Disclaimer: These are not my characters. They are the sole property of Squaresoft. I am merely borrowing them for the purpose of storytelling, stepping briefly into their world to influence their actions.

















"Absolute Zero"



Part Two: With which to call home









"Don't stand shivering upon the bank; plunge in at once, and have it over."



- Sam Slick











Ocean Storms



In the seas surrounding Nikeah, a storm was brewing. Not just a summer thunder storm or a typical ocean gale, this one was critical. The Inner Sea was churning pure death. All deep purple sky and waves ranging at twenty feet. The skippers and captains knew that this one was bad news. Indeed, it was the worst storm ever recorded in history. An ice storm.



Two travellers woke next to each other at an inn in this backwater village. They had wandered there the previous night, drunken and riotous. This morning, the man woke first, the rattling window pain rousing him from sleep. His travel partner and companion lay next to him, her breath gentle on his face. He gazed at her for a moment, so calm. Her features so strikingly pure and breathtakingly beautiful. When she woke, he knew she would assume her stubborn manner again and these features would change. Mould to her will. For the moment though, they were calm and pure, like carved marble.



A loud impact noise at the window, and Locke got to his feet and moved toward the pane of glass that held those elements out.



A scene of pure illusion, he thought. It must be. This isn't real.



Outside, a tree had fallen in the middle of the cobblestone street and all manners of debris flew through the air. Then there was the snow. It restricted his sight to the nearby shops and stages. Further than that was a white void.



Celes, feeling the loss of warmth next to her, stirred from sleep. "Locke . . . are you still here?" She was sleepy-eyed and confused.



"Yes, Celes. I'm here." He smiled warily toward her. Pressed his hand on the glass. So cold. "You aren't going to believe this."



"What is it?"







Trail's End





"Locke, this can't be." Celes had pulled a blanket around herself and dragged her feet to the window, to stand in shock before it. "It's incredible. It's so bleak."



"Yeah, I'm afraid it is. It's like nothing I've eva seen." He turned to her. "Not eva in my whole life."



"So it is real."



"What's that?"



"The prophecies. The ruin of the world. It's permanent. We did nothing to stop it." She pulled the blankets tight. Her gaze seemed to look through the scene outside, not register it. "We thought we could turn it back, didn't we? With the end of the magic, the Espers, but it didn't work. Don't you see, Locke? It was all for naught."



"No, Celes. No, dear. . ." He reached for her, pulled her close. She placed her heavy head on his shoulder. She was shaking, and this frightened him. "This won't happen."



"Yes, it will." She said in a quiver. Her voice grim and cold. "It's happening now, and I was a part of it."



"No, Celes! Don't say that!"



"But, I was. Oh Locke, I was."



"There's nothing about this to blame yourself for! You did everything you could to make it right, Celes, everything."



"Too little too late, it seems."



"Dear Celes, there was nothing any of us could do."



". . . " He could feel her sniffle. The shaking stopped.



"No reason to blame yourself. No reason at all. We all get taken down roads that we have very little control over, don't we?" She held him tightly, understood exactly what he meant. He too had been the victim of many cruel fates, and they had both seen how the same seemingly horrible turn of events nearly always produced a means of salvation. Another road to take. Her breath slowed, she closed her eyes, and a single tear streamed down her cheek.



"Then what now?"



"You mean, where do we go?"



"Yes, where then?"



"I really don't know, dear."









Tsunami





The small town of Thamasa was now nestled on an island in the South Sea. It faced the growling winds like an experienced, if quite small, soldier. It held its defences as best it could. It's best efforts were failing, however, and it was falling apart at the seams.



Relm, a young girl of thirteen, was pushing her way through the winds, toward her house. Her hair was blowing fiercely in the gale, her bandana having long surrendered to the gusts. Now she was a mess of matted curls and teary, wind-blow eyes. She was struggling, desperate to get to her Grandfather's house.



Strago couldn't hear the girl from inside. The gale was too strong. He was making his last arrangements in his mind. Collecting his final thoughts. He knew this was the one.



Relm wasn't as quick to accept fate as her grandfather.



The thatched roof began to give way, and Strago's beard was now blowing in the tempest too. The fire had been sucked clean out the chimney. He could hear the girl now. She was nearing the door. He sighed, rocked a little in his chair, and closed his eyes.



The wave could not be measured, but it would later be assumed that it must have been at least fifty feet tall. The tsunami grew out of the angry ice storm and was feeding off the fear of the people of Thamasa. Scared and helpless, they rushed and scurried through town, trying to find a door through which they could escape their fate.



There was none.



Relm reached the door, flung it open, just in time for the wave to hit. She was pushed into the house, knocked clean from her feet, by the surging water. She did manage to grab hold of the old man and his chair as the water crashed around them. Submerged, she felt the pain of her leg, hanging lifeless from the impact of the door. She closed her eyes, held fast her breath, her grip. Felt the pressure grow stronger and stronger. Then nothing.



The wave took everything and everyone away from the island that day. The people from the Greater Continent said it was because of the magic they had possessed. The powers they had contained there. The water came to destroy the curse, the legends say, as their magic was what had caused the world to crumble.





To Wait Out the Storm





Locke sat in front of the fireplace, warming his feet. He sipped at a once-hot coffee, which was now rapidly cooling. He couldn't bring himself to move just yet. The warmth so welcome. Behind him, Celes sat at a desk, busily writing something. He dared not ask her what it was, just yet. He knew she would tell him in good time. She always did. Celes looked up from her letter at Locke. He look pale and dirty, but still perfectly content there by the fire. She realised that she too was in need of a wash.



"We could still continue to Narshe. I mean, once the storm is over, that is." Locke glanced up at her, over his back.



"We should, whenever this storm dies down. But I fear it won't do that for some time."



"Then we bloody better go anyway." He stressed, "Go as soon as we can. It's for the better. It could get worse."



"I'm writing to Edgar in Figaro, so he knows we are heading that way." Celes tapped her pen on the scroll, dotting her signature with a flourish. "I was thinking we should move soon too. Maybe there is a ship still sailing."



"Unlikely, my dear."



"Then by foot, I guess, it will have to be."



"Yes, maybe. We could check the dockyard all the same . . ."



"Oh make up your bloody mind, will you!" Celes laughed at him. "You're too much." He could be so nonchalant about these things. She tossed a crumpled sheet of paper at him.



'Hey, hey. Nope of that now!"



"Get yourself off the floor so we can start getting everything together. We can probably get a hot bath before we leave if we're lively enough."



Locke sighed, and pulled himself to his feet. Ran his hand through his greasy mess of hair, smiled, and grabbed a towel.





Driftwood





"This is the dockyard?"



"I think it used to be."



"Bloody hell."



The pier was cracked where it usually met the shore. Several boats lay on their sides or backs on the ground beside them. The rest was flotsam, refuse. It wasn't looking good for a trip to Figaro that day.



"What happened here? This is unbelievable."Celes picked up a wooden shard that had been ripped clean from the hull of a nearby fishing vessel.



"Must have been the storm." Locke propped his leg up on an overturned dory.



"There's nothing left. The storm couldn't have caused this much destruction!"



"Not all. Look there."



One small boat chugged toward the demolished dock. On its deck, a rugged looking man made a waving motion toward them.





Houseboat





Artemis Nemo had lived on the sea all his life. His sturdy little vessel, The Morning Glory, had been in his possession since his father died twenty three years earlier. She was a feisty little tub and was one of the only boats to withstand the impact of the tidal wave, which had filtered down to twenty feet after demolishing Thamasa and coursing northwards to Nikeah. Still, the impact had been fierce. Those ships that did survive were nearly all tossed a great distance to sea, obtaining vast amounts of water damage, and most were now at the mercy of the waves.



The Morning Glory, however, was lucky enough to have had her captain readily available, for Artemis was a permanent resident on the hardy little houseboat. He had seen the wave, battened down the hatchets (as they say), and rode 'er out (as they also tend to say).



Surveying the wrecks now, Artemis was in shock.



The Star Fish, most prized of all racing schooners, lay upturned and shattered at the hull. He had loved that rig since he was a child. Next to her was Mermaid, and that poor vessel was no better, if not even worse. He couldn't even make out The Ultima or Siren's Call, and the thought of those fine ships lost or buried at sea brought a tear to his eye.



Still, he was alive. The Morning Glory was still kicking. What more could he ask for?









Safe Passage







"Now you two cats look in need of a crossing, am I right?" He yelled heartily at the two travellers, young and robust, standing on the tousled shore.



"You're quite right then, my man!" Locke bellowed back at him, giddy with the good fortune. "And are you offering us such passage, then?"



"Indeed, I am."



"That's wonderfully generous of you." Celes smiled.



"Think nothing of it. You two look like you need to get somewhere, you do." He reached into his pocket for his pipe and began to light it. "I can see that. I've seen many a traveller with your looks about them, and one begins to understand these things."



"A fine bloke then, you are!"



"Yes, we really appreciate this."



"Oh nothing now!" He sucked back on the pipe as the boat nudged against the shore. "Now just get yourselves on deck and we'll be right underway."



"After you, my dear."









High Tides





Locke had spent some time hanging over the starboard side of The Morning Glory, Celes could tell, and she tried to keep her laugher to herself. He gave her a glare, an indignant smirk, then wiped his bloodshot eyes. He went into the cabin's bathroom and turned on the sink. The cold water on his face was nice, made him feel less seasick.



"No sea legs on you then, I see." Artemis chuckled from his place by the wheel.



"Bloody better believe it!" Locke coughed. Celes considered asking if he was going to be okay, but remembered his pride and decided against it. He'd survive. She would not patronize him.

"You'll be alright. Here . . . " Artemis produced a flask from his pocket. "Take a swig of this. It'll clear you right up."



"Thanks, mate." Locke chugged back a mouthful of the dark rancid liquid and nearly choked. It was potent stuff, whatever this bloke was selling. Locke tried to look like he liked it, and took another gulp. He swirled it around his mouth, and swallowed hard.



"There ya go! How's that?" Locke felt a warming sensation throughout his body, and indeed, he did feel better.



"What IS that stuff?"



"Oh, that's my own special blend. For the sea fever. You like it?"



"It's bloody brutal."



"The best kind." The old sea dog grinned. Locke rubbed his chest through the buttons of his shirt, smacked his lips together. Celes was eyeing a map of the Inner Sea on her lap.



"So Artemis, we should be reaching South Figaro in less than thirty hours, you say?"



"That's right."



"What's this swirling pattern below us on the map?"



"That's the Flood Tides, they call 'em. Not quite explainable. But after the ruin . . . "



"They changed their pattern, right?" Locke peered toward the map. "I've heard of 'em. They say that boats get caught out there. Is that right?"



"So I've heard, Lad, so I've heard. Not about to go check, myself."



"No, I guess it's better not to even wonder about things like that."







Figaro, Figaro



The young king, Edgar, looked out over the desert. A white dessert. The sickest, most dreadful sight he'd ever saw. His long tawny ponytail flickered in the breeze, delicately dancing with the particles of snow. Danae, the little girl, his cousin's daughter, had called them faery bits. He laughed at her often, but he wasn't laughing now.



He hadn't laughed at all since the snow began to fall.



He had, rather, sent out envoys to Narshe, Jidoor, and Albrook, to seek for answers and solutions. He had attempted to secure the public minds of South Figaro, with mixed results. It was a time of mania. Of frenzy. He had been forced to seize several individuals in the caste prison. Individuals who had proved themselves possibly dangerous. There was a great feeling of unrest in Figaro, and he didn't like it. Not at all.



He held a letter in his left hand, closest to his heart. He has already read it, but was considering running over it several more times before laying it aside. Celes, former General of the Vectorian Army. She had been a harsh adversary, and an even harsher comrade. He smiled to think of her absolute beauty. A dangerous, dangerous beauty. Then Locke, his long-time colleague, whom he hadn't laid eyes on since the tower had crumbled, and they had parted ways. The thought of seeing him again, in all his absurd glory, made Edgar almost feel like laughing. Almost.



He feared their travels would be difficult. He had already sent an escort to South Figaro to await them there, and that made him feel a little better. A little safer. Then again, South Figaro wasn't what it used to be. His guards patrolled there now, and he had the uneasy feeling that he was now controlling a police-state.



He turned to walk inside, brushed the white dust from his broad shoulders. Made a mental note to send a messenger out to his brother also.



Wherever he was right now.









Freezing Point





In Narshe, they were struggling.



The forecasts had proven right and now the world was being slowly buried under a blanket of ice. The scholars struggled with it now, growing increasingly frenzied by the day. They had built quite a school of thought here in Narshe, but it was doing them little good. Piles of books and incredibly expenditure on gadgets and machines, but for what? They had yet to find any kind of answer.



In the house on the edge of the mountain, Banon lay dying. His long rusty beard flung helpless on the sheets. He had seen the world through many changes, from the rise of the Empire and up to the current crumbling, and he felt tired. Outside the wind howled, and grew more angry by the day. Arvis hung over him like a curse, offering him warm drinks and morsels of food, but he wanted none of it.



The world is dying, he said. He would die too.





Nightfall





Locke was now asleep, sound and pale. His head lay upon Celes' lap. She wasn't sleeping, or at least it wasn't coming easily, so she simply sat. She looked around the cabin she rested in, and mentally tested the sturdiness of the walls, the security that these planks lent them. She was satisfied that they would make it to South Figaro, at least, in one piece.



The kind man had stayed in the main cabin, directing The Morning Glory toward their destination. She would be eternally grateful to him, and wondered how to repay him. Somehow she knew he needed no thanking, but she could not understand such people. Or maybe . . .

Celes understood certain things. Her short life had thrown her into many situations that forced her to change her point of view completely. And yes, she did understand that some things needed no explaining. No rewards or pay backs.



She ran her fingers carefully through Locke's hair, careful not to wake him.



She wasn't sure where they would eventually arrive. Where they would bring an end to this wandering. This searching. Would they stop, settle down? And how? Where? What would they do now that their carefree travelling has come to an end?



She knew that they hadn't a home. For her, this feeling was natural. She knew it to be true for him as well, especially now. She traced his face with her hand, cautiously. Could they be each others home? She knew she would not leave him, if it came to that. She wondered then, about him, but knew somehow, that she barely needed to.



Celes lay back onto the thick pillow and mattress, with Locke curled tightly into her lap, and soundly, she slept. She didn't stir until they reached the dock the next morning.