The sun beat fiercely down on Squall, slowly sapping his energy even as he slept in a near-comatose state. Sweat poured off his skin in rivulets, soaking his clothes and creating a dark spot of dampness on the otherwise featureless sandy-brown boulder on which he lay. Despite his need for several days of rest, his body simply could not take the incredible heat any longer and forced him into a groggy state of semi-consciousness.

Even before any coherent though crossed his mind, he rolled over onto his back to relieve his frontside, which had been slowly roasted by the rock he was stretched full-length on. The wet clamminess of his sweat-drenched clothes sent a shudder up his spine, and this woke him up more fully.

Squall cracked one eye open, and immediately squeezed it shut as an overwhelming burst of sunlight seared his eyeballs. He instinctively threw up his arm to shield his eyes, but only managed a weak flop of his wrist, which accomplished nothing and sent a brief jolt of pain down his arm.

He forced himself the rest of the way to consciousness, and tried, with more steadfastness this time, to lever himself up to a sitting position. The effort almost knocked him back into unconsciousness, and he sprawled back on the stone fighting the blurriness that filled his vision.

Lying there, panting, and futilely trying to coax strength back into his muscles, Squall realized the urgency of his situation. His mouth was dry and burning, and he attributed the weakness with severe dehydration. If he didn't do something soon, he would lose what little remained of his energy and lie there, immobilized, until death took him.

With this reflection, he tried opening his eyes once again. As before, his head burned with the intensity of the sun's glare, but he persisted. Eventually, the light dimmed a bit, and he managed to gradually open his eyes fully and see his surroundings.

He was in a wasteland. As far as he could see from his limited perspective, the strewn boulders and rock formations stretched on forever, with no hint of civilization. The sight made him close his eyes again, but only for a moment. His survival reflexes took over, and the sensible part of his brain told him that no matter what the circumstances, no matter what his perceptions, he simply had to get out of this sun, quickly, before he died.

This mental statement opened an inner reservoir of strength, and Squall thrust himself to the edge of the boulder, and, seeing the ground a mere four feet down, rolled off and landed on his feet. His legs buckled and he crashed into the ground, which forced a harsh, grating cry of pain out of his mouth. But he was out of the sun, and that was what mattered.

He lay in the relative coolness of the boulder's shadow and simply caught his breath and tried to reflect a little.

My primary objective is to survive, but how am I supposed to survive out here? Why AM I here anyway? Was this just a random blast through dimensions from Ultimecia? Or did she send me somewhere in particular?

It didn't look too particular to him, Squall decided. A lot of nothing in particular, that's what this place was. Despair started to inch its way towards him.

What am I supposed to do here? Nothing... nothing besides death in a few hours. Without water...

The sudden revelation snapped his head back an entire inch. Water... his canteen! With trembling fingers, he unsnapped the clasp and flung the bottle to his lip, sucking desperately at its contents.

Water! Warmed by the hours in the sun, it was no less delicious as it coursed down his parched throat. In his deliriousness he had forgotten about this most basic of things. Never despair, Squall told himself stoically. As long as he still breathed, there was something he could do, and thus some chance, however infinitesimal, to accomplish something that might bring about his salvation from present troubles. This self-evident philosophy had always aided him before, and there was no reason it should fail him now. At the moment, he needed water and his need was being met. Hastily, he stopped drinking and capped the bottled as he remembered his situation. He had to conserve what he had left.

Squall propped himself back up against the side of the boulder, and rested his head back.

He wasn't going anywhere as long as the heat persisted, and his muscles, though recovering, wouldn't take him too far anyway. Pushing any worries to the back of his mind, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift back into sleep, trusting himself to wake up before too long.







Rinoa tossed another stone halfheartedly into the ocean, and watched the ripples pattern the cerulean waters until the slight swell of the waves erased them from existence again. She stared without any real interest at the blank horizon of water and air, and groped for another stone on the ground beneath her.

"Would you at least DO something!? Maybe you want to stay here and rot, but I kind of want to get off this godforsaken island before I STARVE to death!"

Rinoa sighed and sat up, leaning back against her palm tree. "I don't... just... oh, Irvine, what do you want me to do? You've got my only extra blade, and it's not like there's anything else to do here." She picked up another rock and studied it carefully before letting it drop again. She twisted around to look at Irvine. "Would you like me to try digging for truffles?" she inquired, sarcastically.

Irvine stood up from the tree he was crouched in front of, stretching cramped muscles. He tossed down the circular pinwheel blade he had been using to saw at the trunk, and leaned back, wishing for his hat. The burning rays of the sun beat down on the island with full force, and the sparse vegetation didn't offer much protection. He could do without his gun, and Rinoa without her launcher, for the time being at least, but he missed his hat badly.

Though he was baking in his long pants and cowboy suit (he had long since doffed his trenchcoat), he was still better off than Rinoa. He winced as he looked at her painfully red arms and legs again. In this climate, nothing was more of a curse than her snowy complexion.

He sighed. "If you can find some truffles, go ahead." He folded his arms, expecting a quick counter. When none came, he looked at her more closely. He had rarely seen the girl with less life in her as now. It was probably the sun, he reasoned. He was much more used to it than she was. She was probably getting sunstroke or something... and it wasn't as if the situation was totally helpless. What looked like a chunk of mainland was visible from the opposite side of the island, and it could probably be reached if they could build some sort of raft. With the extra blade Rin always carried with her, Irvine could cut the wood for it, albeit with plenty of blisters and sore muscles.

Wishing he could do something for his female companion, Irvine turned back to his work. The best thing he could do now was to get them off this pathetic island before they starved to death, or ran out of water from their canteens.

His thoughts turned back to the rest of the team. He couldn't imagine what had happened to Squall, Zell, and Selphie. They could be dead, time-compressed, forced to retreat from the castle, or even celebrating the Ultimecia's defeat. Irvine did wonder about Quistis, though. He and Rinoa had been tossed off opposite sides of that bridge, and still found themselves together. He didn't presume to understand the time-warped insanity of the futuristic sorceress' castle, but it should still be expected that Quistis follow Irvine and Rinoa.

He decided to simply assume the best until something should prove it otherwise. In a strange land, and probably a strange time, confidence in himself and his friends was one thing Irvine could hang on to.







Selphie stared in complete disbelief at the sight granted to her by the rising sun. She knew she was in a completely alien place... it would be impossible not to see that, what with the ugly, boxy architecture of the structure she had climbed up through, combined with the dust-corrupted signs and writings, which reflected the straight, angular nature of the place. What kind of people could have such a complete disregard for art? There wasn't a single real picture in the building, from what she had seen of it.

Which hadn't been much... though the long sleep had removed much of the exhaustion that came from the battle with Ultimecia, her spell supply still remained low, and she was reluctant to use anything but the bare minimum of light-giving magics to find her way upwards, where she considered to be the safest position until morning.

She had found the top, and rested there in the open, though not particularly fresh-tasting night air until the insinuating glow of the sun silhouetted her surroundings.

Her first reaction was one of awe, as the black outlines of rectangular structures grew in her vision. It was incredible... Esthar may have been this big, but you sure couldn't see it from this sort of perspective very often. The buildings stretched out as far as she could see, and seemed to completely fill the land, with no breaks of civilization apparent anywhere.

And it was all silent. In such an incredible landscape, the silence was stifling, covering the world in an invisible yet tangible shield that completely smothered any signs of life there may have been. It might as well have been locked in time, for all Selphie could tell.

As the light grew, Selphie noticed the washed out grey color of all of the buildings, the cracks in the concrete, and even some structures that had simply collapsed into themselves, wearied by the same pass of time that had affected everything else. Most of the old city was still standing, though long years had made their mark on those buildings as well.

A huge, foreign city... built for a massive population. There was the occasional gust of wind whispering in her ear, and the sound of her breath, but other than that there was no sound at all. It was a great, ugly, sleeping city.

No, not sleeping, Selphie corrected herself. Dead. It was a dead city. The whole think stank of disuse and rot. Not of rotting bodies, but of rotting stone. Rotting metal. Rotting air.

...Rotting air?? She shook the thought from her head in disgust. That was the last time she would try to metaphorize anything, Selphie told herself. But... just seeing that sight couldn't help but inspire deeper thoughts in her, however weakly she might put them.

She sat down on the edge of her building, and hugged her knees, curling up as tight as she could. Her wonder was fading slightly after that first glimpse of her new surroundings, and in its place sprouted a nervousness that kept growing in the back of her mind. Speculations began running through her head, ranging from some terrible, hideous disease to some equally hideous monster or monsters that were dangerous enough to warrant a mass exodus from this huge city.

"Shut UP, Selphie!", she growled at herself. The young but experienced SeeD was quickly becoming a scared little girl. These sorts of ideas were completely unnecessary, and would have her jumping at shadow after shadow, or simply going out of her mind with unfounded terror.

She resolutely pushed them out of her mind, and mentally boarded a more productive train of thought. One that would take her far, far away from the terror of the night. and with no delay to the lair of the light...

And wark wark wark like a damned chocobo in flight. Selphie groaned and buried her head in her arms, wishing desperately for the full daylight she would need to light her way on the streets, where she would silence that aggravating right side of her brain with solid action.

The sun rose slowly.