Chapter Ten

The Future

Memories of the world before the fall remain
But the light of dawn doth never change
Nor e'er the hearts of men.

- Cyan Garamonde, Doman Poetry

A thin, ethereal mist drifted in the air when they arrived, hanging like cobwebs beneath the wooden docks. It was cold.

Few people were about so early in the morning. The streets were eerily quiet, as if the lifelessness of the ocean had followed them into the city. They docked the boat and sat on the barrels outside in silence. Brandt stared towards the pale sun rising to the east, her eyes wide and glassy. Her sight hadn't fully healed; some things his magic wasn't enough to fix.

"What will you do now?" he asked.

"Hm. Well. I was thinking now's a great time to pick up archery. Or knife juggling." Her face fell when Edgar didn't take the bait. "Well, it doesn't look like I'll be going back to proper work for a while. I think I might sell off the cargo, keep the boat, and go into the trading business for now. I know the route to Kohlingen, after all. Surely that's useful enough, don't you think?"

"I wish you luck, then."

"How magnanimous. I'd ask you what you're going to do, but I'm sure I can guess."

"And you're alright with it? Your old gang..."

She was silent for a moment.

"Yes," she answered quietly. "I am. I was just going to make the best of things, but... I underestimated you. I think that, maybe, there might be..." She gestured towards the grey clouds and sickly sky. "The world is dying, Edgar. If there's any chance at all you can fix this, no matter how small... it'll be worth it."

"There might not be." He couldn't lie. Not about this.

"There has to be. We can't go on living like this. There has to."

It wasn't desperation that shone in her damaged eyes. It was something else—anger, determination, hope. It had been so long since he'd seen anything like it that he almost didn't recognize it.

"And you're willing to trust such a small chance?"

"Maybe I am." She snorted. "I think I'm starting to understand what you meant. Looks like we're not so different after all, you and I."

"A bandit and a king? I think I see the connection."

"Don't flatter yourself. Bandits have much more style."

"Oh? Can't you imagine Emperor Gestahl hanging out in a pub in Zozo with you and your gang?"

She started chuckling, and he did too, and it wasn't that funny, not really, but he couldn't stop the laughter bubbling up inside his throat as if a dam had broken and everything he'd kept inside suddenly burst through. They laughed until they were wheezing, doubled over and gasping for breath. The few sailors passing by shot them baffled looks, but it didn't matter because the world was dying and there were no emotions that could possibly encompass the enormity of it all and this was all that was left.

When the time came for them to part, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him down until their faces were inches apart.

"I'll kill you for this," she told him with a smile. Her voice held no anger. "Don't think I won't."

"Until next time, then," Edgar said with a bow.

There was one thing he needed to do, first.

"...and that's the gist of it," da Ponte told him as he pored through a stack of financial records. "We've secured food shipments and hired help from Nikeah, and most of the refugees have left, either back to the farmlands to grow what they can or to seek out their fortune elsewhere. Oh, and we got your pigeon. We've managed to find the camp. They chose to remain, but we've managed to transport some supplies."

Edgar nodded. "Good."

"I know there are still people out there. There still isn't much to give them, but there are volunteer groups searching for survivors. We're doing what we can to help."

"See that you do," Edgar said, then straightened. "Well, I think that concludes our business here. Thank you for your time." He bowed, then turned to leave.

"Wait," da Ponte said. "Look... I didn't... " he began, wringing his hands, then trailed off. He took a deep breath, then seemed to find his resolve. "I didn't know. I didn't mean for the city to suffer as it did. General Leo promised me that if he could take the city without a fight... I thought..."

"But the Empire was not in the habit of leaving its conquests intact, no matter what General Leo may have liked to believe."

"I know. Believe me, I've had plenty of time to consider the matter."

That, at least, Edgar could understand.

By the time he stepped out of the governor's mansion, the city had begun to wake. The morning sun cast long shadows on the cobblestone; it shone on the tall, dusty roofs of the houses and on the merchant stands of the plaza with their crates and barrels and colorful stalls. The city bustled with children, workers, merchants, guards, sailors. He'd missed it. For a while, he simply lost himself in its streets.

Niels had mentioned a family in South Figaro. Edgar tried asking around, but he found no one. He scribbled a note on the bulletin board next to the inn, then left.

Eventually, he found himself by the waterwheel once more. The Magitek armor still stood there, a reminder of what had come to pass. Edgar went to sit beside the thing and watched the people go about their day, and for a moment he could almost pretend that everything was normal, that their world wasn't dying. But the sun was still weak, the water foul, the plants twisted, as if the world itself were rotting from the inside. And, yet, the people were still the same. Quieter, maybe, more downcast, but they still held on. Perhaps there were still some things that Kefka couldn't take from them. Edgar laid a hand against the metal.

That was when he saw it.

Someone had written something on the metal plate.

'Fuck Kefka,' it said.

Edgar stared at it for a long time. He blinked, half expecting it to suddenly vanish. It didn't. And it was not alone.

'We can't let a freak run our lives,' someone had written.

'South Figaro is our home! We won't let anyone take it from us!' proclaimed another.

'Down with Kefka!'

'Imperials go home!'

Edgar ran a hand across the rusty metal.

'There's only one clown who's allowed to rule us,' was written in a corner.

'If the Light of Judgement burns down our town a hundred times, we'll rebuild it two hundred times!' he found scribbled on the mechanical leg.

'Figaro will live forever!'

Edgar brushed his fingers across the letters. He smiled. Then he rummaged through his pack, and began to write.

By the time the sun reached its peak in the sky, Edgar found himself back at the docks.

He bought himself an apple at a stand. 'JUST like the one's BEFORE the caticlism!' the sign proudly proclaimed. It wasn't, but it had been so long since he'd eaten fresh fruit that he didn't mind the dry texture and bitter aftertaste. He leaned against a spare crate and ate in silence, looking out towards the sea and listening to the sound of the waves, of moving crates and the shouts of the dock workers as they toiled under the weak sun.

Edgar fished his coin out of his his pocket. Held it tightly in his hand.

In the end, it all came down to this: one moment, under the stars, on the tallest tower of Figaro Castle. One brother standing there, taut with suspense and dread; the other smiling the calm smile of someone who's finally made a choice. A chill in the air and silence all around them.

His kingdom, his brother's happiness, his own happiness, their freedom to choose—all variables in the equation, each weighing against the others.

A coin at the peak of its arc, bright against the night sky. Two heads, forever linked, forever facing away from each other.

He hadn't forgotten. But perhaps he'd needed the reminder.

All right. So he'd find the Crimson Robbers. And after that he'd set out for Figaro. He'd find his castle, he'd fix the problem... and then? Maybe they were all dead. Maybe the world would decay regardless, and nothing he did would matter in the end.

"When things fall, they fall," Setzer had said once. "Life's a game of chance. You play your cards, and Fate plays hers."

He twirled his coin around his fingers.

Well, life may be a game of chance, but Edgar knew how to deal with those.

Before him, the sailors laughed and shouted as the ships disappeared behind the horizon. Edgar flipped his coin into the air. For an instant it caught the light and shone against the livid sky like a second sun. Then, it fell.

As always, it was heads.