The King of Figaro was drunk. That was the first thing she ever noticed about him.

She'd been unimpressed by Figaro. The castle was small and unassuming, neither particularly lavish nor in any way imposing, clearly built for functionality over anything else. She was greeted with no great fanfare or show of military force, and as she was led to the main hall she walked past commoners scurrying down the same hallways as the nobles, wearing the same practical desert clothes. Emperor Gestahl would never have allowed such a thing. (And if part of her liked the pragmatism of it all, she shoved it back down where she couldn't think of it.)

The young king greeted her with an unsteady bow. His clothes were fine, but not nearly as elaborate as even the lowest of Imperial courtiers' back home. He smelled of liquor.

"Ah, the newly promoted general of the Imperial army," he said with a smile as bright as the sun and almost as painful to look at. "I've heard tales of your glorious victory in Maranda. How beautiful you must have looked, surrounded by the flames."

Celes clenched her jaw. "I'm here to request passage through your lands for some of our troops." She handed him the letter, stonily. The Imperial seal stared up at her from the paper until King Edgar broke it with clumsy fingers.

The King of Figaro is an idiot, Gestahl had said. An airhead who thinks of nothing but drinking wine and chasing skirts. He won't ask what one of the Empire's top general's is doing on a routine mission. It appeared that Gestahl was right, as always. King Edgar barely glanced at the letter before throwing it away in disinterest. "Military missions are so dreadfully dull, wouldn't you agree, general? I don't know why everyone's always so preoccupied with them. You are, of course, welcome to stay here instead, if—"

"Do we have permission to pass through your lands?" she asked, icily.

He appeared to sober up for a second, and waved a hand in dismissal. It seemed he'd lost interest quickly once she'd made it clear she wasn't going to play his insipid game. "Of course, of course. My lands are always open to my most valuable allies."

"Thank you. Your majesty." And, with that, she turned away in the most imperious manner she could muster.

To add insult to injury, the whole mission was a loss. Their information must have been out of date; by the time they reached the Returner outpost hidden in the Figaro mountain range, it had already been abandoned.

When she saw him a year later, bent over a map of Narshe's winding mines, he seemed like a different man. He wore fancy but practical armor, and his gaze was sharp as he marked locations on the map.

"All we need to do is hold them off until the reinforcements from Figaro Castle arrive," he was saying. "Our troops can't take Magitek armor in fair combat, but if we force them into the ravines they won't be able to use their beams at full power without bringing the mountain down on them..." He narrowed his eyes in thought, then turned to Celes to pin her with his gaze. "Or maybe we could neutralize them right from the start. Locke told me about your trump card, General Chere. Can you use it against the armors?"

"No." She crossed her arms and looked over the room, challenging anyone to question her. "I can't."

"How convenient," the mayor of Narshe muttered, peering at her with naked suspicion.

Edgar waved a hand. "No, no, it makes sense. The beams are obviously different from the magic that Terra showed us. Terra's magic creates its effects directly on the targeted area, whereas the armors' appears to be generated within their core and is then beamed out. Given that the armors aren't setting themselves on fire every time they use a fire beam, it's clear that the magic is being processed in some way. There's no basis to assume it has the same properties as its raw form. Sand, glass, and all that."

It was a surprisingly insightful observation, and Celes had to fight to keep her surprise off her face. "I may not be able to block the armors' beams, but"—she smiled in grim satisfaction—"I can neutralize Kefka just fine. And he's the one we need to worry about. I know his tactics. The Magitek is only a distraction to soften us until he can swoop in and destroy us."

"Ah, excellent!" Edgar made another mark on his map. "We'll put you on the forward team, then. You can take point and block any incoming volleys he has for us."

"Thou wishest to send the Imperial general right into the waiting hands of her ally?" The Doman knight stared at her with undisguised loathing twisting his features. "What dost thou think will happen once she turns on us and they fight us together?"

"Then we'll be up shit creek without a paddle, if you'll pardon my Nikeahn," King Edgar said brightly, earning a scandalized glare from the knight. "Which, coincidentally, is exactly where we'll be without her help. Statistically speaking, I think the optimal course of action is clear here."

The Doman knight shook his head in disgust and the mayor of Narshe grimaced as he looked down at the map. But no one challenged him.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," she told him later, dryly, once the preparations were bustling around them. "It's always nice to be so trusted."

"Well, I could have told them that no one of your beauty and grace could possibly betray us, but somehow I didn't feel they would have been a receptive audience for that argument."

Celes stared at him, stonily. She wouldn't play this new game of his, any more than she'd played the old one. She looked him over, her face betraying nothing. Earlier, she had thought that he seemed a different man, but she wasn't so sure anymore. His new smile was as bright as it had been a year ago, but this time she could see the edge in it. Maybe it had always been there.

"You warned the Returner hideout that we were coming," she said in the end.

He blinked. "Ah. That. Well, yes. Normally I would offer you my sincerest apologies. But I did have to waste a shot of fine Jidoorian liquor by pouring it down my shirt, so, really, I think we're even here."

Without another word, she turned away.

As luck would have it, Edgar was the only sparring partner she had available, if she wanted to keep her swordsmanship sharp. Sabin favored hand-to-hand combat, Locke favored daggers and stealing opponents' clothing for fun, Cyan still gave her a wide berth while very unsubtly trying to hide it, and Gau was Gau.

Edgar fought well. He'd clearly been trained for real combat, none of the flashy but useless swordplay that was usually taught to the pampered elite, and he didn't hesitate to fight dirty. She was almost caught by surprise when he kicked dirt in her eyes and tried to sweep her feet out from under her. But true experience only came from the bloodstained fields of battle, and there he was a novice.

If nothing else, it was satisfying to get to kick him in the ribs with impunity.

"You need to work on your guard," she told him with the tip of her sword at his throat.

He flashed her a blinding smile. "I always drop my guard around dainty, delicate women such as yourself. It's a known weakness of mine."

She smiled back, sharply. "Do these women usually hit you as hard as I do?"

"Hah! Sadly, no. If only more of them could be as delightfully forward as you!"

For a second, she was almost tempted to respond in kind—then she stepped back, sheathing her sword in a brusque gesture. "I don't know what game you're playing. You're a king. Act like it."

His laughter grated on her nerves, and she grit her teeth. "Oh, I'm sure the kingdom won't suffer if I take a break from the pomp and circumstance for an evening. Don't you ever want to drop the act and have some fun, once in a while?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm a general," she spat, "not a clown."

"No, no, I do believe the Empire already has that niche covered. It'd be hard to confuse you, believe me."

That almost startled a laugh out of her; she ruthlessly choked it down, chiding herself for her weakness.

"Don't mock me," she snapped. "I was a general of the Imperial Army. Do you think it's an act?"

Edgar tilted his head, watching her carefully. "Of course not. I've seen you slay monsters twice your size with one swing of your sword. Also, I'm pretty certain you came close to breaking a few of my ribs just now. Obviously you're a very capable general and soldier." His eyes were bright and piercing in the light of the setting sun. "And I also think it's a mask you wear so you never have to let your guard down around others."

Celes had watched him, over the past few days of travel. She'd seen him smile and laugh with his brother as if they'd never had to fight over the throne, let a common thief tease him as if they were equals, joke about his responsibilities as if they were nothing. She'd seen the sharpness behind his eyes hidden by that frivolous smile on his face.

"I imagine you'd know something about that," she said.

For a second, they stared at each other, unmoving. Then Edgar laughed. "Milady, I've been assured that I don't know a thing about anything."

"I'm sure," Celes shot back with a savage smile.

The hills of Kohlingen were quiet all around them. That evening Celes sat away from the campfire, watching the others joke and laugh as if nothing mattered.

Jidoor was a town of fools. A lavish display of frivolous fripperies hiding nothing of worth, a home for those who wished to squander their lives hiding from the realities of the world. Celes hoped their business there would be quick.

They'd found a traveler's inn on the outskirts, one of the few in the city that didn't cater to those with more money than taste. Locke and Sabin had insisted on it, and Celes had quietly agreed. Briefly, she'd wondered if Edgar might protest, but he'd seemed to have no objections.

When she'd settled into her room and made her way to the common hall, she found him sitting on an armchair near the window, idly toying with a coin in his fingers. Celes hesitated, for a moment—then marched towards him with resolute strides and sat down the chair opposite his.

"So," she said before he could open his mouth to utter whatever inane greeting he'd come up with this time, "we're going to Vector."

He grinned at her. "So it appears. Are you looking forward to seeing your home again?"

Celes ignored him. "Do you really think it's wise for a king to just waltz into the capital of an enemy country?"

"Oh, not you too," Edgar groaned. "I've heard enough of that from Sabin. Even Locke obliquely implied that he thought it might not be my brightest idea, which to be fair isn't saying much since all my ideas are brilliant, but it was still a shocking betrayal from the man who is supposed to be my best friend. I really ought to fire him."

"Why did you insist on coming with us?"

"Because I want to, and I outrank all of you." He turned to watch his coin arc in the air. She narrowed her eyes at him, and after a few seconds he seemed to relent. "And, besides, it's best to cover our bases, isn't it? Apart from you, I'm the only one who stands a chance of understanding anything that's going on at the research facility, and unlike the others I've had the opportunity to get to know the city fairly well during diplomatic visits. This way if you're incapacitated—"

"You mean if I betray you," Celes cut in.

"Do I?" He frowned. "I don't think I do. I never say things I don't mean. I'm sure you must have noticed by now."

"Do you trust me, Edgar?"

He smiled expansively. "But of course I trust you, Celes. What would ever make you think—"

"Stop," Celes snapped. "I'm tired of your constant games. Just tell me the truth for once in your life."

"Ah, well," sighed Edgar theatrically. Then—it was like flipping a switch. All the playfulness vanished from his face in an instant. "All right, then. You want to know the truth." He sat up and leaned forward, looking her in the eye with his bright, intense blue gaze. The coin glinted in his fingers. "Of course I trust you. You wouldn't be here if I didn't," he said, and there was something almost magnetic in the utter, absolute certainty in his voice. Celes clenched her jaw and held his gaze, stonily.

"But, well." He tilted his head to one side. "You understand the position I'm in better than any of the others, I'd imagine. When the consequences of failure are what they are, there's only so much I can trust my judgement alone."

"So you hedge your bets."

"I've always found that the best way to deal with fate is to play both sides."

He flipped his coin and, on a whim, she snatched it out of the air. She examined it carefully, turning it over in her palm.

To his credit, when she looked up at him, smiling in triumph, his expression hadn't faltered.

And, later, when she turned to him and held out her hand, he didn't hesitate for a second.

She found him in the engine room, afterwards, staring at the turning cogs of the Blackjack's inner workings with an unreadable look on his face.

"Ah, Celes!" he exclaimed without turning to look at her. "Come, look at this. The engineering here is an absolute disgrace. I'm frankly offended on behalf of the laws of physics that we aren't plummeting from the sky at this very moment."

"Does Setzer know you're down here?"

"I'm sure he doesn't need to."

She sat down beside him and handed him his coin. "Thank you," she said, brusquely. "And—sorry."

"Yes, well." He smiled and took the coin from her hand, but still didn't turn to look at her. "It wouldn't have been very gentlemanly of me to allow a lady be forcefully wed to a knave such as him. His fashion sense is absolutely ghastly."

"Oh, I wouldn't have married him either way. But this way I didn't have to beat him up."

"Then I retract everything I just said. You do owe me an apology for not giving me the opportunity to witness that."

She looked down at the never-ending motion of the engine, dangling her leg off the walkway. "How did it go?" she asked. "With Sabin?"

A shrug. "He yelled at me. Then hugged me. I think I may have whiplash."

"So it's all right."

"It's probably all right. Or as all right as anything is ever going to get."

She breathed out slowly, and felt a tension she hadn't noticed before drain from her chest. Maybe this wasn't something she needed to feel guilty about. She already had enough.

"I would, of course, appreciate your discretion in this matter. The public generally tends to frown on cheating people out of thrones without a very good reason."

"I'm sure you did have a very good reason," said Celes, dryly.

"Oh, of course. You see, I've been told that women flock to men with power. Hasn't done anything for me yet, but I'm sure it's just a matter of time. Do inform me if it starts to work, will you?"

There had been times, in the past few weeks, when she'd wanted to grab him by his fancy collar and punch the lights out of him for his constant, flippant levity. For some reason, she found that urge had faded. And besides, that would be too much like stabbing a man when he's down right now, and she'd done enough of that in her past.

"Do you ever say what you mean?" she asked, instead.

And, after a second, he replied, "Do you?"

They stared at the turning cogs for some time. The constant hum of the engine permeated the room, filling every niche and corner until all her body felt like it was thrumming with it. Edgar didn't seem to mind.

Eventually, Celes got to her feet.

"It was fun, you know," she said, lightly. "Dressing up, singing, tricking people. We have to do this again some other time."

That got him to look up at her, and for an instant she saw the flicker of surprise on his face before it smoothed out in his usual grin. Celes smiled as she walked away.

The countryside of the Southern Continent was almost alien in its familiarity. These were the sights she'd known throughout her life. The hills were the right shape and the right color, the trees and grass were the kind she'd always known, and the the Imperial Palace of Vector loomed over the horizon, a familiar figure of sharp metal and harsh lights. Gestahl had had it built specifically for this purpose. Everyone must be reminded of those above them, he'd said. The glory of the Empire will stand for all to see. She'd find it inspiring, then.

This was the land that had welcomed her, once. It was strange; she'd never truly missed her home until she'd returned to it.

They'd stopped to set up camp. The others seemed to have the preparations well in hand, so she wandered away to sit on the grass and look distantly at the horizon.

She didn't see Edgar striding towards her until he was a few feet away.

"I've decided I'm philosophically opposed to healing spells," he announced without preamble, sitting down next to her. "Which, all right, I realize how it sounds, but—listen, I can accept creating lightning or setting things on fire. I understand the physical processes behind that, at least in broad strokes. But the human body is an extremely complex system, and I'm an engineer, not a doctor. None of us are doctors! How are we supposed to fix something if we don't know how it works? You can't expect me to just wave my finger and—"

Celes cast a healing spell on him.

Edgar threw his hands in the air. "All right, fine, I am perfectly capable of accepting empirical evidence. But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"You're overthinking it. You have to listen to the magic's will and follow it, not bend it to yours. You can't just treat it like some kind of tool you use to fix a problem."

"That is the worst thing anyone has ever said to me, and I'm including that time Locke told me he'd rather drill a hole in his head than listen to me talk about surface condensers for steam turbines for another minute."

"Magic is a living thing. Not something that can be cut up and analyzed."

Then how did you come to have this power in the first place?, he carefully didn't ask. Just as she hadn't asked him why a man known for winning the throne in a coin toss had a double-headed coin in his pocket.

She sighed.

"Here, look," she said, and slipped her hand into his. It was warm and callused, and Celes forced herself to focus on the matter at hand. "Close your eyes and focus on my life force."

By the time the sun had set, Edgar could manage enough spellpower to heal a small scrape. Celes supposed it was an improvement. The Imperial Palace shone even more brightly in the twilight sky, and Celes realized that she hadn't looked up at it in almost an hour. She should thank him, perhaps, but the words wouldn't come.

Quietly, Edgar got up and held out a hand for her. "Come, let's go join the others."

Celes ignored it, hugging her knees. "I'm fine here," she said.

He regarded her for a few moments. "Don't you ever get lonely?"

"Do you?" Celes shot back.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," replied Edgar with a laugh. Then his expression seems to soften slightly. "But if I did, I'd tell you that it helps to ask Locke to tell one of his stories and try to figure out which bits of it aren't complete lies. I think you'd like the one about Dadaluma's prize chocobo."

Celes closed her eyes. She breathed in, then, slowly, out. Then she got up, brushing away the hand he tried again to offer her.

Together, they walked towards the campfire.

"General Celes! We needn't keep up the charade any longer," Kefka said, everyone turned towards at her.

The skepticism in Locke's frown made her chest hurt, and Sabin's face was set in stubborn, unmovable conviction. Edgar stared at her with bright eyes. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. But she might, she thought, hazard a guess.

Let me prove myself to all of you, she thought, and the incantation rose instinctively to her lips.

For a while, she thought she might never see any of them again.

It should have felt nice to be back on the Blackjack. She'd missed the wind in her hair, when she'd been holed up in the metal cage that was Vector's Imperial Palace. (She'd also missed Sabin's laughter, and Locke's adventure stories, and Edgar's infuriating smile, but that had been harder to think about.) But nothing was the same anymore. Whenever she looked up, she saw a piece of her home continent floating eerily in the sky. Whenever she closed her eyes she saw Leo's bloodied corpse, dumped on the ground like nothing more than trash.

He found her on the deck, leaning on the railing and looking down at the ground below. She was expecting some sort of flippant greeting. She thought she might have liked that. Instead, he walked up to her without fanfare and asked, quietly, "How are you holding up?"

I'm fine, part of her urged her to say. I'm a general, not some hysterical damsel.

She didn't. Instead she asked, quietly, "Did you know General Leo?"

"I did have the honor of spending time with him at several official functions in the past. Definitely the noblest person to ever invade my kingdom." She felt her stomach twist, and Edgar quickly added, "I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me."

"It's fine," Celes said. It wasn't as if he was wrong.

"Were you close to him?"

She shrugged. "He talked to me, sometimes."

It seemed like such a trivial thing, to say it like that. But she thought Edgar might understand. He stepped closer to lay a hand gently on her forearm, and Celes almost started at the sudden contact. It felt warm. Strange. When was the last time she'd been touched like this?

"I've been informed by reliable sources that it helps to talk about it."

She found herself smiling. "Somehow, I get the feeling that's not advice you have any right to be giving."

"Well, I am a king. Historically, telling people to do things I have no intention of doing myself is part of the job description."

Celes almost snorted; it turned into a sob in her throat. She felt her fingers tighten around the railing. Was it selfish of her to mourn the man who'd conquered South Figaro in front of its king?

"You told me once," she said, quietly, "that I must have looked beautiful in the flames of Maranda."

If she hadn't been standing so close to him, she might have missed his flinch. "Did I? Yes, I suppose I did. I should offer my apologies, shouldn't I?"

"You didn't have much reason to think well of me back then."

"I've had occasion to revisit my judgement."

"Thank you," she surprised herself by saying. "But I don't know if that's going to be enough."

"First of all, I'm deeply insulted that you don't consider my opinion to be the only thing that matters. Secondly"—he paused, looking up at the sky—"well, that's not really up to either of us to decide, is it? All we can do is try our best. The history books will be the ones to pass judgement."

Celes watched the ground below. From this distance, the landscape below seemed like a miniature. "How do deal with that?"

Edgar laughed. "If I ever figure something out, you'll be the first to know." He clapped her on her shoulder. "But that's enough vaguely heartfelt conversation for today, I think. At this rate, we're liable to break out in hives. I came up to tell you that Relm has talked Cyan into posing for a portrait. Want to come see what happens?"

The Floating Continent loomed above them, dark a blot in the bright blue sky. And yet Celes felt laughter bubbling in her throat for the first time in so long.

The rocks pulsed eerily around them. The broken corpse of Atma lay before their feet. Behind it, she could barely make out the distant figure of a statue, her arms reaching towards the sky as if frozen in silent prayer.

"There they are," Terra said simply, because there were no words big enough to describe the enormity of what they had to do. Shadow nodded in assent. The air thrummed with wild magic.

Celes almost jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder.

"We're almost there," Edgar said. It was impressive, how steady his voice was. He looked no better than she felt—his clothes burnt and ripped, dirt and blood smeared on his skin. His ponytail had been a casualty of the fight, and his hair fell messily in his face. "Are you ready?"

Celes breathed out, shakingly. Her body was taut with tension, exhaustion coursing through her like a thick heavy fog until it drowned out everything else. Just like she'd felt as Maranda burned around her.

But this was different. She knew she was doing the right thing.

"Are you?" she replied.

"Come on," Edgar said, laughing. "Let's go make history."

Or die trying, neither of them added.

When she saw him again, a year later, everything had changed. The sky was a sickly, livid purple, like a bruise over the world. Wherever she went she found grass wilting beneath her feet, twisted, mutated monsters, rotting crops, pale, downcast faces trying to eke out a living in a warped land. The world was dying all around her, and when she closed her eyes she saw her companions' wide eyes as the Blackjack was ripped open—Strago stumbling, Edgar and Cyan desperately grabbing the railing, Setzer and Terra holding onto each other, Relm screaming as she was flung into the air, Locke reaching for her and his hand closing around nothing.

But some things were still the same. The garish colors of Locke's bandanna. Sabin's cheerful, open laughter. And, now, Edgar's smooth grin and constant games.

Celes had missed him long enough to forget how infuriating he could be. It almost made her smile.

She'd left Sabin to secure a room at the inn and headed out into the seedier parts of the city. It wasn't hard to find what she was looking for; they weren't exactly subtle about hiding their trail. She found the gang contributing to the atmosphere of a local pub. The acrid smell of beer and smoke was almost overpowering, and the air was thick with the noises of glasses slamming upon the wooden tables, weapons clanging, colorful songs and shouted conversations. The thieves were spread out across the room, laughing loudly, yelling for more drinks, while Edgar—or Gerad, she supposed, if she were to play this latest game of his—sat apart from them, watching from the corner. He was sipping a beer, and clearly trying his very best not to grimace at it.

Celes walked up to the bartender and ordered a beer, watching "Gerad" from the corner of her eyes as she leaned on the counter. She took a sip. (It was bitter and strange, like everything in this new dying world, with an aftertaste that reminded her vaguely of rot. But she'd had worse in the barracks of the Imperial Army.) Then, casually, she walked over to his table, smiling sharply as she slid into the seat opposite him.

"Hello, milady," he greeted her above the din, turning to her with a smile as bright as the sun. Celes felt its warmth on her skin. "Couldn't stay away from me? It's a common reaction."

Celes made sure her eye roll was appropriately dramatic. She leaned towards him to make herself heard. "Just came to see if you're ready to drop the stupid charade."

"Oh, not this again. Listen, I can see you're mourning your friend, and I certainly understand why—this Edgar sounds very handsome and charming and I'm sure his fashion sense is extremely dashing too—"

"Actually, he's an insufferable ass and I'm only looking for him so I can punch his smug smile off his smug face."

The smug smile only widened, and "Gerad" threw his head back and laughed. He laughed just like Edgar had, once, before everything broke, and Celes felt the warmth spread through her chest. "I'm sure that if he's a man of any sense at all—"

"—which he isn't—"

"—he'd be flattered by any kind of attention from such a lovely woman. But none of that concerns me where I'm going. Which, just in case you haven't heard, is South Figaro, then the basement of Figaro Castle through a hidden tunnel from Figaro Cave. I'd be much obliged if you were to refrain from following us there."

Celes smiled into her beer. "I'll be sure not to do that."

"Excellent! Keep in mind that we'll be leaving tomorrow at dawn from Dock 3 so you can avoid being anywhere in the general vicinity. There are a lot of crates one could hide in on our ship and my men aren't the most observant, but I'm sure we'll have nothing to worry about. Now"—he leaned over with a twinkle in his eyes and an infuriatingly charming smile on his face—"as a parting gift for a beautiful woman I'll surely never see again, would you let me buy you a drink?"

Celes downed the rest of her beer, slammed the mug on the table, and flashed him the sharpest smile she could manage. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, her voice dripping sweetness. "I don't accept drinks from strangers."

His laughter followed her as she left, above the din of the bar.

She found him in his quarters at some ungodly hour of the morning, restlessly poking at some dismantled contraption on his desk under the flickering light of a gas lamp.

She hadn't seen him in a day; he'd been swallowed up by the whirlwind of whatever administrative issues cropped up after a year of the kingdom's capital being stuck underground. Celes couldn't even begin to imagine. For the most part, she kept to herself. It felt surreal to walk the halls of Figaro Castle now, to walk past the dazed faces of its inhabitants, nobles and commoners alike. It was even stranger when they tried to talk to her. She wasn't quite sure what to do with their gratitude.

Celes leaned against the doorway, watching him tinker for a minute.

"Hey," she said, once it became clear he hadn't noticed her. He almost started at that. A year ago, she might not have noticed—but it was easier to see past his facade, now that she'd seen his eyes as the world cracked open all around them.

When he raised his head, his smooth smile was firmly in place. "Ah, Celes! Come in, come in. I really am being a terrible host, aren't I?"

Celes closed the door quietly behind her. "I think I'm willing to overlook this grave insult under the circumstances."

"That is very gracious of you. I'd ask you if you'd accept a drink now that we're not strangers anymore, but I'm afraid someone broke into the royal wine cellars five months ago. Normally this would be punishable by jail time, but our jails currently have a bit of a security issue, and also it was completely understandable. Actually, I should probably amend the emergency provisions to specifically cover that, shouldn't I?"

"That's a shame. I really think I deserve compensation after being subjected to the worst disguise in known history."

"Hah! You should be grateful it wasn't worse. I had considered wearing a fake beard."

"Thank you for sparing our eyes," Celes said dryly.

"You are very welcome," replied Edgar with deep solemnity. Then he turned to her with a grin on his face. "It's good to see you again, Celes. Have I mentioned it yet? You look even more radiant than the last time I saw you. Which isn't a come on, by the way, there genuinely is something about you."

Celes knew how she looked. A year in bed hadn't been kind to her body. But she felt lighter than she ever had, and perhaps it showed.

Edgar didn't look better than the last time she'd seen him. There were bags under his eyes, and his hands trembled slightly when he wasn't occupying them with something. She was glad to see him anyway.

She stepped forward.

Edgar held up his hands. "Ah. Are you going to punch me as you promised? Because my ribs are still recovering from Sabin's hug, so—"

Briefly, she considered it. Instead, she grabbed him by his fancy collar, yanked him down, and pulled him to her.

It was not, all things considered, a particularly good kiss. Their lips were chapped, their motions too stiff, and he was tall enough that they needed to shift a little to adjust. But he was real and solid and alive, warm in a way their broken world wasn't, and that was enough. She slid her arms around his neck, and for a while they just held on to each other, silently.

When she drew away, Edgar's eyes were wide. He blinked once, twice.

"Um. I—" Then his face lit up with his customary grin. "I see you've fallen for my charms at last. I knew it had to happen, sooner or later."

Celes laughed. "Or maybe I'm just happy to see one of my companions again."

"Ah. Of course. Does that mean you also kissed my brother? Because I certainly understand why you would—he does look like me, after all, but—"

"Edgar?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

Amazingly, he did.

The desert night was quiet, and Celes felt a smile pull at her lips. Talking to Edgar always felt like tearing away mask after mask and always finding a new one underneath. But, for a moment, she'd made him drop his guard.

"Sabin and I are going to go after Kefka," she said into the silence. "Want to come with us?"

He let out a startled laugh. Celes supposed Sabin hadn't told him—just assumed he'd be coming along. "Well, that's—that's moving a little fast, isn't it? Already asking for commitment, so soon after our first kiss. What will the others say?"

"Edgar."

He looked down at the scattered pieces of his contraption, and there was a strange hollowness in his eyes. Had he let Sabin see him like this?

He swallowed. "Do you really think that'll work? Because, well—I don't know if you remember the last time we tried that, but..."

Celes has seen their planet broken all around her—the desolate landscapes, the rotting seas, the livid skies, the empty eyes of the survivors living in their new dying world. But she'd also seen the stubborn brightness of Sabin's smile, and the bright colors of the bandanna tied around her wrist. She could speak trite words about hope and determination, and they wouldn't necessarily be wrong. But she didn't think he'd be fooled by them. There was so much she wanted to say that she didn't know how to put into words.

Maybe he'd understand anyway.

"It's better than doing nothing," she said in the end.

"Yes." Edgar breathed out, slowly. "I suppose it is."

Celes stepped forward, and lay a hand on his arm. "So. Are you going to come with us?"

For a moment, Edgar was silent. Then his expression hardened in resolve. He looked up at her, and maybe it was only was Celes wanted to see but she thought there might have been a new sparkle in his eyes. "Come now, Celes. You know I've never been able to say no to a beautiful woman."

"Welcome back," she told him, smiling, and held out her hand. "Let's fix everything."

And they did. Against all odds, they did.

The last few hours were a blur—the clash of weapons and magic, Kefka dissolving into light, the last twisted remnants of Celes' home crumbling all around them, the wind in her hair as the Falcon sped away—and the slowly dawning knowledge that they had fixed the world.

Or at least started to, as Edgar seemed intent on reminding anyone within earshot.

"If killing one man were enough to magically undo the impact of a worldwide calamity, my job would be a whole lot easier," he was muttering into Sabin's shoulder. Around them, the celebrations were beginning to wind down. Locke and Strago were losing all their money to Gogo in a poker game, Mog and Umaro were still dancing precariously on a table, and Gau, Cyan, and Terra were talking on the floor, laughing. Relm had dropped off about an hour ago, curled up on a couch with Interceptor. "We're talking about rebuilding entire infrastructures from the ground up. It's a logistical nightmare, and that's not even considering the difficulties in travel and communications we'll have until the world is completely mapped out..."

"I think your brother's had too much of Setzer's champagne," Celes said to Sabin, sitting down on the couch, next to them.

"He hasn't, actually," Sabin replied, petting his brother's hair affectionately. "He's just naturally like this."

"I can see why you left home."

"You are both awful and I hate you," Edgar announced. "And neither of you have the proper appreciation for the difficulties of large scale project management."

Celes patted him somewhat less than gently on the knee. "Come up to the deck. You need some fresh air, and your brother needs a break."

The air outside was cool and brisk. The stars shone above them, and maybe it was just an impression, but they seemed brighter than they had before. Setzer gave them a smart salute before turning back to the wheel. They came to rest on the edge of the deck, leaning against the railing; the silence stretched out all around them, and Celes was beginning to feel a bone deep exhaustion wash over her over the euphoria of victory. Beside her, Edgar looked three seconds away from collapsing onto the deck. But he was smiling.

The world wasn't healed, yet. But it would. It would.

"We did it," she said, and the words still felt exhilarating on her lips.

Edgar opened his mouth, and she kicked him in the shin. "Shut up. Don't think about the future. Just enjoy the moment."

"Fine, fine," he laughed. "We did do it. I, of course, never doubted it for a second."

"Liar."

"Well, I may have had a few reservations. But I'm always happy to be proven wrong. It happens so rarely, you see, that I enjoy the novelty."

"Is that so? Looks like I'll have to make a habit of it."

"I think I'll look forward to it."

In the light of the Falcon's lanterns, Edgar's tired smile seemed like the only thing in the world.

"Will you be all right?" Celes asked, suddenly. "Having to go back to running things?"

Edgar laughed, looking at her with bright, piercing eyes behind the veil of exhaustion. "And you? Will you be all right now that the magic's gone?"

Celes looked down at her hand. Her power no longer came instinctively at her fingertips; she kept trying to focus on it, like running her tongue over the gap of a missing tooth. It had always been with her, ever since she'd been an infant, and now it was as if she'd lost one of her senses. But it would be all right. She'd been leaving behind the old parts of herself, in the past two years. She'd found new things to replace them with.

There was so much for her to say, and not enough words for her to say it. But she had all the time in the world to come up with them.

"Where will you go now?" Edgar asked, after a while.

Celes looked down at the world below. In the distance, she could see the faint light of the gas lamps of a town. The world stretched out before her, with nowhere and everywhere for her to go.

"You know," she said, casually, "I'm not entirely sure. Would happen to have any suggestions?"

"Well, you could—and keep in mind that this is a completely impartial suggestion—you could always visit Figaro whenever you want."

"Oh? And is there any particular reason why I should?"

"Well, the people are nice, the food is good, and the sceneries are beautiful—not very varied, I'll give you that, but beautiful. And, besides, I still owe you that drink, don't I?"

"You do make a good argument. I wasn't planning on letting you weasel out of your debt."

"Excellent! You are, of course, welcome to stay however long you wish. Incidentally, are you interested in becoming captain of the guard? Because the position is open. My old one resigned from her post the moment the castle emerged—something about how if she spent one more moment locked up in there she'd go raving mad, which was rather hurtful of her, I must say. My castle is an absolute delight to be locked in for a year. But I'm sure you'd make a wonderful captain. I'd love to see you terrorize—"

"Edgar."

"Ah, my apologies. Was I rambling again?"

Celes smiled. "Do you ever say what you mean?"

"Well, there was one time the royal chef asked me what I'd like to eat for breakfast and I unthinkingly told him the truth. It was an awful experience and I vowed never to repeat it."

"Maybe you should give it another try." Celes leaned back against the railing, feeling the cool breeze play in her hair. His hand lay close to hers, and she thought she might like to reach out and touch it. Maybe even rest her head on his shoulder, or pull him into a kiss. It was exhilarating, to have so many options in front of her. The future bloomed bright before her eyes. "I'll start if you do."

A soft smile played on his lips. "I might take you up on it," he said, looking up at the sky.