the response to his friend sky pirates. "Vaan and Penelo would like to visit in the near future. Have you any opinion on the matter?"

"I suspect you know how I would respond."

"I can't turn them away every time, Gabranth." Larsa set the paper down with a sigh. "Naïve as it may be, I would like to believe they've matured since they last came."

"If that is your desire."

Larsa fingered his chin. "It is. I should take proper precaution as it is – Vaan takes a liking to every artifact he sees. Perhaps we can sequester them to the eastern wing?"

Basch remained quiet for a moment. Larsa got used to him processing without any visual hints of it – no furrowed brow or narrowed eyes. Finally he said, "That might work, Majesty. With some additional supervision."

"Of course. As such, Seven tells me that the search for Estheim may require a ten-year wait."

"I see." Basch looked him in the eye. "And might I warrant a reminder as to how this pertains to us?"

Larsa stood and gathered the skirts of his robes. The tailor swore he would grow into it, but they must have accounted for a year's worth of hem because months later it still trailed after him. "Seven swears it's for the good of this country and even the planet, though I've yet to see any evidence of it. So long as she leaves no violence in her wake, I see no harm in it."

"But what profit?"

The question had Larsa draw up short. "I couldn't say. But I should like to trust her all the same."

"Yet the more we trust another, the easier for them to hurt us."

The world swam in his eyes and he remembered Vayne. Remembered Gabranth. "Your brother redeemed himself in your eyes in the end, didn't he?"

"Didn't yours?"

Larsa forced down a breath. "No, Gabranth. You're right. Perhaps I should take better care around such an unknown person." Circled around the desk and stopped before those windows that scared him not two years ago. He imagined wandering those streets again and tasting the sweetness of freedom that came with no escorts and no bindings "And how goes your endeavors with Zargabaath?"

"We make progress."

"The Judge Magisters don't deserve a long sleep." Larsa turned back to face him. "I should hope you'll inform me of any obstacles which I can address."

"I will." Basch's face remained stony and Larsa hated that he couldn't read any emotion in the man's face. He hid his emotions better than Gabranth and that was no small feat. "Judge Zargabaath does much of the work and deserves commendation for such."

Larsa held up a hand. "And he will receive it." Paused at another bout of fatigue and waited for it to pass.

"… Majesty."

"Don't think anything of it." Larsa took hold of his chair to steady himself. "It'll pass."

Basch stepped forward without a release and stopped beside him. "You should rest."

Larsa placed a hand on Basch's arm and the fatigue finally passed. "There. It's done."

"Does it improve?"

"Yes." Larsa pulled back and waved Basch away. "Slowly, but yes."

"But two years have passed."

"And I've improved by leaps and bounds. I don't faint anymore, nor lose the strength in my fingers. A moment of weakness is all it is."

Basch took an obedient step back. "Of course."

"Do you dream, Gabranth?"

"… At times, yes."

"What about?"

"Nabudis. Dalmasca. Enacting my role as Judge."

Larsa took his seat at the desk again. "Are they pleasant?"

"At times."

"Do you think this palace safe? That is to say, this glass doesn't leave me reassured."

"I think this room as safe as one can find this side of the desert."

"Thank you, Gabranth. That's reassuring. Though it leaves some desire for open air, or even a breeze through a window."

Basch looked between him and the windows. "You'll attend a conference in Rabanastre before much longer. Perhaps you can bide your time until then."

"I can." The thought left a lingering sense of weight in his limbs. "Though it's not particularly appealing, I have practiced myself well in the act."

"Have you?"

Larsa hesitated. "My trips made in the past are not definitive to my habits now. I've not left an escort since Giza."

"Must I impress the importance of our protection?"

"No." He remembered Gabranth's dying words. Remembered his last breath. Remembered the life fading from his eyes while he held Larsa's hand.

After an extended pause, Basch finally relented. "I can arrange for a guarded tour of the gardens erected on the south side of the palace. The war memorial provides an expansive walk if utilized."

But it wasn't the same as living and breathing the same air as normal people. As stopping by bakeries and smelling the sweetness of candy shops. It wasn't the same as sitting in a crowd and listening to the common day discussions made by those concerned with fashions and popular opinion. As meeting new people and learning their stories.

"That's kind of you, Gabranth. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and I look forward to it."