10

CHAPTER 10 – DAYS SPENT ADRIFT

The boy's eyes slowly cracked open to meet the wooden rafters high above, girding a high ceiling constructed of light grey stone. The stiff mattress he lay upon further assured him of his familiar surroundings. He groggily sat up to take stock of them, maneuvering himself free from the tightly drawn covers and squinting through the glare streaming through the windows on the far wall. Roughly two dozen twin-sized beds like his own occupied the spacious room, one after another neatly made in accordance with the expected morning routine. The walls lay almost completely bare of any sort of ornamentation, save for the evenly spaced ring of extinguished gas lamps. Such were the accommodations he had awoken to for as long as he could remember, always in the company of the other children, and until recently, his beloved Sis.

Suddenly, the horrifying recollection came flooding back into the boy's mind. A chill ran down his spine as he remembered the fearsome man, clothed in tattered rags, openly bearing the two bloodstained swords before him. The words he had uttered to him, proof beyond any doubt that it was he who had taken her away, still rang in his ears even now. He had tried to flee back to the house, only to be stopped in his tracks by the terrifying woman who had magically appeared from the portal of darkness. The fear had rendered him frozen to the spot, after which he could not remember anything more.

That he was still alive after such an ordeal was miraculous. Or had it only been a nightmare? Was it possible that the entire encounter had been nothing but a figment of his imagination? The sheer intensity and vividness was too real for him to simply dismiss it as such, but then, so too was his desire to see Sis again. The loneliness he felt had become so great, that often times he could scarcely convince himself that his day-to-day existence were not one long nightmare in and of itself. Had things truly become so bad that he could no longer tell the difference between fantasy and reality?

"Sis," the boy mewled with his head hung, eyes downcast to the plain woolen blanket drawn over his legs. "Come back… please, come back… please… I miss you."

The rattling of the door broke him from his self-pitying. His heart leapt into his throat as his head instantly shot up to see it swing ajar.

"Hello…?"

"Hello? Squall?"

Squall drowsily creaked his eyes open as he was rudely awakened from his slumber. They immediately widened in surprise the next second, finding Rinoa's own staring back at him from an uncomfortably close proximity. The yelp escaped his lungs of its own accord, startling the girl as she reeled backward from his bedside with a shrill cry of her own. He abruptly sat up straight, momentarily alarmed, and afforded himself a brief pause to calm his racing heart. He reached back with his left hand to pull aside the nearest half of the window's drapery, allowing the setting afternoon sun to stream on through into the shadowy bedroom. After several labored breaths, he turned his ire to his unwelcome guest.

"What do you think you're doing?" he chastised her. "And how did you get in here?"

"I asked Quistis where I could find you, and she pointed me here," she explained candidly. "The door was unlocked. You looked so adorable, sleeping like a baby. I'm sorry for scaring you like that, but… you were talking in your sleep. It looked like you were having a nightmare."

Squall prepared to give Rinoa a stern reprimand for having invited herself into his private quarters, when her outfit, now properly illuminated by the waning daylight, swiftly wrested his attention away. The torn blue duster sweater was gone, replaced by a familiar choice of attire which until that moment he could have never imagined she would don. The comparatively darker navy uniform trailed down to a matching skirt ending around her upper thighs, both still tightly bandaged from the slashes they had sustained. A brilliant yellow ribbon hung from around her collar, framed on either side by silver shoulder pieces bearing the SeeD insignia. A pair of black shoes and dress socks reaching up to her calves completed the standard female Balamb Garden cadet uniform. That the freshly ironed apparel cut such a dazzling figure on her was almost enough to halt Squall's train of thought in its tracks.

"Why are you dressed like that?" he finally asked.

"Do you like it?" she teased with a smile. "Since I needed to ask Cid for another room key anyway, I figured I might as well ask for some new clothes while I'm at it. I can't just be walking around here in rags every day, can I? And besides that… I was hoping you might take what I'm about to ask you more seriously if I came to you like this."

"And what's that?" Squall reluctantly played along with her charade, dreading all the while what sort of ridiculous request she had concocted this time.

"Cadet Heartilly, requesting professional combat training, sir!"

The sudden brazenness in her voice combined with the swiftness of her right arm as she snapped into her best attempt at the SeeD salute caught Squall off guard. A moment later, the intent behind her words brought him to incredulity.

"You're joking," he flatly dismissed her.

"I'm completely serious," she reaffirmed.

"No, you're not."

"Take a look at this, and tell me I'm not!"

Rinoa lowered her arm as she fell out of the salute, and reached inside the right-hand pocket stitched into the fore of the uniform. Her hand reemerged with a small silver sphere clutched within its clasp; he intuitively knew what it was even before she could extend it forward for him to properly examine.

"Where did you get that!?" he snapped, immediately losing the composure he had been fighting to maintain.

"It's the one that Norg guy had," she elucidated. "I want you to teach me how to use it."

"Forget it," he refused outright. "You need to hand that over to either the headmaster or the commandant right away. It's too dangerous for a civilian to be holding onto."

"It didn't seem like you had an issue giving me yours," she reminded him.

"I wasn't thinking straight when I did that," he deflected, purposefully leaving out that it had been the only gesture he could think of to keep her from following him into the unexplored depths of the Garden's maintenance levels.

"Well, from what I can tell, it looks like that was the only thing that saved you and Quistis. I'm not asking for much here. I mean, come on! It's least you can do to make up for dragging me into something like that. And scaring the daylights out of me to boot."

"The answer is no. Norg is dead. The Garden is safe now. There's no need for you to learn how to fight with that."

"The hell there isn't!" she shouted him down.

Squall could not help but flinch in the face of Rinoa's sudden swell in volume. Her face had contorted into a mask of frustration, her typically benign brown eyes staring back into his with an intensity he had rarely seen from her.

"I'm sick and tired of feeling like a burden every time there's danger! I've already told you, I don't want you or anyone else to have to constantly keep worrying about my safety. Like it or not, this is my fight too, and it's time I started pulling my own weight. And if I'm going to do that, then I need to become self-sufficient. I need to learn how to protect myself. Knowing how to use one of these things will help give me the leg up I need. So please, Squall… teach me how. This isn't an order. It's a favor… for your sake as much as mine."

The tenacity and self-determination she showed to him in that moment was admirable. Clearly, this was not the same spoiled princess who had been reduced to a trembling wreck in the face of Squall's own outburst at her outside of the Timber TV Station. It was enough for him to take her at her word that she was serious, though he remained apprehensive to grant her wish all the same.

"Why me?" he questioned her. "Quistis is the one with teaching experience. If you're so serious about this, then why don't you go to her about it?"

"Because I want to learn from you," Rinoa blurted out, her tone regressing back to a firm yet cordial request. "Is that really so much to ask? It's not like you're busy. I heard we're not going to be heading back ashore until the repairs are finished, anyway. So, what do you say?"

Squall sighed dejectedly, turning his eyes away from her and bringing his wristwatch up to take note of the time. The digital display read 18:14, indicating that he had been asleep for barely four hours. With the realization that he had eaten nothing for the entire day, combined with the exhaustion he still felt from the previous day's mad dash home and the morning's confrontation with Norg, he knew any prospective training would need to be put off until the next day. The all-important question still remained however: did he really want to spend his free time tutoring Rinoa in the utilization of a power she had no business wielding? And perhaps more importantly, would she even accept any other answer?

She's got the SeeD spirit, that's for sure.

"Tomorrow morning," he grumbled. "Meet me at the training center entrance at 0800 sharp, and we'll see just how serious you really are."

"Yes, sir!"

The sprawling botanical expanse that was the Balamb Garden training center had changed little since Squall's last visit eight days before. He could deduce no immediate signs of leftover carnage from the uprising. Whether this were owed either to a swift cleanup job or the facility not having played a role in the confrontation, he could not tell. The latter would not have surprised him; given the various forms of vicious wildlife the miniature forest housed, the idea that Cid's loyalists would have risked bringing him there was unthinkable. Squall had already seen firsthand the complications Ellone's bodyguards had dealt with in keeping her protected from the malboro. He only hoped he would be equally prepared should a similarly dangerous creature intrude on his instruction of Rinoa.

Much to his surprise, and perhaps even a small amount of delight, his fresh trainee had arrived to meet him at the entrance airlock a full ten minutes before their agreed upon time. Still dressed in her newly acquired cadet uniform, the air of preparedness she carried about her was enough to convince him that this was not a decision she had made lightly. They had proceeded inside, and made their way through the forestry to Squall's open clearing of choice for when he would routinely come to practice his form. After several minutes spent collecting an adequate amount of dried-out kindling from the surrounding woods, he returned to find Rinoa seated patiently upon the rock formation set roughly in the center. Whether she had taken the position atop the boulders out of boredom, or to elevate herself in the event of any wildlife wandering into the clearing, she was quick to drop down as she took notice of his approach. Brushing the branches from the encircling ring of trees aside with one hand, he maneuvered himself back to her side, and promptly dropped the collection of twigs on the patch of barren earth surrounding the rocks.

"What's all that for?" she asked. "Are we starting a campfire?"

"You guessed it," he responded, bundling the sticks together into a single voluminous clump of makeshift firewood.

"Why? You're not gonna make me hunt something and cook it, are you?"

"Are you going to chicken out if I say yes?"

Satisfied with the amount of kindling, Squall rose from his knees to face her, taking a deep breath in mid-motion to mentally prepare himself. Having only just achieved SeeDship less than two-and-a-half weeks before, the responsibility of taking on a student of his own, however informally, was daunting.

"First, let's cover the basics," he began, detaching the GF sphere from his belt and bringing it up between them. "I'm going to be running through this pretty quickly, so pay attention. In essence, a Guardian Force is its own independently functioning energy field contained within one of these spheres. When you press down on the two buttons, the gap that opens up has been measured to allow just the right amount of that energy to seep out and intermingle with the physiology of whoever is holding it. Any more than that could potentially be volatile. Needless to say, these aren't toys."

"I never thought they were," Rinoa insisted, staring down at her sphere clenched in her own hand before her.

"It's still something that needs to be reiterated," he continued. "Zell found that out the hard way when he tried to disassemble his a couple of years ago."

"Yeah, I think you two mentioned something about that back at the old hideout in Timber. Knocked out all the electrical circuits in the dorms, right?"

Squall paused for a moment, struggling to remember if the incident in question had indeed come up at any point. That Rinoa knew the outcome was proof enough that there must have been at least a passing mention. As his memory stretched back to a time when he had shared the company of his two squadmates however, the realization that they both very well could be dead came flying back into his conscious. A pang of guilt abruptly shot through his gut, forcing him to consider just how casually he could bring himself to speak of Zell under such circumstances.

"That's… that's a good memory you have," he swiftly brushed the matter aside, hoping to steer the instruction back on track. "Now, let's see if we can put it to use with what I'm about to tell you. The various different schools of spellcraft a SeeD can make use of are divided into two categories. The first is generalized spellcraft, which are some of the more basic forms of magic that anyone with a sphere can learn to use. A good example would be standard defense spells for blocking physical and magical attacks, like that reflective barrier I put up around you and Quistis yesterday. We'll be getting into practicing that later on, once we've gotten you used to channeling the energy. Another example is the sleep gas you saw Quistis use on those guys at the front entrance. These are non-elemental varieties of magic that can be conjured relatively easily by anyone with proper training.

"The thing that makes each GF distinct however is the second category of spells, those of the elemental variety. The energy within each sphere is tied to its own specific elemental nature, which is what determines which types of spellcraft you'll have the best success with. There are six primary elemental schools in total: fire, water, earth, ice, lightning, and wind. There's also the school of holy spellcraft, which is extremely rare. I only know of two people with spheres of that elemental disposition…"

He momentarily stumbled at the mention of the two SeeDs in question, remembering the crest of Galbadia etched upon Selphie's bronze sphere. He still had no logical explanation to account for the illegitimate GF's existence, or how it could have been manufactured by any organization other than Odine Industries. The true nature of the energy contained within each sphere remained a closely guarded secret from all, likely including the headmaster himself. To produce a functioning counterfeit would require insider knowledge from within Esthar, as well as the necessary means and components to replicate the exact procedure. Clearly it had been an achievable task, leaving Squall to fruitlessly ruminate as to how and why Selphie had it. More concerning still was the very real possibility that she had been a spy in their midst all along.

Was the reason the missiles came after all because of-

"This is a lot to take in," Rinoa piped up.

"Sorry," he muttered, refocusing on the lesson. "The point is, each sphere has a pre-determined affinity towards and against certain kinds of magic. The most important part of GF training is to recognize these strengths and weaknesses, and to focus on mastering the school your own is best suited for. Take me for example; my sphere's elemental disposition is fire, which leaves me at a sharp disadvantage when it comes to water and ice spells. It doesn't necessarily mean that I can't use those kinds of spells, but that compared to my strong-suit, or any other element, the potency will be much weaker."

"I think I get it," she hummed, staring back down at her own GF. "So, this one's a water sphere, right?"

"Correct," Squall affirmed, recalling the monstrous torrents he had sustained from the leviathan's onslaught. "That means that fire and lightning are your weak points in the elemental magic cycle.

"But I can still use the other ones, like ice or wind, right?" she looked to him with pleading eyes.

"With enough training, yes," he assured her. "But they'll never be a substitute for your GF's primary element. There's no use in being a jack of all trades if you don't have a firm grasp on your own strong-suit. That's what we're going to be focusing on today."

Squall depressed the switches on his sphere with one hand, and trained his opposite arm to the kindling at his feet. With a moment's concentration, a flurry of fiery sparks formed within the clasp of his outstretched glove. They shot from his palm, impacting on the conglomerate of dried twigs and setting several alight. Within seconds, the flames rapidly began to spread all over those in immediate proximity.

"We're going to have you use your water spellcraft to put this out," he explained. "It's all a matter of concentration. You have to feel the GF's energy around you, hone in on its frequency, and then let it wash over your mind. It's not easy to put into words, but you'll know if you're doing it right. Then, just imagine the water flowing out of your hands. You can close your eyes if that helps you to concentrate. That's about all the advice I can give. It's up to you to figure the rest out on your own. Let me know when you've made progress."

"Wait!" Rinoa begged as he turned away from the pyre dividing them. "You're not just going to leave me to do this all by myself, are you!?"

"My job is to watch the treeline for approaching monsters," he called back to her without breaking stride. "You said you were serious about this? Prove it. Oh, and before I forget, no lunch until you can at least make a light sprinkle of droplets. So, get practicing."

Squall did not turn back to take notice of her expression, but could imagine it perfectly all the same. Although he had never personally trained someone in the usage of a Guardian Force, the conditions he had laid down for her were the same that had been expected of him when he had first begun his training three years before. His first task had been of a similar persuasion, to set alight a wooden training dummy before the day's end or be sent back to his quarters with an empty stomach for the night. It had taken him several hours of mental fumbling to successfully identify the presence of the energy frequency around him, and channel it into a faint sputter of flames. If Rinoa were indeed as determined as she claimed to be, he expected it would take her roughly the same amount of time.

The remainder of the morning's exercise passed in relative silence, save for the girl's occasional exertions as she fought to summon the water from her fingers. Squall routinely circled the clearing all the while, his eyes continually darting all about the surrounding trees for any sign of movement. Only twice did he catch a glimpse of wildlife approaching from the northern edge. The first time had been a funguar, a bulbous and generally docile species of plant creature known for its tendency to release noxious spores when threatened; Squall's very approach had been sufficient to send it fleeing back into the woods from whence it had emerged.

The second had been a creature of significantly greater concern, a slithering hedge viper nearly ten feet in length. The venomous snakes' muted dark green scaling adorned with spots of yellow and brown provided a perfect camouflage within the training center's dense forestry. Unsuspecting cadets who had been bitten by one accounted for more training-related admissions to the infirmary than from any other creature. The serpent had fallen to Squall's gunblade all the same, its scaly exterior parting like butter with a single pull of the trigger hilt. No matter the threat it posed to them both, he knew the hedge viper was far from the deadliest monster in the artificial wilderness. The malboro from the week before was proof of that, as was the lone archaeodinos said to roam the center primarily in the evening hours.

Every so often, he would proceed to scour the thicket of trees to gather more kindling. Rinoa continued to strain herself all the while, appearing to have made no visible progress each time he rejoined her to further stoke the campfire. By just past 1100, she finally called out to him, appearing visibly exhausted as sweat rolled down her face, both from the amount of strain and the heat of the flames.

"Any luck?" he casually asked her.

"Not yet," she admitted between breathy huffs. "I just… I want to know… how long does it usually take for someone to get it right the first time? Am I doing that badly?"

"About as badly as most people on their first day," he told her. "It takes a lot of getting used to. The important thing is to familiarize yourself with the sensation of the energy frequency. Have you been able to get a hold of it at all?"

"Kinda… at least, I felt something different. But when I do, I just can't seem to hold onto it long enough."

"You can't let your thoughts wander while you're channeling the energy. You need to remain completely focused, or else the connection is going to fall apart."

"But how?" she threw up her arms in exasperation. "How am I supposed to keep my mind from thinking about anything while I'm trying to do something like this?"

"I didn't say you have to be thinking about nothing," he clarified, realizing she would likely be reaching her breaking point at any moment and give up. "I'm saying you need to keep focused on exactly what it is you're doing, and where you're directing the energy. In that moment, you shouldn't be thinking of anything other than the water flowing out of your hand, and your target. If you can learn to do that, then you'll be on your way."

"And it works the same way for every sphere?"

"Every one. Whether it's my fire, Quistis' ice, Zell manipulating earth, or Selphie using… well, her element, the principle is the same across the board."

The notion that Selphie's GF operated under the same precepts as a standard Balamb sphere was based entirely out of conjecture. He could scarcely know for sure unless he were to attempt wielding it for himself, an opportunity he doubted would ever come again.

"What was Seifer's element?"

The sudden question caught Squall off guard. He had expected the girl's curiosity to be piqued at his failure to mention Selphie's element by name, but never would have thought to hear his rival's name in its place.

"He… he had a fire sphere," he answered her after a long pause. "But he practically never used it. He only completed the certification program because it's a requirement to become a SeeD. I don't think he ever learned how to summon whatever creature was tied to it, either. He always had this stubborn hang-up about how relying on its power was a crutch."

For however misguided he had always thought Seifer to be on the matter, the dedication and resolve he had shown in keeping to his own code of honor had been admirable. That he had so willingly thrown it all away for Edea's favor, and freely accepted the dark powers she had bestowed upon him was utterly repugnant. The very thought sickened Squall, as he balled his right fist in furious resentment. He turned his attention back to Rinoa, staring intensely into her eyes.

"Just by being here… for putting in the effort to learn how to use it, of your own volition… you're already more worthy of its power than he'll ever be."

It was only after the words had left his mouth, and he noticed the look of surprise on Rinoa's face, that he realized how uncharacteristic such a statement must have sounded coming from him. He swiftly averted his eyes, feeling his face become even more flush than it had already been so close to the fire.

"So… don't give up," he quickly summarized his point. "You've got the right attitude. That's what really matters."

Squall turned back to his student after a moment's silence, and noticed her eyes were no longer trained on him. They were fully shut as she reached out with one hand over the smoking pyre, evidently taking his words to heart; her face was the very image of stoicism. Squall kept his eyes locked to her outstretched limb waiting patiently to see what, if anything, would materialize. Several seconds later, his unflinching stare gave way to wide-eyed surprise.

A light spray of water suddenly spilled from Rinoa's open palm, raining over top of the blaze. The volume was sparse, being nowhere near sufficient to douse the fire completely, but then Squall would never have expected as much on her first day of training. That she had managed to conjure anything at all was enough for the time being, and that it had come so quickly with the right amount of encouragement showed plenty of promise. The makeshift spigot that was her hand soon sputtered out, as she opened her eyes at last and shook the remaining droplets free from her skin. She turned her head toward Squall, who had yet to shake himself from the pleasant surprise, and cracked a slight smile.

"It… it worked!" she beamed. "I think picturing the fire as Seifer's might've helped a little. You were right. I just had to let everything else go, and keep focused on the moment. So… do I pass?"

"Again," Squall ordered, finally setting aside his amazement. "Do it again. We're going to keep at it until you can do it on command. Come on, hurry it up!"

The following weeks aboard the ever drifting Garden passed by largely without incident. In lieu of classes remaining on indefinite suspension, all hands continued to be routinely called into service for the repair efforts across the Garden. Squall himself had been no exception to the rule, finding himself assigned to the main atrium via lottery on two separate shifts. Within the span of the first week, most of the devastation to the interior facilities had been sufficiently patched, in addition to the inner courtyard and quad, leaving only the exterior damage to the academy's outer hull to deal with.

It had taken the maintenance crew assigned to the bridge little time to deduce the manner in which the Garden could be piloted, and so the headmaster had given the executive order to further distance themselves from the Balamb mainland for the time being. So long as repairs were still underway, and with the student body at large unprepared to re-engage in combat so soon, it had been deemed the best course of action in the likely event of a Galbadian naval battalion arriving on the island to survey the damage. They would find little more than a smoldering crater where the Garden once stood, and assume that the missile bombardment had been successful. Even should they venture into town and learn of the academy's mobilization, the sheer vastness of the sea would leave them without any clear heading.

With such an extensive amount of time spent detached from civilization at large however, the cafeteria's on-board reserve of food had quickly become cause for concern. A strict rationing program had been implemented overnight, and had been effective thus far in evenly distributing what remained of their monthly supply. A small subset of SeeDs had additionally taken to fishing off of the lower floor balconies in the early morning hours, with varying levels of success depending on the day. Others had elected to do their part by rounding up whatever species of edible wildlife they could capture in the training center, often times intruding on Squall's instruction of Rinoa. Taking into consideration the amount of students who had been evacuated from the Garden premises before the missile strike, as well as those who had regrettably lost their lives in the revolt, there were naturally fewer mouths to feed. As the second week rapidly drew to a close however, it had become increasingly clear that they would need to leave the open waters before long to restock on necessary supplies.

A return to Balamb was out of the question at the present time, as was any notion of heading ashore on the Galbadian continent. With Esthar to the east remaining shut off from the rest of the world, and Trabia too far north, they were left with no other choice but to set course for Fisherman's Horizon. It was a quaint settlement established by a sizable company of expatriates who had emigrated from Esthar just over fifty years before. What had previously served as a simple waystation situated at the very center of the Horizon Bridge had been appropriated and built upon over the years, eventually growing in scale to become an independent seaside nation-state much like Balamb. Squall himself had never visited the town before, and knew nothing of its people or their customs. Without any other viable options immediately apparent to them however, it seemed they would need to put their faith in the kindness of its people to give them a berth for at least a few days. And so, they had proceeded further south at a consistent cruise all the while, onward toward the Horizon Bridge.

Over the course of their time spent on the open sea, Squall continued to train Rinoa in the ways of Guardian Force control. Much to his surprise, the girl had proven herself to be quite a natural talent once she had gotten the gist of harnessing the energy. Within the first few days, her water conjuring had progressed from a light shower of droplets to a focused and consistent stream, whereby she finally managed to extinguish one of his campfires. Their daily regimen would typically consist of elemental spellcraft review, followed by a focus on defensive magic. Although she had presented little issue summoning a protective barrier, its structural integrity would too often collapse in the face of any external stimulus. He had explained to her that the shield's resistance would only be as strong as the amount of energy she infused it with, and encouraged her to not be stingy; building a strong tolerance for how much could be channeled at once was paramount to improving as a combatant.

Rinoa took each and every tidbit of advice to heart, and after more than two weeks had shown laudable progress. Her protective shields could hold up to at least a single strike from Squall's gunblade, her reflective spells could deflect one of his fire blasts, and together they had worked her command of water into a proper high-pressure torrent. She was still a long way off from being combat-ready by Squall's estimation, but had more than earned the right to keep the sphere for her own.

Before long, she began to question him about more advanced GF techniques such as summoning, to which he told her it would likely take at least a year of training to reach the level of expertise required. Disappointed, she soon after pivoted to questions regarding the other schools of magic, and how long it would be before they began work on something other than water and defensive spells. Squall again reminded her it was much too early to shift away from their current focus; for all of her hard work, she had still yet to master her sphere's primary element. Her pestering remained persistent, until finally he gave in and allotted one afternoon session to the workings of his various wind elemental techniques. Try as she might, the foreign concept of channeling the wind into her legs to amplify her movement was too much, and she quickly accepted a return to the style of spellcraft she was already comfortable with.

On several occasions, Quistis, who Rinoa had no doubt been keeping informed of the ongoing training, would drop in to observe and offer guidance of her own. To perform in front of an audience, no less his own former instructor, was a nerve-wracking experience for Squall every time she came. She would never intrude upon or otherwise undermine his lessons however, and would often provide an equal amount of praise to him as Rinoa. The encouragement was appreciated, however he could have done without the mischievous smile she constantly wore, evidently loving every second of the proceedings.

The seventeenth day since the missile bombardment began like any other. Squall and Rinoa ate their rationed breakfast in the cafeteria, proceeded to the training center, and began their morning routine as was the norm. Quistis made her appearance close to noon, to observe and likewise keep her eyes attentive for any approaching monsters; the amount of hunting which had taken place in the previous week alone had no doubt significantly reduced the wildlife population. As Squall readied another fireball to test the resilience of Rinoa's reflection spell, his concentration was suddenly broken by the signature four-tone chime of the intercom, reverberating down from the speakers set high into the towering domed ceiling. Moments later, the headmaster's voice exploded into prominence.

"Attention all students and staff. We are making our final approach to Fisherman's Horizon. Once we have docked, I ask that you please do not leave the Garden under any circumstances until you are permitted. We do not wish to paint ourselves as an invading army. We will be sending ashore a team of diplomats to discuss our terms with the ruling government. Until then, I repeat, do not leave the Garden under any circumstances. Thank you."

"So, what's going to happen now?" Rinoa spoke up, allowing her shield to fizzle away in a faint flash of light.

"I have no idea," Squall admitted. "We hope they'll let us stay moored here until we can stock up on what supplies we need, finish up repairs, and then we leave."

"And if they don't let us?"

"Then we find somewhere else," Quistis answered as she strolled over to join them. "We're not in any danger of starving yet. This was just the closest and most out of the way place from Galbadia we had to go. From what I've heard of it though, I get the feeling they're not going to be all that happy to see us."

"Because we're military?" Squall assumed.

"You don't even know the half of it. The people who run this town are die-hard…"

She trailed off as the intercom's four tones sounded once more, and the three turned their heads skyward again.

"Attention everyone!" the headmaster's voice ripped through the training center, sounding far more anxious than he had been moments before. "We are en route for a collision with the outer walls! Brace for impact, now!"

The gargantuan concave solar array which supplied power to all of Fisherman's Horizon was as immense as it was blindingly brilliant in the midday sun. Panel after raised blue panel stood erected within the depressed enclosure easily four-hundred yards in diameter, sloping downward from its ringed circumference to a lone two-story house on the central platform at the bottom. The home, belonging to the mayor, was accessible only by the twelve steep sets of stairs erected at regular intervals around the synthetic basin, all presently brimming with townspeople. Atop the platform, a collective of senior officers sat at their own respective tables loaded down with paperwork, each awaiting their next victim to be brought forward to face interrogation. A pair of guards charged with keeping the mayor and his wife forcibly confined to their home stood at attention on either side of the door.

With the aide of his visor and sniper scope to shield his eyesight against the glare, Army Specialist Evans scoured the lay of the commotion below for the umpteenth time since sunrise. Any inkling of spare room surrounding the platform was completely filled by the mob of civilians tightly packed together. Dozens of Galbadian infantrymen on the ground kept their rifles trained to the captives, just as he and his fellow sniper regiment stationed high above in pairs did the same. So it had been since the platoon's arrival that morning, when the order had been given to round up the entire town's population for individual questioning. Their comrades left behind in Timber, who they had parted ways with before crossing the Horizon Bridge due east, had likewise been given the same orders. Evans' detachment had been sent on their way with significantly less firepower in reserve, save for a small handful of iron-clad tank mechs. For the staunchly pacifist settlement they had been tasked with occupying, it had been more than sufficient.

"How long're we gonna stick around here, anyway?"

The specialist took his eye from his scope and turned his head to his assigned sniping partner. He had never personally worked with the man before, himself a straggler who had lost most of his squad in a freak catastrophe and been picked up along their route heading down the Great Plains of Galbadia. Nevertheless, after a laser-precise demonstration of bottle shooting one night after they had stopped to make camp, the young Private First Class Morris had secured himself a position on the sniper regiment with flying colors.

"Pretty sure it's gonna be an indefinite placement," he replied, re-affixing his eye to scan over the citizens clustered together below. "At least, that's what I picked up from the commander. We left our boys at Timber a few days back, the second Dollet siege should already be underway right about now, and I'm pretty sure Balamb's gonna be next on the list after that."

"So, we're jus' gonna keep goin' until there ain't a town not flyin' our flag?"

"'Our flag?'" Evans scoffed. "D'you really think we can still call it that anymore? But hey, at least that peace-loving hippy of a mayor saved us the trouble of having to burn this place down."

"Can't argue with that," Morris sighed. "But I don't get what the point o' all this is. Why do we gotta round up all the townspeople an' put 'em through the wringer like this?"

"Because we're looking for someone. Some girl named 'Ellone', I think."

"Ellone!?"

The sheer amount of surprise in the private's reaction caught Evans off guard. He performed a sidelong glance with one eye, to find Morris' visor staring back, mouth slightly agape.

"Something wrong?" he inquired.

"It's jus'… you're tellin' me this is all fer the sake of findin' one person? What makes this girl so special?"

"You're askin' the wrong guy. But that's what the witch wants, apparently, and she's ready to comb over the entire world to find her. We'll probably be stuck here until they do. And if they don't, I bet they'll be sending us down the tracks to Esthar next."

The specialist himself could not understand why so much manpower had been mobilized for the sake of hunting down one person. It was not his place to question the supreme authority of Galbadia's new ruler however, no matter the treacherous manner in which she had usurped the president. He was nothing more than one of hundreds of thousands of easily replaceable foot-soldiers, sworn to serve his nation no matter his own personal misgivings with the mission he had been assigned. He knew for a fact that his sentiments were shared by virtually every member of his immediate entourage. For that matter, he understood there could not have been a soldier in the entire army without any reservations about the new order.

The incessant mewling and whimpering of the terrified citizens continued to reach his ears on the breeze, along with the occasional roar of intimidation from one of the sentries. All the while, the people continued to be shuttled forward onto the platform one by one for their information audit, and often subsequently marched back off within minutes. As he continued to observe the proceedings restlessly, a sudden yelp from further along the raised circumference drew his attention. Craning his neck in the direction of the cry, Evans noticed a fellow pair of snipers with their eyes drawn away from the commotion in the center, staring out directly over his position to the distance. With a momentary glance through his scope around the ring, he noticed such was the case for every other team situated on the opposite side of the solar array. Curiosity overcame him, and he turned around from the lip of the basin to see for himself.

"What the- !?"

A towering synthetic structure resembling a conch shell loomed just beyond the settlement's exterior sea wall to the north. Its vibrant blue, silver and gold coloring appeared dazzling in the sunlight, growing ever more prominent as it continued to drift closer seemingly of its own accord. The deafening crash came seconds later as it burst through the barrier with ease. Steel screeched as the girders were torn asunder, sending a tremendous explosion of debris tumbling into the waters below. The ground beneath Evans' feet shook from the tremor, sending him toppling back onto the lip of the array.

"Holy shit!" Morris swore as he fought to keep himself steady. "That thing can move!?"

Evans opened his mouth to respond, when the shrill sound of hundreds of shrieks sprang up all at once from below. He quickly righted himself in an effort to take stock of the situation, only to find that the corralled masses gathered at the base of the steep incline had erupted into chaos. The captive citizens pushed and shoved every which way, those relegated to the outer rim of the mob turning tail and beginning to climb the steps to the top of the basin as fast as their legs would carry them. Gunshots erupted amid the confusion, only serving to further agitate and alarm those in their immediate vicinity. The people broke from their tightly packed ranks with wanton abandon, many scattering beneath the solar panels for cover. All around, Evan's fellow snipers had promptly set to work on those making the desperate rush back up the encircling staircases. With a deep breath in through his nose, he brought up his rifle's scope once more and prepared to do the same.

"What're you doin'!?" his young teammate demanded from his side.

"What's it look like?" he scoffed, taking aim on the head of the pack fighting their way up the nearest staircase. "Open season."

He maneuvered the targeting reticule over the frantic man's figure, and prepared to pull the trigger. The sudden sensation of a cold steel barrel pressed to his cheek froze his finger in mid-motion.

"Good to know. I was gettin' real tired o' this schtick, anyway."