"You look surprised."

"I wasn't expecting something this big, I'll admit."

"Not reading your own briefing material? You're slipping Instructor. Bet you didn't expect this part either."

She hasn't bound up her hair again, hoped that keeping it free out of her usual styled mess will make it less obvious who it is under the cut, and snow's already gathering in it like white tassles on a platinum-coloured curtain. Sometimes I catch myself turning around to say or ask something, and I look at her and think who the hell is this, and where did Trepe go? The eyes are the same though, she can't change those. Hopefully it won't matter. I've known- I knew her for years and the imagine I still have of SeeD Quistis Trepe is a woman with styled blonde hair and a peach jacket and skirt. Not an almost-white ghost in dirty brown leather clothes.

When she paces the long hair whirls around her, like a cream-silk curtain wavering in the air. "No Almasy, this I saw coming a mile away."

If I wanted a rise out of her I didn't get it, hadn't been a very good one either if I was be honest. The buggy that Seagill had left us was perfect for the job, which meant it was an old broken-down piece of crap with torn panelling, a coughing engine and metal seats. We'd frozen our asses up and down a mountain, wind howling in from outside like it had a grudge. At first I felt pretty cheerful knowing Trepe was every bit as angry she was coming here as I was, but after the first hundred miles even that small joy went away and all we could do was trundle down Trabia's godforsaken landscape. I think when we crossed the last hill and finally hit something that could almost be called a road we'd both just sighed and got on with it. Lights and sound coming down from the plains below had appeared as we had passed the final curves out of the mountains, and I'd gunned the engine one last time as we went the last few dozen miles down to the city below. It wasn't the perfect paved roads of Galbadia or even the smooth dirt paths of Balamb, but it was the closest thing we'd since to civilisation since we had passed Trabia's northern borders, and that was good enough. We'd got within hailing distance of the gates with blessed relief.

Then we'd stopped, and hadn't started again.

The guns made sure of that.


I watch as Trepe paces outside the buggy, back and forth, back and forth, just trying to stay warm in the half-blizzard we're wrapped up in. You'd think her feet would have tired out after the first hour but nope, still going. The two guards on either side of the gate are watching her, the same stupid expressionless lockjaw-gaze guards all over the world seem to practise. But they have the heavy coats so they're the ones laughing I guess. They have the guns as well. I still have my gunblade, but it's in the back of the buggy, and Trepe isn't armed at all.

"Think that'll do any good?" I ask, but instead of answering she just shoots a murderous glance at me and goes back to pacing in the snow, the warm groove her boots have made in the concrete path melting the snow around her. It's chipped, badly-maintained, like hardly anyone uses it. I saw the western entrance as we came down, and that one looked flawless. Guess nobody really comes by this way enough to make something better.

Finally she leans back up against the buggy, still not speaking, still angry. I'm not sure why, she read the briefing just as well as I did. Probably a couple of times at that. Reality always turns out stranger than you think.


"Is that it?"

"Looks about right," I say in return, and hand over the binoculars. "Unless you think there's some other place around here that could qualify."

Usually I'd expect a comeback but at this point we're past that. She stares through the glasses for a second and puts them down again.

"I wasn't expecting anything so…big," she says. "When Kiros said a town I expected…well. A town. That thing's practically a city."

"Pretty piss-poor excuse for a city but I get your point."

It hugs the plains below us like it's trying to stay out of the wind. I wonder how many people it has in it, how many finally got sick enough of the stupid bitching and moaning and small-wars of the rest of the world to up-sticks and run all the way out here, out to the land that Trabia and Esthar don't care about enough to even lay claim to.

Havensden, the free-state.

It looks like Galbadia if someone smashed it down into the ground. No buildings above three stories, no skyscrapers or huge parade-sized squares and roads. Everything built close together, brick and cement and what looks like some kind of wood, swear to god, all crushed into the plain. Even the fields are huddled close by, on the few patches of greenery that aren't buried under snow this late in winter. It's big enough, bigger than Balamb easily, maybe the same size as Dollet. If this the place people come to get away from it all, there's a hell of a lot of those people. This isn't the only free-state city, but it's the biggest. You can see where it started, in the middle. A small, circular gathering of buildings around a tiny square where the village had originally lain, surrounded by the rest. Roads had been added where they'd been needed to cart goods or food around like the spokes in a wheel, and around those spokes things had just built up as people had arrived. Some buildings looked like Balamb-style bungalows; others were the squat square workings of Galbadian engineers. The whole thing was a hodge-podge, a mess. It could fit a couple of hundred thousand, easily. Maybe Galbadia and all the other rotten old places have a bigger problem than they knew, if this many people were willing to risk it in the north. I can see the citizens even at this distance, moving around the town in small black specks, out in the fields running to and fro.

I glance sideways and Trepe's looking down on it, with an expression I mainly recognise because I've worn it myself so many times. Looking like she'd like to stamp on something until it goes away. I'm a little surprised. "Gil for your thoughts?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"Guards," is all she says, and hands back the binoculars.

She's right. Four of them, at the entrance, way too still and way too well-armed to be just four men bunking off from work. "Immigration control maybe?"

"No," she replies. All business now, so far the only way we can get through a conversation and stay civil, although the last few days on the way here it was damn close. "Havensden let anyone in except…anyone, really." Anyone except SeeDs, and I hold my grin down. I read the same brief she did; outside military isn't welcome in Havensden, especially mercenaries. That must really piss her off. She goes on; "Getting in won't be a problem, it's what you do after."

"What we do."

I catch it, that little twist of her lips. "Fine, what we do."

The guards stop us at the gate, and everything slows to a crawl.


She stands over the buggy looking away from the city, hands behind her back like the schoolteacher she used to be. "Do you think they're worried."

I've asked myself the same question, and I think I know the answer. "They recognised me. Now they're trying to figure out how to respond. That or they really don't like people from Esthar. Or they're uptight about people with loose morals running around their city."

She grimaces, a little bit. That's her cover if they ask. Just a woman I picked up on the way across the world, along for the ride, and all the other things that implies. Trepe's always had pride, and I know it must piss her off to play it like this. That's mainly why I convinced Seagill this was the best way for us to appear when we got here, and it seemed funny back in Esthar. Maybe it was going a little too far.

The guards shuffle on their feet and I glance past them, through the rough stone arch. There are shadows there in the snowstorm, and they're getting bigger. The guards come from a huddled slouch to attention, and I know this is finally it. "Ah, finally."

She spins around to look, making a minature snowstorm of her own as she does so. I'm up and walking towards the guards and I can see it takes her a second to remember that this time she very much has to follow my lead. Trepe puts her head down, hands clasped in front of her like a meek little kitten, and she walks slightly behind me as she does so. That's her other problem, why she's so angry. She may be in charge of this little excursion but now, in the belyl of the beast, the starring role is mine again. She's just the attentive servant-stroke-mistress. Hilarious. Together we watch as a trio come past the guards towards us.

"Mr Almasy. I heard it but I hardly believed it."

There are three of them but it's perfectly clear who the one in charge is. The women is hidden beneath two of three layers of fur, hard to see anything under it, but she's bowed over, looks tired just being out here. The man on the other side is big, taller than me. He's wearing less, has his arms crossed like he's one of the guards trying to stare me down with hard brown eyes under some kind of military-style buzz-cut. He even has a pistol at his side. Chalk them up as clerk and security maybe, I can find out more later once I get inside. The brains and the muscle. That only leaves…

That same brushed-back oily hair, the same easy smile, somehow managing to look calm and at ease like all five of us (I don't count the guards, they're just furniture here) are in some warm office-room instead of outside in a blizzard. It takes me a second but I realise who the man in the middle reminds me of. Fury Caraway, the clock rolled back to around his late-twenties, plucked away from the comfortable mansion he has in Galbadia and dropped into this half-built frontier city. He walks up to me with a smile on his face like I was some long-lost family member finally come home again. I didn't need to look around at Trepe to know what she's thinking, because I've always known what she thinks about fakers.

We both dislike him instantly.

"I'm pretty unbelievable," I say. I know he won't faze, these kinds of people don't.

"Mind if I ask what you're doing here?" he says, still with a faint smile, a default expression apparently so he doesn't accidentally get caught being anything other than charming and helpful.

"Looking for a warm roof, mainly." I don't ask him his name yet. Force him to ask the questions, so I can see how he's approaching this. If he drives us off so be it, we'll find another way in. I don't think he will though, and neither does Trepe.

"Well we have them for sure," the man says. "If you and your friend…" he trails off with a hand outstretched towards Trepe. I don't give him an answer though, and after a tick he just goes on smooth like he'd never stopped. "We're just curious though."

Fine. That's enough. "About what?"

"About who you might be draggin' in behind you," Large 'N' Tall asks from behind the man. I glance at him for the first time and he meets it easily, looking down on me like that's enough to make me scared of him, god tall people annoy me sometimes.

"Like?" I probably know the answer, but let's see who he's afraid of.

"Like the kind of people that might be chasin' you, Almasy." the goon responds.

The first man flows between us as smooth as oil. "What we mean is, the people you're trying to get away from are the people we came here to get away from," he says. "We're not eager to be wrapped up in the problems you might bring."

Maybe there's something there, maybe there isn't. If he'd worried I'd bring SeeD down on them then they'd have been dirty. Doesn't seem that way though, if all they're worried about is Trabia or Esthar. That's enough for now though. "Nobody's chasing me that hard anymore," I reply, and hope that Kiros was honest when he said he'd call off the hounds from me, and let people know it. Of course the bastard made damn sure I knew he'd put them right back on me if I stepped out of line. "I heard up here people don't care for the rest of the world. That you're making something new. I'm not gonna lie and say I'm eager to be a part of it-" absolutely true "-but right now you people seem to have a city to build up, and you don't want to be disturbed just as much as me."

The big man behind me isn't convinced, but the charmer seems to eat it up. He smiles again, that politico smile. "Then I think we'll get along fine, as long as you treat us the same way you'd like to be treated." He reaches out his hand again, and when he comes close I can finally see his eyes. "I'm Lyle Diran. You've probably guessed it by now but I'm part of the little council we have in the city." He gestures to the two people behind him, the brute. "Mr Kurlen here is something of our chief security expert." Finally, at the well-wrapped woman who still hasn't said a word, just stood there clutching her bag. "Lily doesn't talk much, but she keeps our town working. The rest of the council, well, I'm sure you'll meet us eventually. We don't really hold with mayors or royalty, we like something more…inclusive. Every voice to be heard, that sort of thing."

"Charmed. Seifer Almasy."

"And your friend?"

I can see the big one – Kurlen – smirking. If he thinks Trepe is just a portable floozy I've brought up here with me then that's fine. All the more satisfying when we end up shoving that smirk up his ass. "This is Imalia. She's a friend." Out of the corner of my eye I can see Trepe bowing instead of nodding. If they ask I have a cover ready to go, but I don't think we'll need it. Diran just smiles some more and nods enough for all of us.

"Welcome to Havensden, Mr Almasy." He reels off a small speech, which I get the impression the usual rabble get from some underling. It's full of words I barely listen to; I already have what I wanted from these three, for now. I do get one other thing though, and its welcome, I won't lie. "There's a small place we have for new arrivals. It's not much but it's warm and out of the snow. Just until you find a place for yourself in your little…community."

"Lead on," I say, as the trio turn around, and just like that we're past the gates. I nod once to the guards still on duty and visibly shivering, just for the sake of it, and to my surprise one of them nods back. Maybe out here people really don't give a damn about the rest of the world.

The arches vanish in the blizzard behind us, and we're inside.


"Well?" I ask.

Lyle hadn't been kidding when he said it wasn't much. A house that looked like a brick of concrete from outside, and like a prison cell from inside. Two beds, a small bathroom with a shower and not much else. In fact 'not much else' pretty much describes the thing. There are cracks in the slate-gray walls and the seats and beds look like they've been cobbled together from whatever spare timber and cloth they had lying around when they finished the rest of the town. It's warm though, so the rest I ignore. I've lived in worse places for longer.

"About the town or the people?" Trepe asks back, still looking outside the window.

"Let's start with our little welcoming committee," I reply. At that she turns around and sits on one of the seats, looking just over my shoulder and I know she's using that SeeD training to recall every inch of what just happened. There's light coming in from outside and it's bouncing off her hair, casting an odd shadow across her face. The old Trepe I still remember, blonde and blue and that schoolteacher impatience that always seemed a half-second away from trying to fix what you were doing wrong. Now it's like sitting across from a wraith, a Zen-goddamn-master. It's eerie. It's been five years since the Second War, but that doesn't seem like such a long time for such a big change.

What the hell happened?

"The middle-man seemed off," she says. "He doesn't match the town."

"I'd be shocked if 'Lyle Diran' was his real name," I say. Too smooth, in a place where smoothness wouldn't have much value. People like Kurlen I expected. Big, tough and outspoken goons who didn't take crap from anyone, coming out here because they thought they could be free in a way they weren't in the old world. Building a city up here – and it was one, regardless of what Seagill and his goons might hope – took cold, hard effort. There'd have been no room or patience for a schmoozer to get as high up as leadership, not unless he had something else to bring to the table. I say this.

"Agreed," she says. "But that isn't our main concern right now."

"Can you feel anything?"

Her eyes snap towards me and I can tell she's annoyed. "What do you mean feel?"

Suddenly I'm on the defensive, and I have no idea why. I shrug and wave my hand vaguely at her, like I'm Leonhart or something. "Can't you…can't you see if the GF is here or not? Look for it with that Blue stuff you have?" This would go a whole lot faster if…

Said blue flashes at me from behind her eyes. Not in anger though. Now I'm just confused. The days we took getting here and this is the most emotion I've seen out of her. "It doesn't work like that, Seifer. It wasn- it isn't a compass." God, my first name too. She's really worked up about this. There's a puzzle there. The question is; do I give a shit about finding the answer?

Not right now. "Fine, so you've got nothing. Then we do this the hard way."

She sighs, and I know she's on the same wavelength as me. She hesitates for a second, and then… "I'm worried about the man he was with. Kurlen."

"I'm not," I shoot back. He was big, I'll give him that. Big and mean and probably rodent-cunning, if he's the one who winded up being the head of whatever policing militia they have here. He played second-fiddle to Lyle though, back at the gates, and that means he's just the muscle, no matter his title. Diran's glad-handing smile and Kurlen's fat fists. Probably the first directing the second, and the second too dumb to realise just because you have the guns doesn't make you the one in charge. If things go to shit it's those fists I'll meet first-

"Hey," she says, and I'm jerked out of the reverie I didn't realise I was in. "We shouldn't get ahead of ourselves."

She's right. I take a deep breath and calm down. We got here an hour ago and I'm already thinking of my exit. Need to stop that, no sense in running while Trepe and Seagill have me on a ball and chain. Enough to worry about right now without that too.

"He obviously didn't like you," Trepe says.

"I'm still not worried, plenty of people don't like me. But did you hear him? He was more worried about what who might be following me here." Like I said, not as smart as Diran. "He's either really a rugged individual, or he's worried about bring Trabian/Estharian attention to the city."

She nods, she knows it too. She taps her fingers on the rough wood of the chair. "So, our first step."

"We need the loose thread." There has to be one, every conspiracy will. SeeD tells you to find the weak link, the tear in the canvas, the loose thread in the shirt. From there it doesn't matter how well-made it is, all you need to do is follow it back to the start, and the boss. "We know the group operates near here?"

"Near, or inside," Trepe says. "Those ships didn't just disappear into the ether. Either they were taken for parts or they're being stored somewhere for repair. Maybe the second and third ships are being scrapped to fix the first, or they're being sold overseas for money and goods. That amount of work can't go unnoticed by everyone. And that isn't all they have to hide."

"The GF."

She nods. "If they try and use it, it won't be pretty, or subtle. If they're unprepared, Ifrit will tear them apart."

"You're kidding." That one? Thanks Kinneas, thanks a goddamn lot. Why couldn't you have lost an easy one? "Well, maybe they'll do it. The big guy can kill them and save us the trouble."

"Let's not count on that. They have a SeeD and an ex-SeeD, they won't make that mistake. They'll keep it somewhere safe, probably at whatever base they have."

There would be signs, somewhere. Outsiders bunking in the town and going in and out every day to work. Maybe there were parts being used somewhere in the city to power the heat and lights. Maybe someone had more money than they should have and no explanation as to how, or some areas of the place were avoided when talk about expansion came around. I walked over to the window, and I could feel Trepe's eyes following me as I look out over the place. An ugly patchwork, parts taken from all over the world and stuck down here in the final plains before the snow closed over the ground. Somewhere out in that maze and chaos there was a thread sticking out of the ground, just waiting for us to find it. I looked back at her, found blue eyes boring into mine. Maybe the rest of her was different, but those eyes were the same. Sapphires. Is it my imagination, or are they just a little darker than they were?

"It won't be easy," I say.

"It never is." She sighed, and there it was again. A hint of something else, underneath the annoyance and the tiredness. Maybe it'll be a challenge to find out exactly where it came from. "We'll start with Kurlen then. The militia, the police, whatever he runs. They must have an administration of some sort, I'll start there." There's a tiny smirk there, anyone normal would have missed it, but I know her too well. "They have no reason to suspect me. You'll have to do a little catching up though."

I can see it in my head now. A snapshot of the ugly bastard at the top of an imaginary board, just waiting for the space below to be filled with lines and pictures and connecting facts, until at some point a slip-up or a talkative worker or simple bad luck will give us the way in. From there it gets easier, but more murky. Maybe we can roll straight up the ladder to Kurlen or whoever is in charge, and the black outlines where a SeeD-trained terrorist and a traitorous SeeD are, take them down or take them out and go home heroes. Maybe it will all go wrong and we'll have to charge in swinging and shooting. "Oh, I think I can weasel my way in somehow Instructor."

"What's so funny?"

I catch Trepe looking at me and I realise she's right. I'm smiling. "Nothing," I say, and she just goes back to staring at the inside of her own head, doing the exact same thing I was but probably with a little more precision, and a much nicer-looking board. I'm still smiling though, and I know why. Fun. For the first time in months – hell, in years – things look like they're going to be fun. I consider thanking Trepe, but she wouldn't know why or what for, and I'm too tired for needling at her head to be fun tonight. The suns' already falling, and it looks like we have some long days ahead of us.

Trapped inside a city that hates the outside world, with a woman that they'd hate even more if they knew who she really was, and who dislikes me just as much. Somewhere in the distance a terrorist group with enough skill to take down Esthar aircraft, tame black SeeDs, and a brand-new GF that could ruin the city like a bomb if prodded in the wrong way. Surrounded by ice on all sides in a labrinthyne nightmare I don't know and can't trust to hide me. No way out of this predicament, nothing short of success or death.

Still though, I'm not entirely unhappy.


Welcome back, after a few weeks' break. My main story right now is stll Until the Fall of Night, but from now on expect irregular updates of this, instead of total blank silence.

Thanks for reading! Reviews and stuff appreciated of course.

~Cobray