Seven years. Seven years since I touched this story! Quite the wait, but also quite the improvement in writing, or so I hope. But why return to this after all this time?

To cut a long story short, I ended up getting a good friend of mine to playthrough FF9, something he's still doing as we speak. I'm watching every waking moment of it through stream, and sure enough, it's reignited my love for the setting and the story and the characters. Of course, it also helps that I'm reading through Crimson Cobwebs' fantastic Brick by Brick and Foundations fanfics at the same time.

I'll be honest, I draw some inspiration from Crimson Cobwebs' writing. While my characters may turn out differently, either due to different events or different ideas about them, I hope only that I at least begin to approach the mastery Crimson has over Zidane and Dagger.

Does that count as a plug? Whatever, enough of being a fanboy. Read those two fanfics if you haven't. They're brilliant.

Anyway! I can't say for sure how long this'll last, between university work and myself being on Nursing placement, but for the time being I'm quite motivated to work on this. So, let's make the most of it!

My intention behind this fanfic is for it to serve as a full-fledged sequel to FF9; an FF9-2, if you would. I've put a lot of thought into it, and the way I see it, there are both plenty of plot threads that still need tying up, a lot of world to explore and develop, and a fair amount of character development that can still happen. So, I figure why not take a crack at it and see what I can come up with?

Hopefully you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it! And please, do review!

Prologue

i.

I remember something Garland once told me…

He said, "Everything happens for a reason".

I had never really thought about it before: the reason why things happen…

For my entire life I had focused on living and assumed these reasons were simply beyond my understanding.

I mean, why fight something that is inevitable?

If it is fate that controls our lives, then why worry about it?

However, something happened all those months ago that made me refuse to accept this ideology.

I did not want to be a puppet of an uncontrollable destiny any longer.

I wanted to make my own path, rather than follow one forged by some higher power.

…was I a fool to believe such things?

The wind audibly roared across the Pualei Plains, the sound more reminiscent of cutting blades than of a gentle breeze. The region was completely empty of life; no monsters, no trees, only the bare cracked earth remained here. The sky had long since darkened around this place, and yet it was not night; the sun shone as clearly as it had on any other day. Despite this snow fell from the sky, the first known occurrence of it on the otherwise hot and dry Outer Continent.

It centered around the Iifa tree, that solitary tree that appeared to be more like some foreign construction than anything natural-born of Gaia. As powerful as the wind was across the plains surrounding it, here the air was still, almost as though it were too frightened to move, and the snow likewise seemed to avoid it for much the same reason. And given the reality of this colossal superstructure, that was a very real possibility.

Short of the dead husks of ancient trees, long since deceased yet refusing to fall, only one thing remained in those decrepit lands: a single figure laid on the ground in a spread-eagle position, face flat down. With the black cloak that covered both head and body it was difficult to tell whether or not this figure was even alive, and the layer of sow covering him only made the task more difficult. The wind howled anew on the plains, yet for a few sparse moments it died down, again as though afraid. Only this time the source of its terror did not seem to be the unholy tree across the horizon.

"Ugh…" The seemingly dead figure on the ground groaned, both of his gloved hands flexing in the snow and pressing down gently on the floor, slowly moving himself up onto his knees with obvious effort; he was tired and he was broken, for more reasons than he cared to count. He wore light-blue garments under his cloak (held together across his collar by what seemed to be a band of string), along with a brown leather belt that stretched down across both of his hips, forming a makeshift sheathe for two daggers that hung from his waist, each disappearing into his cloak. White bandages were wrapped around his lower chest on top of his shirt, the only real indication that he was injured. Concealed in his hood was medium-length blonde hair, bound at the end by a bow of sorts so as to keep it out of the way; his hood had saved it from the ash, though his face was another matter entirely. He was fair of face, and were it not for a number of bruises that adorned it along with pockets of ash, he would even have been referred to as handsome. More than his share of women seemed to think so, at least. They were the least of his concerns right now though, shocking as it was for him to admit it.

It only took a moment for his senses to return to him, and his body exploded in agonizing pain. He fell forward once more, catching himself on the ground with his right hand while his left flew to his chest and clutched at it, accompanied by the metal clatter of his daggers in their sheaths. His breathes came only in slow, ragged bursts, as his body labored to provide him with it. He remembered fighting, but not here; this sure as hell wasn't Oeilvert.

"Where…am I?" He asked himself quietly, though as his cerulean eyes drifted across the plains around him, he found himself expecting no answer in return. He was alone here. That worried him...a lot. But for some reason he felt relieved by the knowledge.

Slowly he began to rise to his feet with obvious difficulty, and not only because of his weaponry; the injuries he had sustained in that battle did their part in ensuring he had to fight to stand, as did the returning wind. The snow that had covered him slowly fell off, first like a landslide and later like the occasional rock; he was still marked by it in many places, having let it escape into his clothing.

"Where is everyone?" He asked himself once more as he continued to pick himself back up, the wind all but casting his cloak aside in the process and revealing his back, and the brown, monkey-like tail jutting out from his pants, shriveled, as though resenting its owner for dragging it through such difficulty. The wind died down again quickly enough and the cloak returned, settling across his back once more, though the Genome didn't seem to notice at all, his eyes instead having occupied themselves with examination of his surroundings. These plains, the cracked earth, the harsh winds...they felt so familiar...

Turning his gaze skyward, a speck of snow fell down towards him, and his eyes settled on it, following its journey. "What is this stuff…? Snow?" He wondered out loud, his left hand continuing to clutch at his chest as he remained on his feet, though with some difficulty. Reaching out with his right hand he caught it on the palm, yet as the snow struck it…it slid off, falling like sand. That was wrong. It should have melted...

Narrowing his eyes in a mixture of realization and anger, the Genome turned his eyes about once more. But this time they went directly forward. "This is...ash!" He growled to himself, teeth grinding together under his hood. He understood now, why it was that he was here on the slopes of the Iifa tree. He did not understand how he was here, but he understood why. The others...? They were safe. They had to be. They had better be.

If fate truly ordained for this to happen…

With obvious difficulty the figure began to take steps forward, wobbling at first but quickly regaining his balance, having had many years of practice with it. Lady Luck did not forgive a clumsy thief. Could he even call himself that any more? He felt he'd stopped being a thief long ago.

Slowly, warily, the genome approached the Iifa Tree. It seemed so large from here, so close, but he knew it would take hours of walking to get there. Once that would have bothered him, but he just didn't have the strength to care any more. He was too tired. He just wanted this to end.

"It never ends..." He whispered to himself in an undertone, a voice that once sounded youthful and vibrant only months before, yet now seemed old and jaded. Kuja had been right all along. It always came back to this damn tree. It always came back to his damn unforgivable past. And it never ended.

...then fate has a cruel sense of humor.

Author's Note:

But how did he get here? That's the question! Read on, and you just might find out. It's going to be a long ride, though... strap yourself in.

Reviews are always welcome!