A/N: Sorry this took so long, but I was stuck in Virginia for a few days with over a foot of snow. But thanks to reading manga and sitting in the hotel lobby for 2 hours, I was able to come up with the 'mystery' for this story, which will be introduced next chapter.

Disclaimer: Credit goes to Squaresoft, and the title of this chapter comes from one of my most favorite songs, 'Wind' by Akeboshi. The song fits Seifer really well, in my opinion.

The Scorpion's Bite

Chapter Two: Shadows of Nothing

By ArashiKishu

There were citizens in Dollet who would wake up early every morning just to see the sunrise, for even though it is a simple thing, it was also a beautiful one.

This morning's aurora was no different; the morning light glimmered across the gentle waves, creating a lovely mirage of color and movement. The sky above was a fusion of different shades of pink and lilac.

Near the horizon, the rays of the sun glistened upon the archaically designed streets and architecture of Dollet. Most of the houses were over two stories high, and therefore, on some streets, there were bridges connecting them on opposite sides.

The large fountain in the center of town suddenly came to life, crystalline water spraying upwards and foaming at the bottom.

Out in the distance, resting on the mountaintop, stood tall the Communication Tower, while on the other side of Dollet, near the rocky, coastal cliffs, was the royal residence of the Dollet Dukedom Parliament. Though it wasn't of immense size, its edificial design made is particularly striking compared to the rest of the country.

Among the many shops, pubs, and vehicle rentals that Dollet had to offer was the Dollet Inn, which was several stories high and had a small restaurant attached to the bottom floor.

Inside one of the rooms that overlooked the town, Quistis Trepe hazily opened her eyes. She hadn't needed an alarm clock in years; SeeD had trained her to wake up at the same time every morning, 6 AM. Though, some days she would wake up earlier to avoid the frantic rush of students and teachers. In that extra time, she would usually walk around Garden or train outside. It gave her time to think, clear her mind before facing the rest of the world. And perhaps it was sort of a special hobby to her, seeing as the only person who did this was she.

After sitting up, a moment or two was needed before Quistis realized where she was. It had been like this for the past few days; she would wake up, only to discover that the ever so familiar atmosphere her dorm room at Garden possessed was no longer present.

But soon enough, the confusion would leave and reality would come flowing back.

Adjustment takes time, she would tell herself. Though Quistis didn't particularly favor change, she could always adapt to whatever situation thrown her way.

Only her recent predicament was one she could not shake, try as she might. Every day, the air at Garden would become thicker, until it was so thick that it became impossible to breathe. And so she would try to run outside, for air, but the hallways, they had suddenly become longer, and her feet heavier. And the persistent ringing, brought on by silence, was no longer something she could bear to hear.

The constant feeling of being trapped had made her somewhat uncaring, contrary to her normally attentive disposition.

And so it had become obvious to her, that Garden was slowly, but surely, pushing her away. Or perhaps it had been the other way around; maybe she was the one doing the pushing.

She supposed it didn't really matter now; living in the past was a foolish and wasteful way to exist.

Quistis stood and made her way into the little kitchen, where among a few magazines and newspapers, as well as a coffee machine, was the folded piece of paper the gentleman had given her the night before. Silently, she cursed. She had hoped that by some chance, it might have been a dream.

But it was still there, and she reckoned that if the little thing had eyes, they would be staring right back at her, expectantly.

Walking over to the counter, she timidly picked up the folded paper. Her fingers clasped around it, and she was only somewhat surprised to see that it didn't disappear before her very eyes, just like that man had.

She supposed there would be no harm, really. He had said that the job was entirely optional; she only wished that he would've stayed long enough to tell her what it was.

The man-Victor-had looked mysterious, yes, but sleazy? No..And he certainly wasn't raunchy. He looked rather well kept, actually. So Quistis doubted he ran some sort of prostitution ring; but what did he want her for, then?

If he had checked up on her files, then that probably entailed that he knew she was a trained mercenary. He must've wanted her for some type of commission work... The idea seemed most plausible, anyway.

Even so, Quistis couldn't deny the fact that whatever it was, she wanted to know. There was a feeling inside her, one that felt a little like insecurity, and a little like curiosity and excitement.

So why not? If she were to be wrong, she would leave.

Quistis was sure that it might not be as simple as that, but no matter, she would come prepared.

...

The cafe window offered a wonderful view of the town; outside, the ocean waves splashed against the jagged rocks surrounding the edge of the water, and off in the distance, there were a few ships traversing the ocean. Since the country had one of the largest ports, boats continuously traveled in and out of Dollet, exporting and importing various goods. This was a very convenient thing because it allowed materials to be transported to several other parts of the world.

Dollet was a very prosperous country in terms of commerce. The country had become considerably stronger after the Sorceress' War, where it had dealt with the iron-fisted dictatorship of Vinzer Deling. Even after a little over a year, not many wished to talk about the War. It wasn't a subject one would normally bring to attention in pleasant conversation, mainly because it brought up too many memories and far too much unwanted discourse.

Quistis was sitting at a small table, enjoying her breakfast and feeling oddly relaxed. There was still the note with the address...but that was only a small burden compared to everything else she had ever dealt with. She felt relaxed because, really, Dollet was quite a nice place, and she couldn't help but feel a little calm. She decided that, strange as it sounded to her, it would probably become her permanent home. A new home for a new beginning, she supposed.

She slowly took a sip of her coffee, unknowledgeable of the man that occupied the apartment right across town.

...

A twenty-year-old Seifer Almasy issued from the washroom in his flat, clad in a pair of dark-coloured jeans and holding a damp towel in his hand. He had used it to dry his hair, which now looked as if it had recently grappled with a windstorm.

He had rented the apartment a few months before, and with his current occupation, affording it was no trouble at all. The building was nothing special; it wasn't large, nor was it small. Seifer didn't spend much time in the place, anyway.

Turning around, his back now faced the mirror. One would probably say that the reflection shown was quite disturbing. A large amount of his back was covered in scars; dark pink discolorations that had obviously once been deep, sickening gashes.

The physical pain was long gone, but he knew of their presence, constant reminders of his muddled past. And though Seifer was sure he was only imagining it, sometimes in the middle of the night, he would awake to feel a burning sensation where he had been unmercifully struck by a profusion of weaponry. The feeling was comparable to that of having salt poured into an open wound---or several open wounds for that matter.

He never welcomed the pain, or the memories, but there they were, indistinct flashes that would probably never go away. The memories did not oppress him, though...really they were just bothersome and more than slightly disconcerting. Seifer did not pity himself, and he never would. As it had been said, the past shapes the future; and while Seifer wouldn't go as far as to say that he was a better man, he could say that he was a learned man.

His eyes searched the confines of his room for the shirt he had thrown somewhere. Seifer's place was as tidy as any man's would be. In other words, objects were tastefully scattered on the floor, save for Hyperion, which was stationed against the closet door.

The gunblade was akin to a dutiful comrade---a friend throughout all hardships, thick and thin; always there, at his side, ready for combat. But even the best of friends can resent one another, and Seifer did, in many ways, resent his trusty weapon. He resented the familiar feel of the handle, firm in his grasp, and he hated the scratches and rough spots visible on the effulgent blade. Those blemishes, they were symbols of immorality, sin...and triumph. And most of all, Seifer despised the comforting feel of excitement---the rush of adrenaline as the gunblade swung, in a full range of motion, slicing the air, invisible sparks of heat and electricity coursing through the night..Coursing through his body. How it made him feel so powerful and full of life! ...And how it brought him his inevitable downfall...

Seifer discovered his shirt lying near the bed, and rolled his eyes in annoyance. His tendency to lose things was beginning to piss him off. Grabbing the shirt, he pulled it on.

The sun glinted through the window, causing the whole room to glow and Seifer to feel faint warmth upon his now fully clothed body. Bothered by this, he threw on his trench coat and a pair of black sunglasses. Shortly afterwards, he left his apartment, but not without obtaining Hyperion first.

...

The day had gone by, and according to the clock tower, it was nearing 6 PM. The sky was darker and the streetlights had turned on just recently. Several people were strolling through the town, conversing animatedly with friends and giggling lightly, shopping bags in hand.

There was a light, summer breeze present in the air, which caused Seifer's coat to whisk slightly behind him as he stood at the corner of the street, waiting for the last few automobiles to pass. Hyperion was securely hooked to his belt, and was not visible from under his long coat. Across from him were a few shops directly next to each other; one in particular, was an antique bookstore. This happened to be his destination.

Crossing the street, he entered the little building.

"Mr. Almasy, sir," the shopkeeper acknowledged Seifer from behind the counter.

Seifer nodded his regards, and continued down the steps located at the back of the room, behind a tall bookshelf.

As Seifer reached the bottom, a man leaning against a table greeted him.

"Ah, Seifer, you're here."

The room had formerly been a bar, with its hardwood floor, high tables and stools, and a minibar, which still had dusty bottles of liquor behind it.

"Victor," Seifer returned, as he walked behind the counter and poured himself a glass of rum. After taking a swig, he set the glass down and continued. "I received some interesting information from a few civilians today. I think we should check it out."

"Of coarse, but before you go on---I'm expecting someone in a few minutes. A new agent. We can continue once they arrive."

"You hired someone?" Seifer asked, coming to stand near the older man.

"Yes, a woman actually," Victor replied, checking his watch. He looked back at Seifer, who seemed thoroughly interested. "Though, I'm not one hundred percent she'll show, but I think she will. I believe you'll know who she is, too."

"Oh?" he queried, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"Yes, Quistis Trepe."

At that moment, footsteps were heard coming down the stairs, and both Seifer and Victor turned their heads in the direction of the noise. When the individual became apparent, it was none other than Quistis.

His eyes locked with his former acquaintance, and the room became dead silent.