DISCLAIMER: Look, if I owned FFVIII, I wouldn't be writing in the F-A-N--F-I-C-T-I-O-N section, now would I?

AUTHOR'S NOTES: As you can see, I renamed the prologue. Sagara's right: it was getting too big even for my usual prologues…

Anyhow, I named this part "Within The Mists", which remotes me to two things: "Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within" and Bradley's "The Mists of Avalon" (which is in fact great, because I'm writing in her prologue style).

Are you wondering why I took so long? Well, I have two good reasons for that: my English teacher (that bitch, who put me in the longest writer's block I've ever had); and the fact that this chapter (read: this and the next) is longer than all previous five parts put together.

Also, I had a hard time writing action. This is about my first time doing it, by the way, and, obviously, I'm not that good.

Well, but I'm getting carried away, and you must be bored to death by now, so let's get starting…

ABOUT THE RATING: Oh! One more thing! There'll be naughty cursing, etc, etc. – since Seifer is in the fic, right? But I dunno if I should raise the rating… You tell me, okay?

PART ONE: WITHIN THE MISTS

CHAPTER SIX: A KING'S DAUGHTER

The sun shone brightly and warmly high above the place where he stood upon his trusted steed.  Still, the white fire rays reflected themselves with brilliance upon the polished surface of his dark blue armoured chest and gilded his short blonde hair.

He held his head high, proudly, savouring the gentle touch of the sea breeze against his broad neck as he studied his surroundings from such privileged surveying spot.

The beast underneath him moved a step forward, restless. Like his master, he did not enjoy immobility all that much. The dark blue-coated rider smiled at this and allowed himself to bend slightly, caressing his companion's long white mane with devoted affection as he whispered soothing words in the beast's ear.

Reassured, the imposing stallion straightened himself, striking a pose that – he knew – had been sure to demoralise that lurking Geezard from attacking his master.

Applying a friendly smack to his companion's neck, the blonde man also returned to his previous position, raising his steel blue - almost grey - eyes to the sky, watching as seabirds of all shapes and sizes squirmed in the sapphire clear heights.

He frowned slightly at the intense sunlight and expertly manoeuvred his mounting few steps backwards. He wore a lengthened dark coat over his muscular large shouldered torso, the resistant fabric partly concealing both his light armour and his trusty blade. Gallantly mounted as he was, one was sure to think we was no other than a knight – readying himself to save his lady love from the traitorous and murderous claws of a fierce Ruby Dragon, impetuously and courageously using his fighting skills…

…One was not all that wrong…

For the symbol embroidered on his coat's right sleeve, over the lower region of his upper arm, spoke of his noblest condition: with a light blue crescent Moon serving as background to a vertical sword and to two large white wings sided with it, there could be no possible doubt… That was truly the symbol of the Silver Order of Knighthood.

This particular knight, however, had never liked the stupid thing… As though he had faced all kinds of hardships to gain the honour of wearing it, he found it far to gay for his taste. He would have preferred something simpler, something fierier...

But not using the Code's icon meant having the High Knights after his ass. And, for as much as the idea of ripping the symbol off of his coat right in front of them secretly amused him, he was far to young to have the crap beaten out of him by shitty speeches about tradition this and tradition that - it was just plain not fucking worth it.

And it was not just the symbol that pissed him off: rules had never been his best shot and he knew it - seeing that they were followed was one thing, but following them himself was another matter entirely. He had a fondness to do things right… but by his own way of doing them.

It was a written fact that if it hadn't been for his natural leadership skills, confidant determination and almost inhuman fighting talent, he would never had made it into the Order. The Goddess to be thanked for that, the High Knights still praised and rewarded gifted warriors with ideals such as his – though – strict at they were, he had been submitted to numerous tests anyhow.

So one could have thought correctly to guess that that respectful figure was indeed a knight, but fail to understand his motives. Dyre, despite his small problem with authority, had always been a man of high values and his devotion to protect people's hopes and dreams stunned even the most loyal Knights of his Order. For he, also, had a dream--

The handsome blonde cursed under his breath. He could feel pain – spreading – pinning at his heart... He couldn't place its source; he hadn't time to attempt on curing it… His mind became foggy and incoherent…

Moments later, the knight lay helplessly on the ground.

The rough material of the boy's shirt was sticky and heavy from his lost of blood – Quistis could feel its resistance once she lead her right hand underneath it, carefully ungluing it from his skin so as to unravel the wounds beneath.

She had laid him down on his belly and his face rested abandoned and livid over the red stained sand, his short dishevelled blonde hair clinging to his closed eyelids, his purple lips quivering soundlessly.

Kneeled at his side, Quistis observed his back intently as her handiwork proceeded, biting her lower lip nervously as wide – almost parallel – marks came slowly into view; cruel red gashes that ripped his soft skin along their length, each and every one of them bleeding fluidly – as if just opened.

Any other five years old child would have run – crying, screaming at such horrid sight…

…but not Quistis.

Reaching for her nightgown's concealed pocket, her pale delicate fingers clasped firmly around the glassy surface of a bottled Potion.

Sighting with relief - almost with gratitude - for her foreseeing, Quistis quietly removed the cork with her mouth, the fire in her sapphire coloured eyes burning ever so serious and determined.

Coolly, the blonde girl tested the red gashes by applying a small amount of pressure and, lead by the boy's shivers and quiet grunts, she soon found their most critical spot.

"This is no game." She reminded herself, coldly. "I can die here just like three years ago. The only difference is that I'm willing to do something about it. I have the power to do it."

Glancing at the boy's unmoving features, Quistis wondered for a brief second. "Your wounds weren't here before, though. And there's nothing here where you could have hurt yourself this way. I know this beach. I know these waters. I know the nearby ocean. That leaves me with one option…"

"…what have they done to you…?" She whispered in a drawn voice. "…how…?"

"But most importantly: how am I going to take us both through the barrier? This Potion" She turned her gaze to the semitransparent glass object she held in her left hand, levelling with her eyes. "is not sufficient to heal your wounds……… and I'm not capable of performing healing spells…" She concluded with bitterness.

[Flashback]

An elegant raven-haired woman paced the room patiently, correcting each of the children lined in front of her - one in his posture, the other in her pronunciation.

"Now," She said in a orderly tone, "you'll do just as I taught you and you'll manage to heal little wounds like the cuts you made this morning." The children winced at the word 'cuts', hiding their bruised hands behind their backs embarrassedly.

They had been planning on collecting berries to do some jam for Winter and went out first thing in the morning to bring them by launch time as a surprise for Matron. But since Squall had forgotten to bring their gloves, they ended up bruising their hands and having a lecture once they got home.

Well, Matron was somewhat grateful, too. She had been wondering for a while about how to fix them something on which they could practise simple healing spells like 'Cure'.

She knew that the sooner they learned to wield their powers into a sole purpose, – even if a simple one – the quicker she would cease to have to correct the damage done by their occasional magical outbursts. You see, for children born with magic, like these, certain knowledge had to be passed, so they could live a normal life and not endanger others.

It had been her chosen task to introduce these children to their world of power – their spirit.

And so, Sorceress Edea watched as Ellone easily produced a small bow of light that circled her hand and cured it completely; as Squall made sparks appear over his hand, erasing his wounds (even if he did frown, which meant if was hurting) and making the ground beneath him shake a little – a side effect of the manifestation of his power; and Selphie created glowing balls of light that, after tickling her and running twice around the room, eventually cured her.

Now the real work began.

While Ellone and Selphie used types of magic very similar to each other, vocational to healing processes and Squall used a kind of magic connected with the body and its protection; Irvine's power, for some odd reason, acted as Selphie's echo – only appearing after hers appeared, but never while and – if given time – eventually blocking hers; Quistis' magic was rebel and difficult to leash and Zell hadn't the patience to concentrate properly on what he was doing.

After congratulating Selphie and Squall (Ellone had previously mastered this spell, since she was older than them) and giving some hints to Irvine, Edea noticed that Zell was wide-eyed, staring at Quistis' palm.

The woman rounded Zell, just in time to see a blue spiralled symbol explode into thousands of tiny fragments of sapphire coloured light. Quistis withdrew her hand – now carrying more cuts and bruises than it did before – and lowered her blonde head, a sad, yet serious, look hovering over her features, a thin line of blood traced up her forearm.

The small tattooed boy walked over to Quistis and hugged her tightly murmuring her name to make sure she knew he was there.

Quistis' power had been always like this: violent, unpredictable. Many times, it left the young girl in temporary trances, during which he wasn't able to reach her. He knew that if it hadn't been for the trust she had in Matron's magical protections, Quistis would have left the orphanage long ago – for his and the other's sake… So she had told him more than once…

"Quisty, please…" Zell called, almost on the verge of tears. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm all right. You didn't hurt me." He whispered, pulling the older girl closer to him. "…It's okay…" A tear escaped his sky blue eyes and rolled down his cheek, rosy lips quivering at her silence. "…please…"

Quietly, Edea approached the two children, grateful that the others hadn't noticed the scene yet. The sorceress touched Zell gently on the shoulder, so he would let go the older blonde.

Sniffing reluctantly, the spiky haired boy broke the embrace, looking at Matron with wide and lost shimmering eyes, and then clumsily stepped back.

The raven-haired woman kneeled in front of Quistis, caressing the girl's golden locks away from her ocean blue eyes. Softly, she lifted her chin so her eyes weren't cast blankly on the wooden floor anymore, but rather on the wall behind the sorceress.

"Quistis," Edea hushed, feeling sympathy for the young girl. "It's okay. You're only four years old, you don't need to master these spells just yet."

The blonde girl remained silent for a moment, the other children's eyes coming to rest finally on her. Slowly – almost as if devoid of life – her clouded blue eyes focused on the colours and textures of the wall and from there on to Matron's sweet and sombre violet eyes.

The two stood there for drawn moments and Edea saw – she didn't know if with relief or worry – the natural resemblance with the ocean that her eyes usually held conquering the misty depths that had previously taken over, the girl, for once, forcing a small smile upon her lips.

"But Matron, it's not that I can't do this spell." She said flatly. "The problem is that I can't control my magic. I have something to settle before I'll able to do it."

[End of Flashback]

 

Suddenly, the blonde's fingers lost their grip on the bottle, sending it flying down on the boy's exposed back with a small thud, producing a shiver from the boy.

She gasped, not even taking notice as the liquid flowed randomly over the boy's skin, taking little effect on the deeper wounds, but successfully erasing the smaller ones to thin reddish lines and keeping most of them from bleeding so profusely.

The young blonde didn't even acknowledge how his eyelids moved faintly…

Her mind was elsewhere… but not as far as she wished.

"By Nen! The adamatoises--  they're… gone!!!!!"

Waking meekly from unconsciousness, the blonde knight found himself stripped from his sword and mighty steed, his mind hazily fighting to regain the control lost on his journey.

Heavy eyelids struggled to remain closed, unwilling to allow his greyish blue eyes to peek through the dark cloud that engulfed his mind and testify his feeble condition.

The fire of hurt travelled rapidly through his body, spreading down his back as he opened his mouth to scream a warning, – even though he was oblivious as to where she was – but the pain inflicted upon him muffled the sound that reached out of his throat…    

"Oh, shit…" The words dragged themselves out of his tired purple lips as he tried to heave himself from his position on the sand. Lifting his upper body just enough to become self-conscious of his bad shape, the boy brought his knees underneath his stomach, his legs painfully supporting his weight as he reached out to comb his sunlit hair away from his eyes.

Blinking several times, the child flinched at the sudden feeling of something warm against his shoulder and turned his head toward its direction, narrowing his eyes in instinctive menace.

Knowing of his uneasiness, Quistis slowly took her hand from his shoulder, placing it calmly in her lap. The boy in front of her seemed disoriented… lost… and, in his eyes – of a shadowed stormy blue – she knew there was nothing but confusion and fear.

Early had Quistis learned that such feelings could lead to violence if understated.

"Boy," She called, the sound of her voice somersaulting the other blonde into a kneeling position similar to hers. "It's okay. Calm down." The girl soothed. "I won't hurt you."

The blonde boy fell backwards into the sand. All he could grasp of his whereabouts were soft faded lines – a mist of blurry shadows and light – bubbling together to form a shapeless picture…

Someone or something was in that picture.

The same that had touched him just a while ago.

The same that had spoke to him.

And we had never been inclined to trust anything as long as it breathed.

That was why we was searching for his knife just as he tried to find anything else to use at his advantage in that foreign place… And for that he needed to see stuff first.

The room was dark, lugubrious – but ethereal – an horrific silence ruling upon its every marble-stoned column, its every obscured frescos, its ritual inscriptions on the floor. The very ball of fire the re-haired priestess was producing in her palm seemed to repel those grounds… and Dyre could say the sight was doing much good to his already bruised insides.

"Where are we?" The blonde knight inquired, applying to the woman's hand he was holding – more to assure himself than her – a gentle pressure to soothe her out of her trance.

This was her domain after all.

"Look, are you listening to me?" The girl's patience was growing short. If she couldn't get him to understand the danger they were in, she'd have to drag him all the way back – task which had been difficult before and didn't seem to have become easier by his regain of consciousness. "There are adamatoises – you know, big hungry scary things? – coming this way and I can't sense them because of a spell called 'Shell' they cast on themselves! It's interfering with my sense of auras!"

The blonde boy limited himself to a mocking grin.

Marveling at how, even enraged, her voice could sound so sweet, sober and clear – reassuring in those strange depths. Her gentle "I do not know…" seeming as if a profanation – such voice in such dark place. And she was just so clueless…

"So what are ya saying?" The boy inquired, flatly. "Are you expecting me to believe you? Just like that…?" He asked, sinking into an awkward sitting position, his face holding a smirk that looked quite odd because of the paleness of his skin, his right hand gripping the hilt of his hidden knife with transparent confidence.

"Well, yes." She answered with her own share of conviction. "I bet you're aware that you have some nasty wounds on your back and you're not even seeing right--"

"Dammit!" The boy cursed mentally. "What am I into this time? How does she know my vision's all blurry and mixed up…? Unless-- unless she made it happen…?"

"--and if you want to get out of here in time, you'll have to let me help you." She finished, getting to her feet slowly. She didn't want him to be fazed by any brisk movements. "So, how's it gonna be?" She offered, holding out her hand out to him.

Her voice was…… not even a voice. It was a song all along.

…And one heck of a naïve song...

He narrowed his eyes dangerously at the extended hand, not even certain of what it was.

Once his stormy eyes settled back in that mischievous look of his, Quistis reckoned he had finally understood her offer. Actually, the boy – since he wasn't even seeing clearly – had betted on classify whatever she was throwing at him harmless… or useless…

"Sorry, gal, but I don't fucking know you." He said, greeting his teeth. "Hence, I don't need your help. Just scram and go bother somebody else."

"Of all the nerve!" Quistis mentally exasperated, retrieving her hand with evident annoyance. "You just can see it can you, boy? We're sitting ducks here! Waiting for a bunch of adamantoises to feed on our heads and you're worried about who I am? What the hell are you thinking?"

"Oh, yeah, what the hell are you thinking? Are you trying to drag me somewhere where you can sell me as a slave? Or do you work for a sorceress whore who wants my neck for a sacrifice?"

Ocean blue orbs became small angry slits as the blonde girl advanced on the boy, aiming at his shirt collar and barely failing it, grasping the air where he had once been sitting instead. Swiftly shifting her weight so she wouldn't crash down on the sand, she positioned herself to take him on a new blow-- but managed to stop herself.

Fisting her hands in attempt to wield her irritation, she glanced at a large stain of the same red fluid that painted her closed hands, its scent again a bitter reminder…

…of their dangerous situation.

 "What am I doing?" She reflected, driving other thoughts away. "I've never – ever – lost my temper… What happened? Why did I react like that to him? I should be helping him not trying to… to…… No, not again. I won't fail anyone ever again!"

Frowning, the girl followed with her eyes the small trail of blood that led to where he half stood, holding a defensive stance – attentive to her every hint of move. One of his hands was griping firmly a small – but keen – knife and the other was clutching fiercely his lower side – trying to hold off the pain that invaded him – his lungs forcing him to take quick shallow breaths, his eyes holding nothing but an animalistic promise of violence.

Quistis swallowed dry.

The red-haired priestess reached out to touch the walls of that gravely Ancient Sanctuary. Then, searching for the grey eyes of her sole ally in all kinds of hardships; her truest and only friend; her love – for as much as she tried to deny it – she whispered, in the distance of her trance: "I just know this is where it all began--"

"And this is where it will all end." A tall raven-haired woman finished, looking at them with triumphant amber-coloured eyes, sliding soundlessly across the unlit room, two long blades hissing in her deathly hold.

  

"Look, I did not ask for your help! Go away!" The blonde shouted once more, feeling her stand.

"NO!" She cried. "You look here, boy! I didn't ask to see you almost drowning by the beach! I didn't ask to have the fucking thought of saving you then and sure as Hyne that I don't know why I'm having the same thought now! You probably won't even believe me, since I even have your blood on my hands for trying to cure your stupid wounds!! I don't even know why do I bother! It seems to me you've already decided on dying here! Well, I haven't!!!" Quistis choked, her eyes stinging with despair and frustration. "But I ain't gonna leave you here, either! I certainly don't know about you, but I have a small brother to whom I want to go back to!!!"

"Seifer." He cut in simply.

"What?" Quistis managed, surprised; her outburst going cool under his interruption.

"Stop calling me boy." He explained patiently, bringing his armed hand to the sand, in an odd gesture of truce. "My name is Seifer. Use it."

Maybe it was the sun had that had started to shine so brightly, or the wind that had picked up into a solemn breeze; the waves that had thundered on the faraway rocks; maybe even the fire in his eyes or the life she felt in him… but Quistis would have sworn that he was smiling. Really smiling.

And so was she. "Hello, Seifer. My name is Quistis."

"Do you remember that dream?" The fire-haired woman had asked him, so many years ago, her deep emerald eyes cast into the distance, her elegant form bathed by the moonlight as she sat on a tree branch, her delicate hands holding the fresh leafs from covering her view of the stars.

"What dream?" He replied, absent-mindedly polishing his sword with a soft cloth.

"You know… THAT dream…" She insisted, taking a moment to look at the blonde knight.

"Oh! That certainly sheds light on things!" Dyre countered, sarcasm and annoyance clear in his voice. He laughed briefly at her and then proceeded in paying to her no heed.

The woman glared at the blonde, slipping from the branch as swiftly as a cat and landing next to the knight in the same furtive manner. Soundlessly, the woman stepped out of the clearing, furious that she had ever attempted on a serious conversation. After all, why put her heart on a string in such dangerous times?

Once she vanished beneath the shadows, Dyre sighted, bitterly eating at the silence in which she had left him, her words echoing in his mind.

"My dream?" He repeated, distractedly combing his golden hair. "Did I ever have a dream? Maybe, before this all started – perhaps, before you came into my life… A 'romantic' dream, yeah," He chuckled. "I guess that's what they'd have called it..."

In the shadows of the forest, rosy lips whispered the same words as his own: "But the dream is dead, isn't it?"

Now that she was so close to him, her warmth so appealing and her touch so gentle, Seifer was having a hard time to believe he had ever doubted her.

Colours were slowly filtering through and shapes were also settling into sharper, more familiar lines. Since he could keep his eye on her, he was more relaxed and confident – watching with great interest as the blonde beauty ripped his shirt into bandages and placed them around his torso.

He recalled that sailors back at Ayaa Mar had often spoke to him about nymphs – mesmerising spirits of the sea who pulled men beneath the waves with the aid of their charms and voices. Well, the boy did particularly mind if she tried to drag him underwater (he had had enough of the salty taste already), but he'd take the risk just to… just to...

The boy hesitated a moment, a feeling of déjà vu creeping in as the thought produced itself in his mind: "…just to hear her voice again…"

"What?" Quistis demanded, her blonde crown of hair turning sharply to look at him. "What did you just say?"

"Hm?" Seifer mumbled, his cheeks becoming of a very healthy – perhaps too healthy – rosy pink. "I-- I only thought that, didn't I? Oh, Varda! Please don't let me have said it!!!"

Nervously, as in panic, Seifer pointed his index finger quite innocently at himself. "Who? Me? Ano, I was just… I was just saying… ah…"

"Well?" The girl insisted, her blonde eyebrow arching dangerously.

Franticly, the boy pretended to look beyond her distractedly – so he could avoid her gaze and think of something to say more at ease –, when a gigantic shadow slid, silent and predatory, into his still meek view. Seifer's blue eyes widened fearfully and Quistis – seeing this – instinctively turned her head.

"LOOK OUT!" The shout scratched Seifer's throat just as he reached to push her out of the way, his fingers brushing empty space for the adamatoises' beak had made violent contact with Quistis' side, sending her down heavily on the sand, far from where he could grasp her.

"QUISTIS!" The blonde boy cried, watching as the small girl clutched to her side and groaned in pain, his momentarily distraction giving the turtle beast the opportunity to dig its beak into his leg's flesh.

Seifer winced and, in response to the monster's attack, he swiftly slashed it the eye with the aid of his knife, causing the beast to immediately release its hold on him.

Quickly rolling over to his left, the boy evaded from a second blow, taking the chance to stand and search for the small girl Quistis, the frustrated adamatoise producing high-pitched squirms behind him.

Fortunately, his vision was returning faster to normal and he could now clearly distinguish the frail form of the blonde girl against the white sand.

"You 'kay?" He called.

Quistis grunted.

She was sure she had at least two broken ribs – accounting by the pain she felt at her upper side –  and clung firmly to the belief that they wouldn't be the only injuries she would list if she didn't move.

"Been better." She retorted to the blonde, jumping to her feet and turning to see him grin at her annoyed response before stepping aside as the giant beast attempted to bite him, digging his knife in its stretched neck afterwards. "Even with his back and his leg bleeding like that, he's still fast. Wha--?!"

Quistis leaped high into the air, skillfully avoiding a low-level thunder spell that had been cast at her by a newly arrived adamatoise and almost immediately hearing a loud groan from Seifer.

"Oh, gods! He was hit!!" The girl realised, forgetting her opponent to sprint to his side.

At this, the beast wasted no time and took advantage of her fleeing form to cast 'Double' on itself and then tossed a succession of 'Thundara' spells. The first wave of magic hit her fully and Quistis couldn't help but to feel like a pincushion, failing to keep her balance and falling (thus escaping the second spell) just scarce meters from where Seifer laid – unconscious – at the mercy of his own opponent.

The girl's numb fingers were lucky to touch the smooth surface of the empty Potion bottle as she watched, hazily, as the monster in front of her busily dragged the blonde boy by his injured leg.

Enraged, the child grabbed the bottle and – in one fluid motion – she broke it on the turtle's already damaged eye with the full force of her now tense and wary muscles, a sudden strength coursing through her veins as she scooped Seifer over her shoulder with one hand and his knife with the other.

She didn't even give the two creatures time to process the mere thought of a move as she dashed unexpectedly down the beach, a threat worth reconsidering flaming in her eyes.