Purgatio

by Marcus1

Email sponger42yahoo.com for Location of Most Recently Updated Purgatio Website

6. Occisor

Chapter Six:

Occisor

General Richard Caraway awoke with his cheek pressing against the cold concrete floor. As his eyes focused, he took stock of his surroundings. Before him, a bare metal slab jutted from a featureless cement wall. In the corner he was facing, he spotted a small hole, which would ostensibly serve as a non-private toilet. Despite the stark view, the general immediately made several connections in his mind. The cell was of the same nature as those used by the Galbadian Secret Service—he had toured enough of the agency's newly constructed prisons during the last few years of Vinzer Deling's administration to recognize the nature of the room—even if he had never viewed on from the inside before.

He rolled over with a slight groan. The stiffness of his limbs and the impression the rough floor left on the skin of his cheek told Caraway that he had been laying in place for at least several hours. As he turned, the general recognized that the rows of steel bars that formed the fourth wall of his prison signified that he was at least four levels down in the underground facility. All secret service prisons were the same. They all appeared as squat, unassuming structures from the outside. The ground floor was mainly administrative offices. Below that, the first underground level housed the armory and temporary barracks for on-call officers. Levels B2 through B5 consisted of holding cells for prisoners—the higher levels held prisoners who might someday be released—and therefore contained some furnishings for the comfort of their occupants—along with cinderblock walls and metal doors. The last two levels held those prisoners who would be added to the list—if their families had not already—of missing persons, usually outspoken opponents of the Deling administration, who would never be seen again. Those cells furnished the condemned with very little in the way of creature comforts.

A guard, sitting in the hallway, took notice of the motions from the cell's occupant. "Well, well. Sleeping beauty's finally awake."

Pushing himself into a sitting position, Caraway blinked groggily. "Where… where am I?" He feigned a dazed confusion that was only partially pretend, hoping to put the agent off-guard.

The Secret Service man grinned. "In a cell."

"W-what day is it?" Undaunted, the general tried again.

"Today." His guard said in a mocking tone.

Caraway stood, shrugging off the dazed and confused act. "I suppose there's no point in asking you to let me out then."

"Um…" The guard paused, pretending to consider this. "…Nope." He said. Then he laughed.

General Richard Caraway—the title was probably more fitting than 'President' right now—he thought. Doesn't look like I'm in charge of Galbadia any more. He sat heavily on the metal slab that served as the cell's bed. What the hell happened? His mind fuzzed as he tried to call up his last memory before waking up here, in this dismal place.

He had been writing… in the office of the presidential mansion. He had felt uncomfortable when referring to that place as 'his office'. Though he had offered his services in assisting Galbadia through the transitional period between the fiasco of the Sorceress's government and the return to a democratic system—as Galbadia had been before the rise of Deling's dictatorship during the sorceress war—he had never felt at home as a politician. In his heart, he had known he was a soldier first, last, and foremost.

Caraway shook his head, trying to coax the memory from his recalcitrant brain. What had he been writing? Oh yes! The recall notice to the forces dispatched to Timber to put down the rebel uprising. Had that been what had done it? Caraway frowned. No, impossible. Impossible that someone within his own treasured armed forces had turned on him because of the withdrawal from Timber. I can't really think of anyone besides Vinzer who ever thought that territory was worth holding on to after the war… Besides, the order hadn't even been fully drafted before… Before whatever the hell it was happened to me. Damn, I wish I knew how long I've been here!

But someone had ordered him stuffed away in this dark hole. Someone had been unhappy enough with the changes he had instigated in the wake of Edea/Ultemecia's crazed rule that they had dared to imprison the most powerful man in Galbadia—and succeeded! But who!? Who could have gotten close enough to me to do this? If serving during the dark times of Vinzer's final years had taught him one thing, it was to ensure that all those close to him—from advisors to household servants—were absolutely trustworthy. He grimaced. Otherwise, I would have ended up with a bullet through my skull a lot sooner than this.

A set of footfalls on the hard hallway floor outside his cell brought Caraway out of his musings with a jolt. He tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible as his guard stood, yawned and stretched at the arrival of his replacement—perhaps the two SS men would let something slip if they forgot about him.

"You're late." The first guard said dully.

"Relax. It's not like this is a strenuous job or anything—there's nothing he can do in there." The arriving guard motioned to the silent general, ruining his hopes that they would ignore his presence. "Anyway," the second guard continued. "Looks like they're gonna hold on to him for a little while longer, so you can be late next time we switch watch if it means that much to you."

Good, keep talking. Caraway tried to hide a small smile.

"Hey, quiet!" The original guard snapped. "He's not supposed to know anything!"

"Psht! Who cares what he hears?" The replacement agent blew out a breath. "It's not like he's gonna get the chance to tell anyone. The only way he's getting out of here is when she's sure that whatsit from the future is inside his head again. Even then—" His words were chopped off as the first guard backhanded him—not lightly—across the face.

"Shut up, asshole! You're going to get us in serious trouble!"

"Ahh! You prick! I'm—" again the second guard's words were cut off mid-sentence as the first man reached inside his service jacket and withdrew a small, but dangerous-looking pistol.

Holding the weapon on the second man with a one-handed grip, the guard growled in an even, deadly voice. "One more word. One more word, and I won't report you; I'll shoot you."

The replacement guard raised his arms, dropping his hand from where it had been rubbing his smarting jaw. Even though held at gunpoint, he still glared daggers at the first SS man, but remained silent.

"Sit down, watch the damn prisoner, and keep your fucking mouth shut!" The guard holstered his weapon.

"…Prick!" The upset-looking agent spat as soon as he was sure the first guard was out of earshot. He scowled at the general. "What're you laughing at?"

They came for General Richard Caraway while he was asleep. After three uncertain days and two restless nights, he awoke to find himself restrained by four pairs of hands as he was blindfolded, handcuffed, and his feet were snapped into ankle cuffs. Unable to see, barely able to walk, he was hustled roughly out of his cell and down a lengthy corridor.

This is it. They've decided they don't need me anymore. Having been given water only twice, and food not at all, the lethargy dulling the general's thoughts fought with the adrenaline rushing through his system. He struggled to remain calm and sharp-witted. You know how this happens. You prepared for this eventuality during Deling's rule. Be a good captive and wait for your one chance… As he slowly shuffled down the seemingly interminable hallway, his thoughts drifted to the scant information he had gleaned from his captors over the past few days. So the rumors about the time machine were real. And it doesn't just work on sorceresses. A hint of the icy chill that had gripped his heart when the thought had first crossed his mind prickled the hair on the back of his neck. What did they make me do? …Rinoa… did they make me betray you?

Finally, painfully tight grips on the general's shoulders brought him up short. He heard the sound of a door slamming. Trying not to let his thirst-thickened tongue slur his words too badly, he spoke. "Please, before you shoot me, tell me: Is my daughter still alive?" Voicing the fear hurt even more than the punch in the stomach he received for his trouble, but he took fullest advantage of the pain. Falling into a shaky crouch as he doubled over, Caraway pretended to retch as he clutched at his stomach with his cuffed hands. Behind him, he heard the clicking of two hammers being drawn back. Two silenced gunshots whip-whipped and the thud from two falling bodies of the guards that knew too much echoed in the chamber. Though he was still weak from lack of food and rest, the general steeled himself. This is your last chance… He had witnessed enough of these executions to know the procedure.

Uncoiling his body with as much force as he could muster, the general threw his handcuffed fists out toward where he knew the second gunman would be standing, even as he rammed his head upward into where he hoped the first executioner's chin would be. As he felt the jaw of the closest gunman crunch from the impact of his skull, Caraway's clenched fists connected with the second gunman's… body armor! Even as stars appeared in the blackness from the general's self-inflicted concussion, he tried to throw himself in the direction of the second executioner. His ankle chains stopped his lunge short, and he fell to the ground.

As general Caraway struggled to stand from where he had fallen, he heard the door to the room open even as the cool pressure of a pistol muzzle pressed into the back of his scalp. There was a loud thudding noise, followed by the groaning of the gunman whose jaw had been broken. "What the hell?!" Someone nearby shouted. A second later the muzzle of the gun was pulled from Caraway's head and he heard the weapon fire twice. Concurrently with the firing of the pistol, his ears picked up the unmistakable spanging sound of a Protect spell. Then came a whistling noise followed by the unmistakable cracking sound of breaking bones.

Suddenly, he general felt himself lifted bodily onto someone's shoulders in a fireman's-carry position. Still blindfolded, but realizing he was alive when—by all rights—he should not be, he coughed. "Who are you?"

"A friend." Came the reply from a distantly familiar male voice.

…

"Delta Romeo Five Niner, disengage, goddammit!" Xu shouted into the laser line-of-sight transmitter—the only communications unit not filled by the Galbadian's jamming static—as she stood in the gunnery cupola of the SeeD marine assault craft as it sped away from the smoking garden. Instead of an acknowledgement, the receiver crackled with the triumphant cries of the students manning the gunnery turret as—two hundred yards to starboard—transport DR59 swept the deck of a Galbadian submarine clear of soldiers with the weapon's heavy-caliber rounds.

Xu was about to repeat the order when static blasted from the open channel as a second Galbadian sub's deck gun blasted DR59's turret into oblivion. Apparently, the concussion from the explosion had disabled the transport's engines as well, for the hydrofoil began to slow and settled into the choppy sea.

"SeeD transports, do not assist!" Xu shouted while mashing the 'all units' transmission button. "Maintain heading and speed. Continue evasive maneuvering. And for Hyne's sake, don't engage the damn submarines!" She averted her eyes from the bright flash of DR59's fuel tanks igniting from a second Galbadian shell.

No other transports attempted to attack the pursuing Galbadian submarines after DR59 and the small flotilla quickly outpaced their pursuers. The Galbadian attack had not included air support, and for that Xu was thankful. Concerned, but thankful. Galbadian attack aircraft could no longer launch from airfield in Timber, it was true, but Xu was surprised that not one of the half-dozen Galbadian aircraft carrier groups had been assigned to support the assault on Balamb Garden. Not one to look between the talons of a gift chocobo, Xu shrugged as she ducked back down into the noisy interior of the transport.

She tried to block out the feelings evoked by the sight of so many wounded students and SeeDs—laid out on the rows of benches inside the transport as they were tended to by those uninjured during the vicious fighting. Proceeding to the front of the craft she stopped before the two SeeDs guarding the door of the tiny auxiliary briefing room that they had quickly converted into a separate cabin for the headmaster. "How is he?"

"The Stop has worn off. We were just about to go get you." The SeeD on the left—Dedig, no, Desmond something—said. "He's been asking for you."

Xu wasn't sure what to make of the strange expression on the SeeDs face. So, bracing herself instead, she stepped into the tiny cabin.

The headmaster was sitting, head down, a satellite communication unit in his hand. He idly pushed at the buttons.

Xu cleared her throat, loudly—to be heard over the transport's engines. "You wanted to see me, Sir."

Cid's head came up. In his eyes was a strange look. "Yes… Xu. What is the code for the Deling City Squad?"

"Sir?" You should know that, headmaster.

"Please, Xu." His voice was strained. "I've had a lot on my mind lately." He forced out a painful laugh. "I need the code."

"Of course." Xu's brow furrowed. "Sorry, sir." What is he going to do? But Xu feared she already knew the answer to that question. She paused. "Sir…" Xu saw the headmaster's jaw tighten as he clenched his teeth, but she continued anyway. "…are you sure you want to do this, Sir? We don't know for sure if it was…" She stopped, not wanting to say it. "There's no conclusive proof that it was…" Xu trailed off as the headmaster raised a hand.

With an almost, almost exaggerated sigh, Cid spoke. "Xu. I've just received word from one of our transports—they managed to capture a Galbadian marine. They extracted from him, information on who authorized the attack." The headmaster's brow wrinkled as he looked down at the communicator he held in his hand. "It was the sorceress Rinoa Heartilly." He paused. "Now please give me the code."

Xu shook her head. "I can't believe it! I mean… how could Squall allow…?" She cocked her head. "How did you get that report? Which team sent it?"

The headmaster's grip tightened on the communicator. "Xu, I don't know what the situation over in Deling is—I barely know what's going on here. One minute everything is fine in the Garden, and the next, we're all refugees. But I know this act of aggression will not go unpunished." The headmaster spoke through gritted teeth. "Now, give me the code. That is a direct order, SeeD."

Nothing about Edea? Nothing about those who died? What's going on in your head, Cid? "Yes, sir." Xu sighed and complied. An order was an order. "But I don't know if the signal will get through the jamming."

"It will." The headmaster said shortly. "You are dismissed."

Not wanting to hear the order she knew Cid was about to give, Xu fled the cramped compartment.

…

"There's gotta be some other explanation!" Zell waved his arms and shouted as he stomped about the tiny living area of the cramped apartment.

"Zell, calm down. It doesn't mean anything, maybe she was just reading a speech made up for her by the government." Quistis tried to quiet the incensed SeeD.

"That's bullshit, and you know it! Rinoa would never go along with anything like that!" Clenching and unclenching his fists, Zell looked about ready to start punching out walls.

In one corner of the dingy little room, Irvine and Selphie clung unconsciously to one another as they watched the discussion between the Squad leader and Zell. "Maybe she didn't have a choice." Selphie offered.

"Whadaya mean?" Zell whirled to face her.

Picking up on his girlfriend's idea, Irvine continued for her. "Rinoa might have been under duress. Maybe they forced her to read that proclamation against her will."

Quistis nodded at the couple, happy for the alternative theory. It is possible… We don't know what happened that whole time they were gone… "That's right."

"But she's a sorceress, she doesn't take shit from anybody—I watched how she dealt with Squall!" Zell was not convinced. "And she was out there in the open. She could have said anything she wanted with all those people around!"

"Think about it, Zell." Quistis spread her hands. "Yes, she was out in the open—in front of thousands of Galbadians, surrounded by armed Galbadian soldiers, and she didn't know that we were there in case she needed help. Maybe she could have defended herself from everybody, but what if they threatened to kill Squall if she tried anything?" Quistis paused. "What do you think she'd do then?"

"Well… yeah… yeah!" Slowly, Zell's scowl transformed into a spreading smile. "That must be it! It all makes sense!" Speaking quickly, Zell continued. "That's probably why Squall looked even more miserable than usual!" He paused to think for just a moment, then slammed one armored fist into the palm of his other hand. "Alright! I've got it!"

Uh-oh. Quistis looked at Zell.

Grinning back at her, Zell laid out his plan. "Right, ok, tonight, before everybody shows up for Squall's knighting—probably just another Galbadian propaganda event—we'll sneak into the presidential mansion and bust them out!" He smacked is fist into his hand again. "And if anybody tries to stop us, we'll just have to bust some heads!" The martial artist didn't look at all unhappy about the prospect for violence.

Quistis shook her head. "We can't do that, Zell."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because…" We might find out something we don't want to know. "…our orders strictly forbid any contact." Quistis temporized.

The floor shook under the impact of Zell's blow. "Dammit!"

Even as the creaking boards settled back into place, a muted buzzing reached Quistis's ears. Frowning, she plucked the ringing satellite communications unit from her belt, and toggled the receiver. Though the packet-squirt text-only message that scrolled across the screen was encrypted, she immediately recognized the code. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh no!" The shock of seeing the message she had prayed would never come caused Quistis to take an involuntary step backward. Eyes wide in shock, face paling, she sank into a rickety wicker chair. "Oh no…"

…

At last! At long last! The triumphant grin spread across Seifer's features. For the first time in uncountable months, Seifer felt like dancing. He felt like shouting. He felt like killing. I knew this day would come, headmaster! You knew it too. "Thank you." Seifer whispered to the darkening sky. Thank you for this chance at my revenge, Cid.

Of course, he had known this course of events was inevitable. Resting in the shade of the sycamore tree, dead rose petals from the parade's ceremonies blowing across his prostrate legs, Seifer had waited for the signal. After the speech she gave… it was only a matter of time until the SeeDs reported in… And then, of course, Cid would make the fateful decision. They truly are mercenaries. Seifer shook his head with an ironic smile. Who would have thought they would turn their own friends in like that? He chuckled to himself. But then again, who would've thought that bitch would turn on the garden so soon? "And Mr. Exemplary student. Mr. Top-notch mercenary." The bitter smile on Seifer's face continued to grow. "Squall Leonhart, traitor to his own cause. Destroyer of gardens." Seifer idly wondered how long it would be before Galbadia launched a strike against the two remaining SeeD holdouts.

He shrugged. It doesn't matter. The whole world is going into the fire, one way or another. Having savored the moment long enough, Seifer reached into the left inside pocket of his trench coat. But before it does, I'll have my revenge. Withdrawing the sealed orders he had carried next to his heart since leaving Balamb, Seifer quickly broke the crest of Balamb Garden and slid the crisp sheets out of the plain envelope. Checking the code printed on the outside of the orders against the letters and numbers that appeared on his own satellite communicator, he confirmed the authenticity of the signal. So how would you like the knight destroyed, headmaster? Seifer broke the final seal on the papers, and shook them out before him, unmindful of the sensitivity of the documents. Who cares who sees me now? I know what I have to do, and no one can stand in my way.

Smoothing out the creased sheets, he began to read.

Seifer read the documents three times over.

Then Seifer read them again.

The light wind blowing from the early fall twilight picked up a handful of dead blossoms, and sent them dancing capriciously betwixt the cold legs of the bronze statue standing at lonely attention beside the small, clear stream that ran through the park. The rigid sentinel's eyes did not blink at the sudden crackle of the man's iron laughter. Nor was the calm surface of the water disturbed as that same joyless laughter was twisted into a howl of indescribable fury.

The same rusted statue and clear water did, however, reflect the wash of dark violet light of the Dispel magic as it enveloped the screaming man. Abruptly, the cry ended, the magic faded, and Seifer Almasy, former knight of Galbadia, stood unmasked in the fading light of the vanished sun.

Their attention drawn by the noise, a few couples—who had been meandering through the city evening—exchanged surprised glances at the sudden appearance of the infamous individual, and hastily fled back toward the darkening streets of Deling city.

Seifer ignored them. He stared, instead, at the papers that had fallen from his nerveless fingers, his face a frozen mask of burning rage. Seifer's shoulders shook. "God damn you, Cid Kramer!" So powerful was the anger that consumed him, Seifer did not realize he was giving voice to his thoughts. "God damn you to hell!"

…

Thirty thousand feet below, the scattered forests that dotted the patchwork-quilt of farmland along the Timber-Galbadia border had already fallen into darkness. To the east, the lights of isolated farmhouses and rural villages were beginning to twinkle in the fuzzy purple twilight. For the pilot of the Galbadian strike aircraft, however, the sun still blazed a brilliant orange as it sank toward the hazy horizon. Even with the sun still visible, the wavery light of a few early evening stars twinkled through the deep lavender sky overhead. Caught between the lilac night above, and the cotton-candy pink clouds below, the jet fighter's engines gulped hungrily at the cold rarified high altitude air.

To avoid night-blindness, the aircraft's pilot had turned the brightness of her Heads Up Display to its lowest setting. Leaning back on the foam cushions of the rocket-powered ejection seat, the pilot flipped up the lenses of her polarizing visor and gazed upward into the wings of the oncoming night. As the autopilot kept the aircraft's course true, the pilot scanned the newborn stars for a particular constellation—one that flashed red, white, and green. Tracking along the heading relayed through her headset earphones, the pilot's eyes finally acquired the running lights of the Galbadian refueling aircraft.

Jockeying the fighter's fuel probe into the basket at the end of the dangling fuel line with practiced ease, the pilot quickly topped off her fuel tanks, keeping a light pressure on his left rudder pedal to compensate for the extra drag of the large blunt-nosed missile slung under the strike aircraft's right wing.

Having completed the in-flight refueling without incident, the pilot banked her jet away from the tanker aircraft and made a long, slow turn that took the fighter deep into Timber's airspace. As expected, no anti-aircraft radar signals appeared on her scope, and the threat indicator stayed clear.

The pilot spoke into the helmet microphone. "Echo-one has max fuel and is in position."

"Acknowledged, Echo-one. Standby for mission clearance." The radioed reply was issued from a transmitter inside a military complex on the outskirts of Deling city, and relayed to the Galbadian fighter pilot through a command/communications aircraft circling three hundred miles west of the Dollett-Galbadia border.

"Roger that." The pilot responded, tracing a gloved finger across a Multi-Function Display that indicated his target's bearing and altitude. Running a second quick diagnostic on single missile she was carrying allowed the pilot to kill a few more moments as he waited for permission to strike.

She did not have to wait long. "Echo one, clearance granted. Begin your attack run."

Grunting a brief acknowledgement, the pilot pushed the fighter's dual throttles to the stops.

As the flameholders of the engines' afterburners ignited, the pilot pulled back steadily on the control wand, sending the aircraft into a steep climb. The altitude indicator on the right side of the HUD began scrolling rapidly upward.

The pilot flipped the plastic shield on a separate control box up, and toggled an arming switch as the aircraft shot through fifty thousand feet. Beneath the right wing, the missile's radar seeker switched on, and began actively scanning the sky above for its target.

The Galbadian strike craft's engines began to labor as the air grew thinner and its airspeed started dropping as the pilot urged her fighter past angels eighty.

At eighty-five thousand feet, her g-suit and oxygen mask the only things standing between the pilot and the frigidness of the near vacuum in the aircraft's cockpit, the pilot detected a steady ringing tone in her ear—the missile was locked on target. After visually confirming the solid lock on the MFD, she depressed the firing switch on the missile's control box.

As the heavy weapon dropped from the fighter's hardpoints, the pilot had to struggle to maintain control of her aircraft. A stall-warning buzzer sounded, and the fighter pitched sharply to the right.

Flipping the fighter into a steep inverted dive, the pilot did not waste a glance at the brilliant flare of the missile's solid rocket motor as it streaked upward into the darkness of space. It was only after the thicker air of lower altitudes stiffened the resistance of the flightstick and increased the responsiveness of the jet to her control inputs that she begin to breathe easier, and bothered to check the missile's progress.

Two hundred miles above sea-level, the first stage motor of the missile burnt out and separated from the warhead with a tiny puff of compressed gas. Tiny jets of flame kept the coasting weapon lined up directly with its target.

Keeping silent watch from Geosyncronous orbit, the Eshtarian communications satellite—now also being used as a communications relay for the SeeDs of Balamb and Trabia Gardens as part of a mutual assistance pact between the technologically advanced nation and the military training centers—lay quiescent after transmitting a series of encoded information packets. The transmissions had originated from a small transport hydrofoil in the oceans south of Balamb; their destination had been a trio of receivers in Deling City. Thirty miles below the satellite, its onboard computer confirming the final target solution, the small warhead of the Galbadian missile exploded, creating a spreading cloud of high-speed metal shrapnel. A few seconds later, the rising cloud of metal intersected the satellite's path.

As quickly as fuel lines were punctured, and transmissions systems failed, the satellite's computer system shut them down, and re-routed internal functions to backup systems. Eventually, the computer ran out of redundant systems upon which to load failures. Its mechanical synapses had just begun to ponder what to do next when a bit of the Galbadian missile's casing tore through the central processing unit of the computer. An auxiliary system came online almost immediately, but was shut down just as quickly when a fragment of the missile's rocket motor destroyed the last fuel cell aboard the satellite.

Eshtarian satellites orbiting above Galbadia, and above the world's oceans suffered a similar fate as, one-by-one; they were destroyed by Galbadian anti-satellite missiles. By the time the strike ended, nearly three-quarters of the planet's surface was affected by the satellite blackout.

…

In the tiny cabin aboard the SeeD transport, Headmaster Cid Kramer's mouth twitched into a quiet smile as he watched the uplink light on the communication unit die. As he leaned back on the hard plastic bench, he closed his cold, hard eyes and let out a contented sigh. A moment later, his nerveless body slumped over on one side, the communicator falling to the floor with a clunk that made inaudible by the noise from the transport's engine.

Slowly, the vibrations running through the hydrofoil's hull caused the headmaster's body to slide to the floor. As he fell, Cid's head hit the edge of a table bolted to the floor.

In the light of the terribly brilliant morning sun, the flotilla of SeeD marine landing craft raced south; taking the SeeDs of B-Garden away from the Galbadian submarine fleet, away from Balamb, away from their home.

…

"You're not going, and that's final." Squall placed his hands on his hips.

Rinoa blew a strand of hair from her face angrily. "You're beginning to sound just like my father!" The sorceress frowned. "So what are you saying, anyway? That you'll go out there alone, while I stay in here where it's safe?" She shook her head. "That's not the way it works, Squall. I have to be there! I want to be there!" Visibly straining to force the confrontational tone from her voice, Rinoa stepped closer to Squall. "This is really important… Not just for the people out there, not just for politics, but for us, Squall." She sighed.

Squall grimaced, realizing that—as usual—nothing he said would change the sorceress's mind. "I know how important this is, Rinoa." He waved a hand out the window, toward the waiting limousine and escorts. "I know how important all of this has been." Squall paused. I never would have let you go through with that parade if I didn't know how much it meant to you. He fidgeted uncomfortably in the ornamental robes he had been forced to don for the occasion of his knighting. "But with the rumors about Seifer being sighted… with all the strange things that have been happening lately…" Squall hoped the look on his face would convey the greater meaning of the words carefully chosen in case of unseen eavesdroppers. With the way the crowd acted during your speech—I've never seen people so excited when being told they need to lay down their arms. You yourself said that something had felt wrong…

A pained expression crossed Rinoa's face. "There's always some rumor floating around. Either Ultemecia was seen shopping for oranges at Dresden Market, or Vinzer was seen pumping gas at the Boyle Unlimited station." Rinoa drew a breath. "You're just making up excuses to keep me…" …out of danger. Squall raised an eyebrow as Rinoa trailed off. Well, girl, might as well say it. You know it's true. Rinoa sighed inwardly. I shouldn't get so annoyed with him. "Look, Squall. I know you think it's dangerous out there for me. But it's dangerous for you too. I mean, I'm really happy you're trying to protect me…" Rinoa stepped even closer and took Squall's hand in her own. "…but you know, I'm worried about you too."

Squall frowned gently. "What are you saying?" I know what you're saying, but what do you mean? What do you want?

Rinoa squared her shoulders, and slid so that she was standing directly in front of Squall, to be sure she was commanding his full attention. "Okay, It's like being a SeeD, I guess." Rinoa smiled as Squall cocked his head to the side. "I mean, there's always going to be danger, right?" She waited for Squall's reluctant nod. "So no matter what, when these sort of things come up, at least one of us is going to be in danger." Rinoa didn't pause, sparing Squall the obligatory nod. "And we both really…" mm… not yet. "…really care about each other. So we each hate to see the other one face danger alone." Rinoa looked down at her feet. "But, short of running off to Centra, it seems like trouble is always managing to find us. So if we can't help getting into these situations, then I'd…" Rinoa looked up. "If there's going to be trouble, I'd rather that both of us were in danger, together."

"That doesn't make strategic sense." Rinoa's face fell, but Squall was not finished. "It does, however, have some tactical merit."

Rinoa still looked downcast. "Oh…"

"And," Squall amended at length. "it feels right."

Rinoa brightened. "Of course." Smiling, she wrapped her arms around Squall in a tight bear hug. "So I'm coming with you." It was not a question.

"Right." Squall gasped as Rinoa released him. "I want you under Protect and Shell spells."

"Yes, mother. You want Reflects, Regens, Triples, Auras, and Doubles with that?" Rinoa grinned at him.

"It's not a bad idea. Maybe Hastes too." Squall looked pensive.

"Hastes?" Rinoa rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, that'd be real dignified. The new knight of Galbadia bouncing all over the place like an over-caffeinated chipmunk."

"As his sorceress beats the snot out of everyone who looks at her sideways, like a berserk Wendigo on steroids." Squall chuckled. "Okay, we'll stick to Shells and Protects."

"You're wearing them too." Rinoa poked a finger into Squall's chest. "No arguments."

"No arguments." He echoed.

…

"It's gotta be fake!" Zell shouted.

"Zell, all the codes check out. The message is legitimate." Quistis said dully. Though she addressed the upset SeeD, she was staring blankly at the wall. The garden's been… destroyed? Only two transports got out? Quistis was having trouble breathing. All my friends… my students… can they really be dead? Though she was sitting, her hands were locked tightly around the arms of the rickety wooden chair. The room seemed to be spinning, threatening to throw her off at any moment. How could this have happened? Quistis had never felt anything like the emotions she was experiencing now. We're lost. We've lost! Without the garden SeeD is nothing. T-Garden is almost gone, the White SeeD Ship—they're just kids, and there's so few of them. Quistis swallowed, fighting down the rising nausea. Just like that, SeeD is gone! Our entire lives devoted to it, and now it's gone! Her eyes slowly drifted across the shabby room, across what now had suddenly become a significant percentage of the world's remaining SeeDs.

Selphie had curled up into a ball, her head was down and Quistis could not see her expression, but there were teardrops on the floor in front of her. Even after T-Garden was bombed, Selphie didn't let us see her cry… She knows. She knows we're being wiped out.

Irvine had tried to place a comforting arm around the diminutive SeeD, but his efforts had gone unnoticed. His mouth was set in a thin line, his free hand kept straying unconsciously to the butt of his rifle as he chewed the news over in his mind. After G-Garden fell, B-Garden was our last stronghold. What's left of T-Garden is immobile—they're sitting ducks…

Having no ready response to the truth of Quistis dismal proclamation, Zell had taken to pacing the short length between the room's door and its far wall, muttering to himself and pausing occasionally to punch the air. Wood and plaster crunched under his feet every time he passed the hole he had put through the wall upon hearing the message relayed from the SeeD transports fleeing Balamb. There were only White SeeDs at the ruins of the orphanage during Ultemecia's time. I thought that meant it would be far in the future. Could I have been wrong?

At last, Quistis's eyes came to rest on Dahyte. The squad leader had to suppress a shudder. The sniper was the only member of the team that had not reacted to the news of the garden's destruction—or the orders they had been given. Instead, she was calmly and carefully examining and cleaning every last component of a long-barreled bolt-action rifle—covered in a matte black material, like all the weapons Quistis had seen the sniper display during the mission. Is it really because of Rinoa—and Squall?

Quistis shook her head. "No." She whispered to herself. Get a grip, Quistis. She closed her eyes. 'Lacks leadership qualities' Do I? Can I handle this? 'Do you believe them?' He had asked.

"Yes." Quistis said, in a voice too low to be heard by anyone. A single tear stirred the dust on the floor below her chair. But I can follow orders. Her jaw locked tight as she straightened. Standing, Quistis drew in a breath—

—and was promptly cut-off. "Don't say it." Zell leveled an armored finger at Quistis. "Don't you dare say it. I don't care what that stupid code said, we're not gonna do this to Squall and Rinoa."

Back to the wall, unnoticed by any of the SeeDs, the corners of Dahyte's eyes tightened imperceptibly.

Quistis spread her hands. "You're right, Zell. We're not going to do this… not without further confirmation from the headmaster."

Zell looked a bit mollified. "Yeah. This could all be some big mistake. The Garden might still be there."

As Selphie and Irvine looked up, Quistis spoke again. "And it might not. We may be the last of the Balamb SeeDs." She had to fight against the quaver that threatened to inject itself into her voice. "But either way, I'm not going to jeopardize the peace treaty without confirmation of our orders." She resisted the urge to check the communications unit again to see if the uplink light had somehow, magically, winked back on. "I don't know why we've lost communication with the garden, but this action is too serious to be taken without further authorization." She drew in a breath. God, I hope I know what I'm doing. "Until I hear from Cid himself, that we're to… to… carry out these orders, we're going to set ourselves up to observe and wait."

In the corner of the room, still silently cleaning her weapon, Dahyte's lip curled so slightly that the change was unnoticeable. The situation had just become infinitely more complicated.

…

It was the pain that woke Cid. Not the throbbing lump on his forehead, not aching of joints grown unused to the rigors of combat, but rather the dull burning of his crushed heart. As he regained consciousness, the events of the past few hours snapped into sharp focus, the memories further twisting at his already cracked soul. Even while his memories sharpened, the room blurred through the tears of that filled his eyes and ran down, over the bridge of his nose, to the floor. Lying on his side, face pressing into the metal floor plates, the headmaster opened his mouth in a wordless cry of anguish—yet not a sound could he force from his broken heart.

Cid squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. Edea…

And she was there. The gentle lines of her cheekbones disappeared as the look of concern flashed across her serene features. "Cid, we have to send the SeeDs to Deling. If we tip our hand, if we show we know too much before Rinoa's ready…"

For the briefest moment, Cid felt the bleeding gouge in his heart sealed over by the cool balm of memory as he heard himself speaking to his wife. "But if they kill them, she'll never be ready."

Edea's long dark hair brushed Cid's shoulder, the hint of its perfume tickling his senses. Dear god, let me die now. Here in this memory. Let it be the ending note of my life. Let my heart burst and join me with my love. It was not to be. Instead, the memory continued to play on in his mind. "You must ensure that does not happen, my knight. Even if we are killed, they must live on." Edea shivered slightly as she drew closer Cid. "This is what I have seen through the eyes of Ultemecia. This is what must be."

The headmaster placed his arms around the shoulders of his wife. "What is going to happen, Edea? What did you see when she was in your mind?"

The former sorceress looked up into Cid's eyes. Tears glittered in the corners of her own. "I cannot predict the future, my love…" Her arms wrapped around his back, she drew the headmaster into a tight embrace. "…and we cannot change the past."

Cid's eyes snapped open again. He focused on satellite transmitter, lying where it come to rest after falling from his grasp. The uplink light was dead.

Cid knew he had been made to give the order. He knew that the events so carefully prepared against had already been set into motion. The headmaster also knew he should try to stop it somehow. Despite everything that had happened, he was still responsible for the SeeDs of Balamb Garden. He knew Edea had wanted him to carry on.

"But I can't, my love." Cid gasped silently as the screws in his heart were driven in one twist deeper. "Not without you." Nothing else ever meant anything to me. I control one of the greatest military forces on the planet, but that's meaningless now. Teeth gritted in anguish, the headmaster covered his face with his arms. I have nothing left.

"Aw, dammit, Fujin!" Rajin threw down the Triple Triad card he had been trying to conceal from his one-eyed compatriot. "It took me forever to get that stinkin' Marlboro card, ya know! Why don't you take my Jelleye instead?"

"NEGATIVE." Fujin held out her hand expectantly.

Sighing, Rajin was just about to drop the card into Fujin's open hand when the door to the flat slammed open with a loud bang.

Fujin was on her feet immediately, her hand stopped as it dropped to her Pinwheel when she saw the figure standing in the open doorway. Rajin was halfway to the wall against which his Staff leaned when he recognized the figure who had interrupted their card game. He did a double-take. "Seifer? Whoa, what happened to your disguise? You're gonna get spotted for sure like that, ya know!"

Seifer ignored the question. "Where are the SeeDs?"

"CORONATION." Fujin's hand dropped from her weapon to her hip.

"Yeah, that's right. They left about ten minutes ago." While Fujin's attention was directed elsewhere, Rajin hastily scooped his cards—along with the precious Marlboro card—back into his own deck. "What's up?"

"Did the sniper go with them?" Seifer's asked.

"No. It was kind of weird, ya know? She waited until they left—acted like she wasn't going or something. Then, all of a sudden, she just took off after they were gone." Slipping the cards back into an inner pocket of his vest, Rajin shrugged. "Why? We goin' somewhere?"

Seifer's eyes narrowed. "Yes."

From the top of the department store building, Irvine had a fairly good view into the open-air amphitheater, which was lit by the brilliant coppery glare of sulfur floodlights. The murmuring roar of the thousands of voices from the crowd overflowing the edges of the bowl-shaped arena, set into the ground near Deling's city center, wafted up to his seventh-floor perch as Irvine peered—through his binoculars—over the lip of the roof. Beside him the Exeter lay flat on the gritty concrete, it's chamber empty.

"Quistis?" Irvine spoke into his walkie-talkie. "We're set up here. Two buildings to the left behind you."

A brown-haired head Irvine believed to belong to the disguised squad leader turned in the milling mass of humanity to look behind her. "Citer and Willkome?" His radio crackled.

"That's right. I'm keeping my head down, I've seen a few Galbadian sharpshooters deployed around the amphitheater down there." Irvine replied.

"Tell her I'm up here too." Selphie spoke from behind the G-Garden SeeD.

"Selphie says 'hi'." Irvine relayed.

"Right. Remember, don't do anything—just keep your eyes open." Irvine saw Quistis's head turn back to face the stage set in the bottom of the excavated auditorium.

"You're the boss." Right. Like I'm going to shoot Squall or Rinoa.

An expectant hush fell over the crowd around Quistis. Craning her neck to see over the people before her, she watched as a procession of dignitaries from the various branches of the Galbadian government filed out onto the stage below. Difficult though it was, to distinguish details on the figures gathering at the bottom of the amphitheater, Quistis did her best to scrutinize their faces, but gleaned very little from the solemnly neutral expressions fixed on their features. As a wave of subdued applause swept up from the lower rows of seats and over her position, Quistis used the noise to cover her next transmission. "Zell, are you in place?"

"I'm as close to the stage as I can get, Quistis. No sign of anything out of place down here." Quistis could almost hear him silently adding 'no sign of Seifer.'

Suddenly, the applause coming from all around Quistis increased dramatically in volume, isolated shouts and whistles broke from the crowd. Looking down again, Quistis could see the figures of Squall and Rinoa making their way across the stage toward a slightly raised dais at the focus of the amphitheater. She opened a second radio channel. "Dahyte, we're in position to observe here. Nothing untoward happening. Is everything still all quiet back at the base?" Placing a hand over her ear to block out the noise of the crowd around her, Quistis concentrated on trying to pick up a response. Come on, please answer. She prayed. A moment passed. Come on, Dahyte, you're a SeeD, just like us. Follow your orders; report in. She bit her lip. One last prayer. "Dahyte? Report in. What is your position?" What are your intentions? "Dammit, SeeD! That's a direct order from your commanding officer! Report your location at once!"

Not bloody likely, traitor. The SeeD sniper, clad in a loose-fitting black jumpsuit, crouched behind the dark mass of an air-conditioner condenser on the roof of a large bookstore. It wasn't the most ideal of locations—her view into the open auditorium was not as clear as she would have liked—but anything higher would have made her profile unacceptably high. I can't believe it's come down to this. She thought, as she gently twisted the rifled barrel and stock of her weapon together. As the clean, well-oiled components snapped into place, she withdrew a long, glass-ended black cylinder from the backpack resting against the sheet-metal siding of the condenser. Balamb Garden destroyed by the very person it sheltered. Ensuring the locking rail for the laser guide was free from any sort of dust or debris that might skew it's aim, Dahyte slid the device into it's slot parallel to the rifle's barrel. And now these people—the heroes of the battles against Ultemecia—they refuse to believe their friends have turned against them. Dahyte almost shook her head as she withdrew the five-round clip of magic-imbued ammunition. They still don't understand; you have no friends in this world.

Two weeks earlier, the SeeD sniper had visited one of her most trustworthy suppliers in Deling with an order for bullets that could pierce even the heaviest of magical shielding. Dahyte frowned at the memory. The supplier had acted even more strangely than usual when she had returned for the specialized rounds. She had inspected the bullets thoroughly after receiving them. Deep within the sewers of the city, she had cast Protects, Reflects, and Shells on a Grand Mantis that had decided to try and make a meal out of the black-clad woman. The first round had slipped through the protective magic she had cast—as well as the Mantis's armored hide—and killed it instantaneously. Two Creeps and a second Grand Mantis had all met similar fates before Dahyte had been satisfied that the rounds could indeed—as promised—penetrate even the most powerful protective spells.

This time Dahyte did shake her head slightly—clearing from it all thoughts except for those pertinent to the mission ahead. All thoughts, save one. Yes, you have no friends in this world… only people waiting to betray you.

"Shit." Quistis muttered viciously as she whirled and began shoving her way through the crowd that was pressing forward—in order to get a better view of the sorceress and knight, now standing side-by-side on the central dais as the adjudicator of the newly-resurrected Galbadian Senate began the knighting with a speech.

"Irvine!" She shouted, unmindful of the irritated looks from the people she jostled. "Irvine! Dahyte's not responding! She's probably here! See if you can spot her!" Quistis did not wait for the sharpshooter's reply. "Zell! Get out of the auditorium, and move onto Main Street, be ready to go after Dahyte if anyone spots her in the buildings there!"

"Quistis, shouldn't I warn Squall and Rinoa first!?" Came a staticky reply. "I mean, I'm right here, I could—"

"Negative! She might not try anything." And Geezars might sprout wings and fly… "We can't risk giving ourselves away." Breaking through the outer edges of the gathered crowd, Quistis looked wildly up at the dozens of dark rooftops lining the boulevard. I'll never be able to see her in all this! Nearly every way she turned, Quistis saw a potential hiding spot for the renegade SeeD. She was just about to call Irvine again, when something in the corner of her eye caught Quistis's attention. A tiny black moon-cast shadow—nearly obliterated by the bright streetlamps—lay along the brick façade of a three-story bookseller's store. A shadow that just might—yes! A shadow that was indeed in the unmistakable shape of a rifle barrel capped by a flash-suppressor. Quistis thanked Hyne for her luck junction. There was no other explanation as to how such an unobtrusive shape could have caught her attention.

"Irvine! Sniper on the rooftop of Capricorn Bookseller's Incorporated!!" Quistis dashed into the narrow alleyway beside the building. Receiving no response, she transmitted again. "Irvine?! Are you reading me?! Stop her!!"

Bending down over Irvine's limp form, Seifer pulled the SeeD's gun from his motionless hands. Behind him, an undisguised Fujin stepped over a Sleep-enchanted Selphie. She nodded to the squawking radio. "SNIPER. INTERESTING."

Hefting the gleaming weapon, Seifer peered through the rifle's sights into the crowded amphitheater. Centering the crosshairs on Squall's chest, his finger tightened on the trigger. "Yes, it is, isn't it?"

Dahyte knew she would have time for three, maybe four shots before the sharpshooters she had picked out of the crowd would figure out where the gunfire was coming from. I'll only need two. Kill the Sorceress. Kill the traitor. That's all. Depressing a switch on the laser guide attached to the barrel of her weapon, Dahyte placed one eye to the telescopic sight. A light green dot appeared on the curtain that hung across the rear of the amphitheater's stage—visible only through the scope of the SeeD's rifle. Checking the range finder, Dahyte slowly twisted a knob on the side of the sight until the cross-hairs were positioned a few millimeters below the green dot—the distance the bullet would fall from the time it exited the gun's barrel to the time it reached it's mark. Switching the laser off, she let her arms sink into a resting position on the rough stone of the edge of the roof. Ever so slowly, she let the gun slide—as if of it's own accord—to the right, until the cross-hairs stopped over the Sorceress's left breast. Unconsciously letting out half a breath, Dahyte's eyes narrowed as she rested her index finger on the weapon's trigger.

"DAHYTE!! STOP!!" Faster than the eye could follow, a silenced semiautomatic pistol appeared in Dahyte's right hand as she twisted to face Quistis who vaulted over the last few rungs of the building's fire escape ladder. Her body still lying in a position pointing forward, Dahyte aimed the weapon and fired it from under her left arm—never releasing her grip on the sniper rifle.

As she dove to the right, Quistis felt a stinging sensation in her left arm as the first bullet hissed through her sleeve, searing her skin with the heat of its passage. Tracking her movements, Dahyte fired again.

Quistis felt her body spun around by the force of the second bullet as it tore through her skin and impacted against her lowest left rib. Part of the lead casing of the armor-piercing round buried itself in the broken rib, but the machined steel core of the bullet simply ricocheted off the bone, tunneled through her abdomen, and clipped her spine before leaving her body—piercing the aluminum side of the air-conditioner against which Quistis stumbled.

Not quite comprehending what had happened, Quistis tried to lever herself up against the side of the condenser as the black spots that appeared before her eyes quickly ate up the remaining light. Before the darkness engulfed her, Quistis saw Dahyte drop the smoking pistol and turn back to the rifle's sight.

"Stupid." The sniper whispered to herself as the crosshairs drifted over Squall's back—he had turned to face the sorceress—and centered the over Rinoa's heart. That's what standing by your 'friends' will get you. There's only one constant in this world… Dahyte's finger gently squeezed the trigger until she heard the rifle's hammer click back into the firing position. …and I'm about show these traitors just what that is.

Standing fully exposed on the rooftop of the department store, Seifer carefully centered the Exeter's sights on his target. God, I hate you, Squall. He pulled the trigger and the weapon bucked against his shoulder.

The scope sight of Dahyte's rifle exploded in her face. The weapon barked once as she fell backwards in a spray of glass and wood splinters, the round flying off into the night sky. Even as the shock of the shards tearing at her face hit Dahyte, she rolled backward—toward the cover of the air-conditioner. At the same time, her hand disappeared into her vest, and emerged—as she fetched up behind the condenser—holding the silenced .38 she had used to shoot the SeeD squad leader. The SeeD sniper knew she should have already been dead, but Seifer's aim had been off.

…

As the adjudicator of the senate droned on, Rinoa felt herself slipping into a tired daze. Despite the thousands of pairs of eyes fixated on her, despite the glare from the floodlights, despite the fact that her life—and the life of her knight could very well be in danger right this moment, she was having difficulty keeping her senses sharp and alert for trouble. She concentrated on the back of Squall's head—standing one step below her, facing the crowd—in an attempt to throw off the wet blanket of fatigue that had fallen over her mind. For a moment, the smile she had locked on to her features widened into an expression of genuine pleasure. Those robes make him look so soft and cute. Just like a big white marshmallow! Rinoa had to hold in a giggle at the thought of the looks she would receive if she hopped down off of the dais right now and gave Squall a big squeeze. Letting her eyes drift down to the dark blue crest of Galbadia that was emblazoned across the shoulders of her knight's cloak. Not for the first time, vexation at the unreality of their situation washed over her. Is this all really happening? It's like some strange dream. I feel like I'm going to suddenly wake up from all this, and we'll be back in the garden, adrift at sea—or maybe flying somewhere aboard the Ragnarok. But they were not, Rinoa realized. He's not a SeeD anymore, and I'm not just another idealistic revolutionary. She made a conscious effort not to shake her head. No… I'm the sorceress of Galbadia, and he's about to officially become my knight. The slightest twinge of fear prickled across her forearms. It's all so serious. So many people around us, so many strange things are happening so fast… I mean, I hardly even know him! Even as the thought crossed her mind, Rinoa dismissed it.

No, that's not true. I've known him forever. I've seen him in my dreams for so long… I noticed other guys, sure, but I knew they weren't the one. Rinoa's smile grew again. I've been waiting for my knight for all these years.

The adjudicator had finished his speech, and now another faceless dignitary was speaking of the unity and stability that a sorceress and knight would bring to the nation. There were only seconds left before the sealing of the coronation.

Rinoa accepted the long, jewel-encrusted scepter with which she would touch three spots on her knight's back—as dictated by tradition; signifying something, something, and something else—as he knelt before her. Things are happening so fast, Squall. But as long as you're with me, I don't mind. As her knight turned to face her, Rinoa gazed searchingly into his hooded eyes. Do you feel the same way, Squall? Do you…

Knighted, Squall rose. One last ceremony remained; a final sealing of their political partnership, but Rinoa knew how much more it meant to them. Standing on the same dais used by generations of sorceresses before her, she could feel their thoughts, their emotions, and she knew they mirrored her own.

As he held out his hand to accept the ring—the same ring a friend had, long ago, used to cast a brother to the first—Squall met Rinoa's gaze, his head unconsciously canted to the side just a hair. Griever flashed as Rinoa brought the engraved circlet up into the light. …Do you love me, Squall?

The tiniest smile crept across his lips, the answer to his sorceress's question swimming in the depths of his eyes.

The answer was—erased by the sudden pain that flitted across Squall's features. He staggered slightly and the ring was brushed from Rinoa's fingers by Squall's shoulder as he pitched forward. It fell, glinting in the golden light, striking a silver note as it hit the cold surface of the stage. For a split-second, the echo of the fallen ring was the only sound as the universe drew its breath. Squall hung before Rinoa, trapped in time—half kneeling, half falling. Then two more gunshots rang out. Someone near the front rows of the amphitheater screamed, and the world dissolved into chaos.

Rinoa fell to her knees, catching Squall as he stumbled. Even as dark-clad forms of security personnel flooded the stage, she felt him sink against her, his shuddering breath caressing her cheek. Wrapped around his back, her hands pressed against the warm wetness soaking through the folds of fabric. "Squall!"

As she clung tightly to her knight, Rinoa could feel his tightened muscles begin to relax. Squall's head rolled back allowing her to watch as the light faded from his eyes. His lips formed his final breath into a whisper. "Rinoa, I…" But the strength left him before he could finish.

"No!" Rinoa clutched at him, trying to keep his soul from slipping away, but she could feel the cold fingers that began to permeate her knight—pushing Squall's life from his body. "No!"

Rinoa could feel the last tendril of Squall's soul slipping out of her tenuous grasp. She desperately raised a hand, trying to hold it back, trying to draw him back to her. She failed. "Squall!!"

The candle that guttered in the magical wind was burnt nearly down to nothing. Made of wax from the boiled down remains of a thousand Blood Souls, its wick thin twisted tendrils of sinew from Torama whiskers soaked in the liquefied Forbidden marrow, the candle's violet flame twisted and danced in a ghostly draft as the tip of its flame melted into a pillar of chocolate smoke. As the woman traced sparkling paths of emerald sorcery in the air, her long, pure white hair shook. She danced about the flickering flame, chanting unintelligible phrases in a low, sultry voice. Slowly, the smoke from the candle was molded by the magical words until it took the shape of a man, a man with long hair that fell over his sightless eyes, and partially hid the scar that traced an angry path from his brow to the bridge of his nose. Branching out from a dark disc that suddenly appeared in the man's back, tendrils of deep green witchcraft quickly suffused his body. As the last of the candle's smoke was enclosed within spider webs of liquid emerald, the lavender eyes of the woman flashed with triumph. Her burgundy lips pursed slightly as she blew the slightest zephyr of air at the smoke. It fled the man's body as if pushed by a hurricane. "You are mine now, Squall Leonhart!"

Shoulder-to-shoulder with two other agents, forming a protective barricade in front of the sorceress and knight with their bodies, Secret Serviceman Tairsay Ricken heard the sorceress's anguished cry. He turned to look at her, and was thrown from his feet by the blast of two great bolts of lightning arcing down from the sky above, striking the tips of the stones arrayed across the sorceress's back. Though the light of it seared his eyes, he could not turn his head from the terrible beauty of the sorceress's magic. The great channels of energy, that seemed to branch from the sorceress herself, filled the night sky, tracing out two towering, skeletal wings. Between the flaming bones of lightning, a leathery skin of dark smoke twisted and undulated—as if trying to tear itself free of them. Beneath these fearful, magical wings, the sorceress Rinoa stood with her arms outstretched, her head thrown back, and her eyes shining, pupil-less and golden. Before her, the body of the knight, Squall Leonhart, floated motionless, four feet above the stage.

The air was filled with white noise as the brilliant channels of electricity seemed to fold forward around the sorceress and knight, collapsing down into a cocoon of blinding silver light that surrounded the dais.

The feathery eyebrows of the woman lowered at the tiny sparkle of silver within the Squall-shaped latticework of malevolent green magic. Raising her left arm, she pointed a delicate finger, tipped by a long crimson nail at the twinkle of light, intoning the words of an ancient curse. The light flickered and died.

The woman's lips had just begun to curl upward into a smile when the jade form before her exploded in a shower of pulsing white light, throwing her against the far wall of the now-bright chamber. The silver glare strobed painfully through her closed eyelids—even through the protective arm she had thrown over her face. "Such power!!" The exclamation was forced, unbidden, from her lips even as she cowered against the flashing brilliance.

A moment later, the flare dimmed and disappeared, leaving no trace of the emerald man-shape, only the dim flickering of a nearly burnt-out candle.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, the woman blinked in the sudden darkness. "Such power…" She repeated to herself. "…I must have it!"

The glowing cocoon encircling the sorceress and knight faded. Squall's chest rose as he drew in a breath, then another. Before he could draw a third, a fourth shot rang out in the night.

"No." Rinoa's eyes flashed a glowing scarlet as she raised a hand. A spinning bullet, suspended before her, dissolved like dust in the wind. Behind it, a gleaming finger of orange light traced its way back to the muzzle of a gun, held in the hands of a man, standing on the rooftop of the Galbadian First National Bank. Before any of the Galbadian sharpshooters could aim their weapons, the sorceress Rinoa's eyes flashed again with amber rage and a beam of cerulean energy blasted from her upraised hand.

Felix Crow blinked. He looked down at the gun in his hands. He blinked again. What the hell? What am I doing up here? He stared down at the finger of orange light issuing from the barrel. But I was just… just… I was just… …out fishing. The last thing Felix could remember, he had been spending a lazy afternoon lounging in the bottom of his neighbor's canoe, which he had taken out to the lake for an afternoon of relaxing angling.

Felix was still confused when the beam of blue sorcery erased him—along with the top two floors of First National Bank.

Dahyte heard a third shot ring out just before she popped over the top of the condenser and squeezed off five rounds at the top of the building where Seifer had been standing, seconds beforehand. As she dropped back down behind the cover of the air-conditioning unit and slammed a second clip into her weapon, Dahyte heard the roar of the crowd from within the amphitheater. Damn that bastard! What was he doing?! She knew her chance was past. It was time to get out. Maybe that third shot had taken out the target—maybe not, but she could no longer hope to hit the sorceress tonight.

Stepping over Quistis's prone form, Dahyte noticed that she was still breathing. She raised her pistol—then lowered it. That's not my mission. Holstering the weapon, she gathered herself, then sprinted across the open space between the condenser and the black entryway of the stairwell that opened onto the roof. She had just made it through the door when an armored fist came screaming out of the darkness in front of her.

"Uh, Seifer, so, ya know, what do we do now?" Rajin asked nervously, peering over the side of the building at the police cars, armored personnel carriers, and tanks parked in the streets below—surrounding the building.

As the searchlight from a circling helicopter caught him out in the open, Seifer raised both his arms high over his head. "Now, my friends," he shouted to be heard over the roar of the aircraft's rotors. "we surrender."

…

"Just keep pressure on it!" Irvine threw both hands down as he cast the Esuna spell on himself. Blue-white tendrils of fire ran up his arms as the magic backfired and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from screaming.

"She's dying, Irvine!" Selphie's voice quavered as she beseeched the tall SeeD for help that she knew he could not give.

"It's no good, darlin'. I can't cast anything in here!" Irvine wished, for the thousandth time, that he had been conscious when the guards had removed his first aid equipment—maybe he could have hidden something that might have helped Quistis. Although, from the seriousness of the gunshot wound, he doubted—even then—that there would have been anything he could do for their friend.

Zell, like the rest of the SeeDs, had been dispelled back to his old self by their captors. He struck a heavy blow against the bars of their cell. Irvine heard bones crunching as the SeeD's unarmored fist slammed into the solid steel.

"Zell, stop that, you're just going to hurt yourself." More. Irvine growled as he knelt beside Quistis and Selphie. The squad leader's breath was shallow and ragged. Her eyes were closed tightly and her face bore an unhealthy pallor. Despite Selphie's best efforts, dark red blood still oozed from between the small SeeD's fingers, and—Irvine knew—Quistis would be loosing even more of the precious liquid through her internal injuries.

"But we've got to get out!" Zell grunted from between clenched teeth as he—cradling his right fist in his left hand—lashed out against the cell's door with a shod foot.

"Hey! Quiet down in there!" A glowering guard rapped his nightstick on the bars of the cell as he strolled up. "Woa!" He jumped back as Zell made a dive for him, jamming a grasping arm between the bars. Attempting to catch the SeeD's exposed arm, the guard whipped his club around, but Zell managed to pull the appendage back just in time.

"Listen up! You'd better let us outta here—" Zell began.

Irvine quickly cut him off. "Sir, our squad leader is dying. She's not going to make it until the interrogation unless you get her a doctor."

Careful to stay well away from the bars, the guard shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, she'll probably make it." He looked over his shoulder. "'cause it looks like it's about to get started." He turned to address someone out of the SeeDs' lines of sight. As he did so, the guard sank to one knee in a gesture of submission. "M'lady, the four SeeDs you requested are all here." He shot a quick glance into the cell. "One of them appears to be injured, but you should be careful of the others—are you sure you don't want me to get your escort?"

The sorceress Rinoa stepped into full view of the cell's occupants. "Leave us." She dismissed the guard with a wave of her hand.

Trying to kneel even lower, the guard protested nervously. "But m'lady, these SeeDs, they are dangerous—" His mouth snapped shut as the sorceress's eyes flashed in anger. "Y-yes, m'lady." His will twisted by Rinoa's witchcraft, he rose and scurried off.

Rinoa gazed into the cell. She did her best to keep the thin veneer of haughtiness from cracking as she looked over the disheveled SeeDs. How could you? You were my friends… You were his friends! How could you do this to us? Only sorcery kept the tears stinging her eyes hidden from the cell's occupants. Were you all possessed? Were you all lied to? Still… how could you spy on us like that? How could you make preparations to kill your own friends? Rinoa carved new lips from stone and placed them over her own trembling flesh. How I wish we could talk openly. How I wish I could find out why you betrayed us. Maybe—maybe there could be some explanation.

Selphie spoke, breaking the spell between the SeeDs and sorceress. "Rinoa… please… Quistis is dying." Her eyes were pleading. "Can't you do something?"

Quis… how could you stand by and let them kill him? Rinoa's eyes hardened. Shall I stand by now and let you die? Were you with… were you… the shooter—was it you I lashed out at? Rinoa ignored Selphie's question. "What happened?"

Zell's brows knit together. "Rinoa? C'mon man! Quistis needs your help! We can talk about this later!"

Zell… why? Why did you go along with this? Rinoa's voice was flat, emotionless. "What were you doing in Deling?"

Irvine looked up from where he was kneeling. "Rinoa…"

Irvine… Selphie… Rinoa had no words, she had no thoughts. Suddenly, it was too much. These people had been her friends! She had to get out of here! Her heart hardening, she spoke to the SeeDs. "We were once friends. Once, we depended on one another, we protected one another. Until tonight, I thought that was still the way things were." She turned her head away from them. "You have shown me that this is no longer true."

"Rinoa… it's not what it seems—" Irvine began.

"Silence!" Rinoa's voice echoed in the empty corridor. "I don't know why you were in Deling. I don't know why you were in disguise tonight. I don't know why you were armed, and I don't know what you were doing with Seifer, Rajin, and Fujin, and a SeeD sniper." And I don't want to know. "These things have not made me forget the friendship we once had, however. Because of that, you will be released. You will be escorted out of Galbadia and told to never return." Her eyes pierced the SeeDs' souls. "Do not return." With that, Rinoa's composure threatened to break down entirely. Keeping her face averted, she pointed a finger at Quistis's still form. A quiet popping noise accompanied the bright flash that lit the cell. When the SeeDs vision had cleared, Rinoa was gone.

For a second, Selphie thought that Rinoa had not understood the severity of Quistis's injury, the sorceress's magic had missed, or that the anti-magic fields had overwhelmed the her power, but even as she continued to press down on the entry wound, she could hear Quistis's labored breathing easing. A moment later, the blood flowing from between her fingers stopped. Quistis's eyelids twitched.

…

Back to the cold stone wall of the darkened stairway, Rinoa drew in a shuddering breath. She desperately wanted to return to the SeeDs' cell, to erase the façade she had to effect, to tell them everything she knew… and find out why they had come to Deling. But to do that would give away the scant advantage over the person controlling the time-travel machine she and Squall had so carefully preserved over the past weeks.

Sliding down the wall, Rinoa seemed to deflate as she exhaled. Finally slumping into a

sitting position, she hugged her knees to herself and hid her face. She wished Squall were here. He would know what to do. He wouldn't be affected by the fact that nearly everyone he trusted had just attempted to murder him. But Squall was not here. Through the fabric of her dress, Rinoa could feel the tears as they dampened her legs.

She had tried, she had tried as hard as she dared, after that initial burst of power and light, to awaken her knight. The malignant magic had been erased, the bullet destroyed, his wound healed, but still Squall did not awaken.

After receiving the report of the SeeDs' identity and condition, Rinoa had sat in the long, cold limousine for nearly three hours—holding Squall's head in her lap and gently stroking his hair—as the vehicle had idled at the doors to the Galbadian tower prison. When he still evidenced no signs of waking, she had—at last—forced herself to visit the SeeD team, fearing that to wait any longer might result in Quistis's death. She, unlike—it seemed—her friends, could not stand to have any of their blood on her hands.

Like the tiniest ember of a dying fire, the angry thought stuck in the ash of her sorrow. Rinoa waited for the spark to die, but instead, it was fanned into flame by a breeze of memories. How many times had the world tried to take her from her knight? How many fires had they been forced to walk through together, only to have the flames separate them again?

On the left side of the square stairwell, large, uninsulated pipes ran vertically up into the bases of ascending flights of stairs. On one of the pipes, a drop of condensation began to form, sparking dully in the dim lighting. Flecks of rust drifted to the bottom of the droplet as it swelled. At last, the teardrop of the dark underground fell to the pitted and scarred surface of a flight of stairs.

By the time the noise of the dripping water reached Rinoa, she was standing, the anger flowing through her veins like liquid fire. Her eyes reddened but dry, the sorceress's lips were stretched into angry white lines as she hissed the name against which the boiling hatred within her had chosen to focus. "Seifer."

His hard, flat eyes narrowed slightly as the malicious grin forced his cheekbones upward. "Finally get lonely, Sorceress?" Seifer sneered. His words were rewarded with a blazing bolt of Thunderaga that lifted the defenseless former knight and slammed him against the back wall of his cell.

Electricity still crackling from the fingers of her right hand, Rinoa snarled at the cell's crumpled occupant. "Shut up, Seifer. The condemned have no right to speak."

Forcing himself to his knees, supporting his weight with one arm, Seifer looked up at the Sorceress defiantly. "I remember when I did that to Squall once." He bared his teeth. "Tell me; how is he these days?" A second bolt of the lightning magic ripped through his body, and he collapsed to the floor.

Rage had twisted Rinoa's face into an almost unrecognizable mask. "Seifer, I used to abhor killing, but I am beginning to think that I will truly enjoy executing you."

From where he lay, Seifer coughed. "Well, then Squall has taught you well. You'll have to tell him all about it when he wakes up."

The sorceress slowly lowered her hand, the swirling emerald Ultima magic she had been preparing to cast dimming. "How do you know…" Her anger's power faltered, and she could not finish the words.

Levering himself to his feet once more, Seifer regarded the sorceress. "How do I know he's going to wake up?" He forced a laugh. "Because I wish with all my soul that he would not."

Rinoa's jaw tightened. "Nice try, Seifer." She shook her head with a short, vicious jerk. "Nice try, but you can't talk your way out of this one." She snarled. "I know how your feelings for Ultemecia forced you to do the things you did, but this time you've gone to far."

Seifer's gaze locked with Rinoa's and he spoke in a slow, deadly voice. "Make no mistake, Sorceress. My 'feelings' for Ultemecia were love. I loved her as she loved me. You murdered my lover, Rinoa."

"That is in the past. You can't change it, and I won't accept it as an excuse for what you did tonight. How many times did you think you could try to kill us and expect forgiveness, Seifer?" Rinoa hissed back.

To Rinoa's surprise, at these words, Seifer threw back his head and laughed painfully. "You think that it was I that tried to kill you tonight, Sorceress?" He jabbed a finger to his chest. "I saved your life tonight."

Rinoa shook her head again. "You expect me to believe that?"

The former knight's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward. "No." He said. "That's why I held on to this." Reaching into his cloak, Seifer withdrew an envelope stamped with the seal of Balamb Garden. He let it slip from his fingers and fall between the bars of his cell.

For a second, something deep within her soul screamed at Rinoa to incinerate the envelope and its contents with a blast of Firaga magic. Instead, she flicked her wrist, and several papers—still adorned by the broken seal of Balamb Garden—slid from the envelope and flew to her hand. Her eyes slipped to the words scrawled in Cid Kramer's handwriting on the first page.

Seifer Almasy, Knight of the Sorceress Ultemecia,

If you are reading these orders, then events foretold by the Fate have already begun and the time for you to make a final choice is at hand. This choice is yours alone to make. We cannot predict the future, but whether we can change the past remains to be seen.

On papers enclosed within these orders are sections of the genetic coding of the Sorceress Ultemecia discovered by Doctor Odine of Esthar. Two matches of her genetics were found among the millions of people who's DNA the doctor analyzed . Those matches are Squall Leonhart, SeeD of Balamb Garden and Rinoa Heartilly, Sorceress of Timber.

The letter continued, but the paper had already torn in Rinoa's hands. "Lies!" She threw the shredded documents away as if they were on fire. "Lies!"

"No, sorceress. I would give anything to have never seen those documents, but even I cannot say they lie." An unreadable expression settled across Seifer's face. "So you see, Rinoa, it was I who stopped the SeeD sniper. I would have stopped the other rifleman had I been able." He turned away from her. Head bowed to his chest, Seifer hissed through clenched teeth. "I cannot allow any harm to befall the ancestors of my beloved." When he turned back, the corridor was empty.

…

Across the city below, the night was dying. Hours had passed since the interrupted knighting, and the streets had at last quieted. Despite the curfew in effect—martial law had been declared in Deling shortly after the assassination attempt—dark figures still skulked in unlit alleyways, conversing in hushed tones. Conversation ceased and the figures would melt into the shadows whenever a military patrol rumbled by, but once the arm of the Galbadian government had disappeared into the darkness, the whispers would start again. Even in the wee hours of the morning, tension lay over the city like an invisible fog.

From the high roof of the prison tower, Rinoa looked down over the twinkling lights of Deling's downtown district and to the sprawling residential sectors that lay beyond. How many families out there will wake up and breakfast tomorrow with an empty seat at the table? How many parents have lost children to Ultemecia? A chill wind brushed strands of dark hair across her face. How many people out there were drinking alone tonight? How many jokes went untold, how many witty phrases went unsaid? How many people lost friends to Ultemecia? The loose stones on the roof crunched underfoot as Rinoa walked to the edge of the roof. How many people wake up every hour from a wondrous memory, only to find themselves clutching at the pillows in their empty beds? How many poems will go unwritten, songs unsung, rings not given, sweet nothings not muttered, kisses unbestowed? How many people lost lovers to Ultemecia?

The night wind dried the sorceress's tears before they could fall. Is it really all my fault? Am I to blame for everything that has happened? Am I really the root of so much evil? Even as the questions rose to the surface of her mind, Rinoa knew the answer. Yes. I knew… even as we fought her… I knew there was something vaguely wrong—I could never put my finger on it, but now I know the truth. She shivered against the coolness. Is that why the SeeDs were sent to kill me—to kill Squall? The sorceress knew there could be no other explanation. So even for that, I am responsible. Rinoa wrapped her arms around herself, swaying slightly in the breeze. Squall… I'm sorry. I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble, I'm sorry I caused you so much pain. I never meant for any of this to happen. Rinoa took one step toward the edge of the building. Why not? What have I left to live for? The thought rang hollowly in her head. Rinoa's brow furrowed. "Nothing." She whispered, and was surprised at how true the answer was. Squall, you are the only one I have left. My friends have forsaken me. Zone, Watts, what would you say now if you found out that it was I that killed your parents? My family too are all dead—or as good as dead. Rinoa bit her lip. Father… I… I thought I hated you for a while, but I never would have wished anything like this on you. But again, it's my fault that it has happened to you. Rinoa took another step toward the edge. And I can't even be with you, Squall. The one thing that could make me happy—denied me by the terrible future.

It was all beginning to make sense to Rinoa now. How many people could I save with just one step? Just one little step, and the thousands who died in the Lunar Cry could live again. A brief moment of pain—it might not even hurt at all—and Trabia, Galbadia, and Balamb Gardens are all back to normal. She sighed. Squall, Just one short moment, and you're free. No longer bound to me, no longer forced to protect me, no longer in danger from being around me. "I know, if you were here, you'd disagree, Squall, but…" But you're not here. You're in some strange trance that even I can't break, and it's all my fault.

Rinoa was now standing on the lip of the precipice. Before her lay nothing but open air. Squall… I loved you. I wish I could have told you... Rinoa shook her head slightly. But I can't live like this. Once they find out, everyone will hate me. It will be a thousand times worse than when they found out I was a sorceress…

I'm so afraid of that.

Rinoa drew in a breath. "I'm sorry, Squall." The night wind whipped the words from her mouth and scattered them over the uncaring streets of the city. Closing her eyes, Rinoa stepped out into empty air...

…but instead of falling, the sorceress's motion was arrested by the strong pair of arms that wrapped themselves around her waist, pulling her back from the ledge. Her heart in her throat, Rinoa allowed herself to be dragged away from the precipice. Emotions roiling, she felt thankful, elated, frightened, happy, disappointed, and sorrowful at the same time as she tilted her head up, whispering her savior's name. "Squall…"

"No." A shockingly icy voice replied.

Opening her eyes, Rinoa cried out as her gaze met Seifer's iron stare. Rinoa was, by no means, a girl of weak constitution. A childhood spent growing up among the rebel fighters of Timber had seen to that. Nor was she prone to swooning fits, she was—after all—quite possibly the most powerful sorceress in the world. However, the events of the past night—the knighting ceremony, the attempted assassination, the betrayal of her friends, the revelations by her enemies, and her attempted suicide—coupled with the shock of finding herself face-to-face with the man who had tried—on numerous occasions—to kill her, crashed down on Rinoa's consciousness, and she fainted.

Seifer let the sorceress fall, but was careful to prevent her from receiving any serious injury. As he took a step away from the unconscious sorceress, he heard a cry from behind. Seifer only just managed to draw his own weapon in time to block the slashing blue blade.

Squall did not understand what had happened. His memories were still hazy. One moment, he had been about to tell Rinoa something of great importance, the next, he found himself lying in the back of a government limousine parked in front of a tall building. As he had staggered out of the vehicle, aides—seeming to appear from thin air—did their best to give him no useful information. Only after resorting to threats of serious bodily harm, did Squall convince them to point him in the direction of his sorceress.

The elevator ride to the top floor—and the dash up the stairs to the roof—had allowed Squall to build up a proper head of anxiety as he emerged into the breezy darkness.

He heard a familiar voice cry out. Squinting in the direction of Rinoa's shout, he watched in horror as her limp body slumped to the ground before a figure cloaked in dirty white, with fiery crosses adorning his shoulders. Before he knew what he was doing, Squall had covered the distance between Seifer and himself, his gunblade drawn back to strike.

He must have shouted, for at the last moment, Seifer turned and raised his own weapon to block Squall's blow. Even so, the force of the slash had knocked Seifer's block away, leaving him open. With amazing speed, Squall drove his gunblade at Seifer's heart. Again, Seifer managed to divert the attack away from his body, though the effort drove him to the ground. As Seifer rolled away from the enraged knight, he cast Firaga between them.

Squall dove through the flames as if they were made of tissue paper, pressing the attack as Seifer regained his feet. A red haze clouded his vision as he hacked viciously at Seifer. Squall allowed his hatred to consume him—so much better than thinking about what he had just seen.

Seifer felt his grip on the gunblade weakening. Dropping to his knees, he raised the weapon over his head to block the blazing blue blade as Squall tried to split Seifer's skull. Though he held on with both hands, the force of the knight's blow nearly struck the weapon from his grasp. Sparks of molten metal—struck from Seifer's blade—scorched his upturned face and burned tiny holes in the shoulders of his cloak. Squall pivoted on his left foot, whirling his gunblade across his chest and ramming it at Seifer's kneeling form from under his right arm even as he turned his back on the former knight. It was all Seifer could do to drive the point of his own weapon into the ground, and hold on tightly as his blade deflected the blow.

Squall pulled the Lionheart back. In the brief respite granted him, Seifer stood after being driven to the ground a third time, and brought Hyperion up into a defensive position, even as his numbed hands slipped on the gunblade's handle. A split-second later, his arms were jerked skyward as Squall swung his weapon up from his lower right side—attempting to slash Seifer from left hip to right shoulder.

Hyperion was struck spinning from Seifer's hands as he fell away from the killing blow, the tip of the Lionheart whisking through his shirt. Seifer landed on his back, sliding on the loose gravel. Even as he raised his head, he saw Squall's blue blade poised to drive into his heart. At last.

"Squall!" The tip of the weapon wavered at the cry. "Stop!"

And suddenly, the knight was gone, Seifer was left lying on his back, facing the empty night sky. A moment later, he had retrieved his fallen blade. Limping from a twisted knee, sprained wrists tucked under his arms, he fled the rooftop.

She had almost let Seifer die. She had almost stood by and allowed her knight's blade to pierce his heart, almost let Squall have his revenge, almost let Seifer's secret die with him. But she could not. And the secret would not die—would not be forgotten—no matter how much she wished it could be.

He was running toward her. Then he was gathering her up in his arms, his face pressing into her hair, his words in her ear. "Rinoa… thank god… Rinoa…" She closed her eyes almost as tightly as he held her. "I thought Seifer had…" And he was trailing off. His eyes confused, he was receding from her, held in space, held in place by the invisible wall of her power. A strand of her dark hair still clinging to his cheek, his lips formed a silent question.

From within the ripples of the porthole, Rinoa's eyes opened. "I'm sorry, Squall. I'm so, so sorry."

One last cry. "Wait!" The rift in space closed over Squall's outstretched hand. For the briefest instant, he thought he felt the brush of his sorceress's lips on his fingers, then the force holding him disappeared, and he collapsed to the ground. One hand cradled near his heart—trying to hold onto the last sensation of his sorceress—Squall lay curled on the sharp gravel… Why?

Chapter 7