"The Third Sorceress War, Act II: Terra Incognita"

12. Reminisce

(Reclamation, I)

The coast town of Cupola had always reminded Caraway a bit of his impressions of Balamb. Cupola was a quiet coast town, painted with vibrant colors, drenched in the smell of salt water and hot stone. It was a place of perpetual calm – even in the days of the First War it had remained a safe haven, exempt from the violence engulfing the continent. There was a phrase Caraway had heard many times during his tenure as a lieutenant: making Cupola. It was the dream of many a soldier who hadn't made it out of the war alive to make it here and settle down, live in peace and away from the profession that would eventually take their lives.

Caraway, too, had loved the thought of making Cupola, and one of the first things he had done upon striking a bargain with Vinzer Deling had been to buy the summer home. It had been the home of his dreams, his and Julia's – to retire one day, by which point they would have gotten old, and would want nothing more than to spend the rest of their days feeling less alone in the company of each other.

Caraway went to the fridge and took out a beer. He went out to the porch. Straw armchairs, sitting at an angle as if aiming for the center of his front yard, occupied both sides. Caraway took his usual place on the right one. There was a radio on a low, round trestle next to his seat. He took a sip from his beer and put it down. He fiddled with the radio's controls, moving through wordless static until he managed to catch speech.

"...refused to release any details, but repeated that Esthar's reluctance to sign off on the policy could indeed be seen as a sign that the rogue terrorist group might have had sympathizers in or even drawn support support from Esthar. President Loire, on the other hand, has called the parliament into session to discuss President Heartilly's proposal."

Caraway shut off the radio and took a large sip from his beer. He sighed. Rinoa.

Rinoa, Rinoa, Rinoa.

Caraway wasn't sure who was to blame for her, but he was certain that he and Julia both shared it. For his part, he had been absent, too preoccupied by keeping the barely-functional machine of Galbadia going, the insatiable appetites of Vinzer Deling managed and keeping Timber in his grasp to give her all the things her mother could. Of course, this had never excused Julia completely ignoring the need for Timber to remain under Galbadian control and filling Rinoa's life with citizen's groups, propagandists, the old Maniacs types...

Caraway had often wondered, as he did now, if his life could have taken a different, better turn if they hadn't decided to have a child. At the time, he had believed it to be what Julia wanted, and why not – any soldier who had managed to reach his age at the time would want nothing more than to start a family. But no matter how he looked at it, Rinoa's birth appeared to have changed it all. Their dreams of Cupola, of growing old together.

Maybe it hadn't been the child's fault. Maybe she had only shown to them what had already been there to begin with.

Rinoa had, whether she had meant to or not, become an instrument in their conflicts. Caraway had occupied Timber as a move towards unifying Galbadia, intending to bring the rest of the city-states under the leadership of himself and Vinzer Deling. Having been born and raised in Timber, Julia had taken this to be a personal affront. It reminded her, Caraway had always thought, of the love she had talked about, that man of hers that had been sent to war and had never returned. The war had taken the driving force behind her singing, and now the war was taking her home. Worse still, her husband now was the war.

Gradually, their relatively peaceful lives had slowly descended into one of constant battle, with the smallest things serving as surrogates for their differences. Rinoa, Caraway had always noticed, was just another surrogate. Their fights had come to be shaped by how far they could push before they'd deem the environment unsuitable for Rinoa.

So they had pulled, instead. He had pulled Rinoa to Deling, chained her to the Mansion, too afraid that those he had brought under his thumb would try and wriggle out by using her. He had also kept her begrudgingly in Deling to remind Julia that they still had one common ground on this planet, and it was their little girl.

Julia, in retaliation, had pulled Rinoa to Timber, to the Maniacs, to the citizen groups and resistance literature, to teach her how awful her father's actions had been. It had worked on a level that Caraway just didn't want to believe she had planned it to. Julia had then just died, just like that. He would have mourned her loss properly, if it hadn't been for Rinoa's constant, desperate demands that he do something about it. He couldn't. It was so very strange for him - he could take life, was trained to take life, but couldn't give it back.

Rinoa had ended up blaming him for her mother's death.

Julia's passing had driven a wedge between them that he'd hoped he'd be able to bridge, but the formation of the Forest Owls, and finally her pulling SeeD into her schemes had been the end. It hadn't taken Rinoa long to pull of that Timber rally stunt after the Second War had ended, even less time for the SeeDs that had helped her get there to intervene... the point where she had quite good-naturedly asked him to step down from the position of Field Marshal had been when Caraway had given up on any hopes of having some sort of a relationship with his daughter.

He had contented himself with having made Cupola, having happy memories of Julia and their life together to keep him company. The silent sway of the Cupola breeze, the cold, rich taste of his beer and the feeling of being humbled by his surroundings was enough.

Caraway saw a stranger approach his garden's gate. He thought she might be lost, she looked out of place, wearing jeans and sneakers in a town that was usually too hot for anything that went below the knees. She was also wearing a apparently light, tan jacket, another item that told him that she either hadn't been there for long, or didn't have Cupola as her target destination.

As she got closer, Caraway saw that she had lovely, shoulder-length red hair. He smiled and waved. She gave him a small nod in greeting.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Caraway." She said.

"And a very good afternoon to you too..." he took in her face and something prodded him, "You look familiar... have we met?"

Brea nodded.

"We've met, but we haven't been introduced. My name is Brea Willings."

"Ah." Caraway said, "The voice of the survivors."

"Congratulations on making Cupola."

"You know the phrase?"

"Galbadian recruits of the Ocean Garden used it, not to indicate a desire to come to Cupola, but to reach retirement age."

"I supposed I'm lucky on both counts. So... I assume you didn't come to ask about my health."

"Afraid not, sir." Brea said, folding her hands behind her back, "I came here to ask you about the panic room under the Mansion."

Caraway felt his blood run cold.

"How do you know about that..?"

"That's not important."

"Apart from those who built it, only two people alive know about that." Caraway stood up, "Tell me how you came by that piece of information."

"Like I said, that's not important."

"It is important if you want me to tell you anything."

"This is hardly suitable for yard-talk, so why don't we go inside and discuss this?"

"I think not. I think you'll leave now, and-"

Brea pulled out one of her pistols and aimed at his head.

"I wasn't asking." She said.