those who were there
[llyse]
1; sleeper.
There is a Sleeper in the Garden.
He sleeps the sleep of the peaceful. He has woken; he has spoken, and now he sleeps, content. He has seen his destiny, and it is all he could have wished for. There is a trace of sadness in his heart, at the lover he will leave behind, but he know she understands.
Once he railed, and fought his destiny, because he did not understand the designs that fate lays down for her chosen. He thought that he was born to glory (and he is); he worked to achieve that glory, and in the end he fell, burning in glory, turning to burnt black carbon. But from that carbon is born a diamond. All that has passed, all the shame and anger and pain, all of that has served to bring him here as a diamond, at last worthy of the destiny intended for him. He understands that now. Light burns all the brighter when it is smothered in shadow.
He sleeps, unknowing as his enemies and comrades ready for battle.
He does not feel the Garden halt above Centra, deathplace of Hyne.
He does not see the Gardens that join it.
He does not hear the words flung to the wind, nor sense the power that warps time.
He sleeps, and awaits his waking.
2; sorceress.
She is a Sorceress.
Once, that word would have conjured awe and fear and service, people glad to help Hyne's daughters. Although there were rogue sorceresses, who visited pain and death upon the people, those were swiftly suppressed by the other sorceresses and knights, Hyne's true daughters. The image people had of sorceresses were of benevolent protectors, women who used their powers to heal and guide.
Then came Edea, and the Second Sorceress War.
Now, the mention of her name comes with an epithet attached like a parasite that will not go away. People look askance at her in the corridors. She is condemned, despised; the fear is still there, but it is leavened with anger.
She does not care.
All her world is white and black. The white of that ever-burning light within her, that sears and scorches through her nerves, begging to be set free. Demanding. She uses it, keeping her broken knight alive, but there is a wish in her heart that she denies, a wish to set the fire free and fill this broken Garden, this broken world, with light. Because other than the light within her, all was black darkness, the world only a rotting illusion that hid the void beneath.
The sorceress stands in the centre of a shadow Garden, rallying her light. She releases it, smiling. For one moment, all is light, and the killers around her squeeze their eyes shut.
She could kill them where they stand. But she will not. There are things she must do, promises made to herself, and then she will rest in the light.
She reaches out with Hyneborn fire, and pulls the past to her.
3; fighter.
Quistis scrubbed at her face, trying desperately to see with blinded eyes. Rinoa had been standing in the cockpit, Rinoa had done something--Guardian-based magesense rocking Quistis back on her heels--and the light had come. It had not been like this back so long ago, when she had been a near-broken girl watching time melt. There was no disorientation, no warping, no odd falling or flying sensation. There was just the light.
For a moment she thought that Rinoa had finally lost control, had marshalled her powers to put an end to everything--and then someone cupped her elbow, steadying her. Whiteness grew black spots which got larger, revealing bits of the world at their center.
"Where are we?" Zell asked from behind her.
"Looks like Centra, sir."
The last spots of black disappeared from her vision as the hand left her elbow, and Zell leaned over the scanning console, swearing incredulously to himself. "It worked," the Commander said, a faint tone of wonder in his voice.
Rinoa lifted Seifer's body as if it was weightless, stepping forward through the thick glass of the window.
4; griever.
He was lost, floating formless in black non-thought.
He was waiting for the light. The light had sent him here, he knew, sliding down a slope of slippery ice into this blankness. The light had tried to yank him back, but had failed. So now he waited for it to return, knowing that it would.
The blackness was comforting. He had once hidden in the shadows; had once belonged in the shadows, until the light had grabbed his heart and dragged him into sunlight. In the light of day he had lived the rest of his life, for her sake, but he had never completely belonged no matter how hard he tried. Oh, he had been respected and liked and even loved, but there had always been that nagging certainty that this was wrong, that his place was in the shadows, out of sight. He was shadow, and shadow loved the light, but shadow should have stayed one step behind light, not in it.
Now he was in darkness, and the light came for him.
It was so bright, it cast the rest of everything in pure blackness, the antithesis of light. It strengthened him, beckoned him. He went, and found another presence within the light, waiting for him. He knew this presence, light to his darkness, always opposing. One had been shadow in light, yearning to hide. One had been light in shadow, yearning to shine. Both had been grievers.
Now they were Griever.
5; knight.
Why, was Delyn's thought, do the "great magics" always involve blinding light?
He hadn't been able to see for some time now. When they'd come through time compression, he'd had the oddest sensation, that he was falling while standing still. Or that some part of him was falling while the rest of him was standing still. Now was worse. He felt it as Rinoa's magic reached out, to snatch Seifer's soul and body (holy light); felt it when she pulled something (shadow) from a void that was so cold and hungry that that single fleeting touch frosted his soul. He felt it when she wove them both together, dark and light, into a creature like a lion, powerful and lean and although he didn't recognize it he heard the gasps from those who did.
"Griever."
Griever, the legendary. Griever, in the necklace that his father had worn for hell of a lot longer than he'd been alive. Griever the Guardian. Griever, here.
What will you guard, he wondered. Your mistress' memory?
"Forget Griever!" Ceres half-yelled. "Can we just get out of here before the other Guardians come to her aid?"
The Guardian roared, bright sparkling energy. The Garden started to move, accelerating until the light that Griever exuded, the power granted it by Rinoa, was just a sparkle in the distance. Ceres' hand was icy, tangled in his, but Delyn could still see Griever, see the lights in the distance as clearly as if he was there. Which he was, in a way.
Delyn saw the GFs arrive, wrenched painfully from the SeeDs in the Gardens. Most of them, warned by Zell, had unjunctioned; the rest were unjunctioned, now. Fire and ice and more elements than he could name (shadelightwoodwaterwind--) lashed the newly-created Guardian as Griever caught Rinoa up in one hand; Delyn could see her, icepale and drained, her smile distant patience. Rinoa brushed him with a touch, acknowledging his presence--my son you are here you have inherited some of my power, use it wisely--and smiled.
Delyn saw light.
He was snapped back to his corporeal body so fast a headache began to form at the base of his skull. The headache was ignored as Delyn ran for the pilot's console.
"Nida--" he gasped; and the light hit them.
It wasn't light, really. A composite of magical and physical force, it comprised three things: Griever's Shockwave Pulsar, amplified by the infusion of Rinoa's power; Rinoa's sorceress power, released at the moment of her death to find new bearers; and the power of the destroyed Guardians. Delyn could see it. The others didn't. All they knew was that something slammed into the Garden, making it rock. Quistis staggered backwards; Ceres doubled over in surprise, the glimmer in her eyes taking on a new odd sparkle. The men all grabbed for something immovable.
At the pilot's console, Nida took one look at Delyn's face and yielded the helm to him.
You have some of my power, use it wisely--
He could sense it unfolding, sheathing him in brilliant wings. He was no sorcerer, his powers would not match even the weakest sorceress in spellcasting--but in other ways he could surpass them. The light was all around them; Delyn cast something of himself out, melding with the light, reaching through it for safe passage. He barely felt the controls gripped in his hands, instinct driving his actions as he guided the Garden through the maze of light.
Behind them, Griever roared its grief to the sky and vanished.
6; hunter.
The Garden limped to a bleeding half at the shores of what might have been Esthar, or Timber; Ceres hadn't bene listening when Commander Zell bickered over their position with Delyn and the scanning tech. All she wanted to do was sleep, and yet she felt curiously full of energy. A glance to the left brought her gaze into the past of Quistis', and the noncom smiled at her wanly, icequeen cheeks paler than usual.
"You've got it, too?" Quistis asked wearily, a faint smile in her eyes.
Ceres nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Would magic rush through her teeth, if she opened her mouth? She'd thought that being a Sorceress was not much different from junctioning, but it was much different in reality. The Garden was going to be in an uproar for some time--many of them had learnt to hate Sorceresses after Adel and Ultimecia and Rinoa, and now they would have to deal with the fact that friends, family or themselves were sorceresses.
Zell was bending over the communications console now, trying to raise the other Gardens. Delyn slipped an arm around her and for once Ceres was glad of the unobtrusive support he provided, against the sudden uncertainty inside her. The young man smiled and mouthed:
"I'll be your Knight."
Ceres flushed, and cursed herself for blushing. To cover it, she asked him about the other Gardens; Delyn shrugged. He didn't know much more than she, whether Gardens Galbadia and Trabia had survived the blast. At the communications console, Zell let out a blistering series of curses. Obviously he didn't know anything, either. There was a crackle as the stocky Commander triggered the intercom; Ceres leaned on Delyn, feeling oddly alive.
"SeeDs, we have arrived. We're safe here, and we'll survive as we always have."
Zell was never good at speeches, she thought. Delyn winked at her. At least Zell was right about one thing.
They would survive. Together.
7; watcher.
Fujin stood on a hill, looking down at the Garden.
It didn't look quite so military any more. The structure had suffered enough damage during the escape from Centra that the technicians had pronounced it quite unfixable; it would not fly, at least not until they managed to find a way to manufacture the parts that needed to be replaced. The SeeDs were already stripping the mangled metal to build houses, although the core, undamaged structures were left in place. Things might be uncomfortable for a while, especially once the first rogue sorceresses, women intoxicated by their new power, came stumbling in looking for things to destroy, but they would survive (as Zell said).
Rinoa's passing was already turning into legend. They were beginning to call her Hino, the one of Fire. Fujin wondered what that name would get corrupted into. She could think of a few possibilities. The woman turned away from Garden, already reaching out with her new powers to search for a place where she could safely stay.
It was time for her to sleep.
