All For One OLD

by Luna Manar

Facing oneself is not always easy, and sometimes the purest love takes on the form of our darkest nightmares. UNFINISHED

4. All Fall Down

IV

All Fall Down

--

"See yourself in shadow, love
With the darkness in your eyes
Promises can lose their worth
But The Promise never dies…"

--

For the next few days, it was Squall who felt like the child, taking in his surroundings, trying to acclimatize himself to his new life.

All things considered, the Garden looked fairly normal. Aside from a few alternative paint jobs and some hastily-caulked minor structural damage (sustained, Rinoa had explained, in a recent siege by Ultimecia's forces), there was very little to differentiate between this Garden and the one Squall knew. The daytime hallways were as busy as ever, although the overall noise level was lower than he remembered, and there was an underlying uneasiness hanging in the air that was difficult to ignore. It may have been a commonplace aura, Squall thought, which wouldn't be surprising considering this Garden had existed the past two years in a world still held in thrall by Ultimecia's ruthless presence.

But I don't think so…

Squall leaned idly against the railing of the main dome's outer ring, silently observing SeeDs, students, and instructors that passed on whatever duties commanded their schedules. It was strange, not knowing the purpose and calendar of each and every SeeD that walked by; that curious feeling was soured by the fact Squall had no means of finding out. So used to being kept up-to-date on Balamb Garden's every breath and heartbeat, the former commander was now helpless and inept, a ghost wandering the halls of a shadow he once called home, every second spent trying desperately to understand what it was that had brought him here, and, even more desperately, what he was going to do now that he was here. Each and every Garden denizen passed him without blinking, completely unaware they were being watched. Squall was at once thankful he could observe his surroundings uninterrupted and frustrated he could not interact with them.

The night had ended sooner than he had expected, and much sooner than he had hoped for. He had kept Rinoa up for the better part of the early morning, leaving precious few hours for him to spend watching over Simone. He seemed to recall drifting off into a sort of trance during that time—he'd be hard-pressed to call it "sleep"—though it may have been his thoughts had simply run away with him and he'd lost track of the time. Rinoa had freed him from his reverie when she'd come to take Simone to breakfast. Startled into awareness, Squall had felt fuzzy-minded and groggy, as if he'd been jostled awake from a deep slumber.

His face twitched the beginnings of a wry smirk, but he stifled the inclination, finding nothing amusing about the onslaught of memories and observations. As a child, he'd once wondered if ghosts could sleep (that is, back when he was young and naïve enough to believe in ghosts and other such ridiculous superstitions). He supposed now, he had an answer. Perhaps there was some truth to the saying, "ignorance is bliss."

Maybe I can sleep…but how can I ever rest…? He shook his head and straightened, restless and bored of people-watching. Stepping out into the flow of foot traffic, he picked a random person to tail, settling for a young male student with a head of curly blonde hair that stood out clearly enough for Squall could easily keep track of it with his peripheral vision. Thus, he could spend his mental energy on staring off at nothing in particular and not lose his lead.

His thoughts turned back to Rinoa and Simone. After a dose of sleep, Rinoa had been more approachable, and made no objection when Squall followed them to the cafeteria. They had exchanged few thoughts, Rinoa explaining briefly her schedule for the day—such as it was. From what Squall had caught, her agenda consisted mainly of trying to deal with the cloud, debating a course of action with the ranking SeeD and the headmaster, two strangers to Squall whose names escaped him at the moment; Rinoa had stopped talking to him when it became clear he was not listening. He had been too preoccupied with watching Simone struggle to eat her waffles without dribbling syrup down the front of her shirt (apparently her surprising grace with words did not translate into similar grace at the table).

Everything the little girl did was magic. Always, she seemed to be trying to figure out the world and people around her. She asked questions of her mother constantly, but she was different from other children her age in that she did not scream or squeal for the sheer joy of it. Rather, she observed the world around her with a piercing, calculating gaze and spoke only when she had a question or an opinion to voice (which was quite often). She seemed to manipulate and analyze every new sight with her stare. Her eyes, black and deep as her mother's, had looked in Squall's direction several times, but never lingered. At first, he had been disappointed, but then had become thankful that Simone could not see him. What if her mental image of him was different from reality? He could not bear the thought that she might see him and not recognize him. Better, he decided, for her to see him however she wished, and he remain invisible to all but her mind's eye. That way, there would be no disillusions. He could watch her, she would believe in him, and both would be content with their mutual understanding of each other.

He had decided not to accompany them to the preschool area where Simone was to be dropped off, lest he spend all day enraptured by the child. Even that brief goodbye had been heart-wrenching. When Squall had first heard of Simone's existence, he had not wanted to believe it. Now he did not want to leave her side. He reconsidered his initial fear at the notion of being a father. At the time, he had believed he was afraid because he did not know how to be a father—and that was true, at least in part—but in hindsight, he realized what he had feared the most was not inability, but inevitability.

What he had feared is exactly what had happened the moment he'd laid eyes on Simone. For the second time in his life, he'd fallen in love. Simone's entrance into this "dream" had changed everything. He no more wanted to leave her behind than he did to abandon his memories.

But, he thought with a wince as he followed the student onto the central elevator, what about Rinoa? What about the life they'd had together? What about his friends, which had gone conveniently missing in this reality? What about SeeD? What about the world? He could not ignore the complete and utter wrong-ness of this version of history. He could not ignore the fact his memories were completely different from everything he understood about this place. His separation from Rinoa was as out of place as the all-encompassing cloud.

There was another oddity, as well, one Squall planned on asking Rinoa about the next time he saw her. He'd noticed it only an hour ago, after he'd taken a short wander into the training area to appraise any changes that might have been made there. It had always been a matter of habit to keep mental tabs on all of his Guardian Forces when he entered a potentially dangerous environment. Dead though he was, the reflex still held true. But when he'd sent out his mental "Marco," this time, he'd failed to receive his Guardians' customary "Polo."  The simple absence of his Guardians' presence had unnerved him. He'd arrived at the conclusion that there were three possible explanations for the lack of response: that Guardian Forces' junctions did not extend beyond the death of their charges; that the Guardian Forces could not answer because of something the cloud was doing; or that the Guardians would not answer for some other reason.

Squall was still lost in his musings when the boy he was following exited the elevator. Too late, he moved to follow, only to have the door slap shut in his face. Unwilling to test whether he could pass through the doors (and not wanting to know what a fall from a rising elevator would be like, dead or otherwise), he swore under his breath, as if anyone with him in the narrow room could hear to be offended. He folded his arms in silent resignation as the lift shot skyward. Out of spite, he mockingly stepped out of the way once the doors opened at the top floor.

His eyes widened as the last of two occupants exited and a single new passenger boarded the elevator. The face was the first Squall recognized since he'd found himself in this alien Garden. It was Nida.

A momentary hope that, being one of the few consistencies between the two worlds, the Garden's navigator might be able to see him, died instantly as Nida stepped onto the lift and, not giving Squall a glance, turned to choose his floor. Squall noted with curiosity that they were headed to the basement level. Strange, considering Nida was the Garden's full-time navigator and rarely had any reason to have business in the administrative floor of the campus. That was of course assuming Nida had the same duty as chief helmsman in this reality. But Squall saw no reason to believe otherwise. His interest piqued, he decided to follow. Not that he had much choice in the matter, anyhow.

They stepped out of the elevator, and into the midst of an escalating argument.

Nida stood at the top of the stairway leading down, a stop so abrupt that Squall almost walked through him. The helmsman stood characteristically rigid, but with a cold silence that Squall found unusual. He frowned. Why was everyone he recognized in this reality acting so differently? History seemed to indicate he had been a very different person from who he was now. Even Rinoa acted strange…

It was Rinoa who was currently chewing out a SeeD who must have been twice her size and weight, and perhaps five or more years her senior. Seemingly oblivious of these facts, she scolded him as though he were nothing more than an insubordinate toddler.

"How many times do I have to say this?! Everyone in the Garden is frightened, and it's beginning to show. Have you taken a walk lately? The tension is breathable, all over the place. You can't keep pushing everyone like this. It's driving them all into hysterics!"

Including you. Squall stood silently on the top stair as he watched and listened. This was sounding very much like a dozen such lectures of the type he had received routinely from Rinoa in the past. The expression on the berated SeeD's face was beginning to resemble that of a smashed Jack-O-lantern.

Amused, Squall leaned his weight onto one foot and stood slightly crooked, settled to observe.

"Sorceress," returned the embattled SeeD in a tone so laced with condescension, Squall germinated an instant dislike for him, "these people are SeeDs. They may seem like everyday people to you, but they are also soldiers. I assure you, you underestimate their capacity for excellence under adversity."

Hands on her hips, elbows akimbo, Rinoa leaned forward a little, her face screwed up in a disdainful sneer. She cut off the ranking SeeD's next words with a few of her own. "Don't give me that crap. They may seem like everyday soldiers to you," she snapped, imitating the commander's surly tone, "but they're also people."

"Be that as it may, it is not your job to dictate to me how to run this Garden."

"I've lived here longer than you have, and I know most of these people better than you ever will. If you'd at least listen—"

"Um, excuse me."

Both paused their mini-war to turn twin scowls at he who had so dared to interrupt their verbal bloodbath. Nida now stood in the line of fire, and held up his hands in subordinate entreaty before anyone could accuse him of butting in. "I was told there was a conference down here I was supposed to attend, in—" He checked his watch. "Four minutes. Do I need to be somewhere else, or is this the pre-show entertainment?" Throughout, Nida somehow kept his polite undertone, and it may have been this fact alone that prevented him from suffering the retribution of either his superior officer or Rinoa.

Smiling in false humor, the ranking SeeD bowed and indicated the path to the headmaster's office with a flourish of his hand. "This is the place." Straightening his stance and smoothing his neat black hair, he cast a sideways leer at Rinoa, intoned in a voice laden with sarcasm, "After you, Peacekeeper."

Fuming, Rinoa stuck her tongue out and refused to move. "Be my guest."

The tall SeeD shrugged and went on his way, stepping nonchalantly as though on an afternoon stroll.

Squall felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. He definitely didn't like this man.

Silently, he stole after the trio as they made their way into the massive room Garden Master NORG had once called home.

With any luck, the huge Shumi loan shark was just as nonexistent in this reality as everyone else he used to know.

*

As it turned out, luck was on his side, at least in the matter of NORG. There was no sign of the Shumi or his enclosure. This was minor consolation, and Squall hardly thought about it; he was more concerned with the SeeD Rinoa had called Commander. The was something about the man that made Squall feel like squirming in place. It wasn't anger that he felt, exactly, despite the Commander's arrogant, almost chauvinistic attitude. The closest word Squall could think of to describe the emotion was disapproval. He now watched the commander from the massive doorway, his eyes narrowed and suspicious.

The "headmaster's" chamber was as vast as Cid's, although Squall's memory had failed him in identifying it as the headmaster's room. In this world, the headmaster was no longer a high office in Garden—a fact Rinoa must have explained at some point, but Squall couldn't remember her speaking of it. Instead, the title of Garden Master had been reinstated, and someone else appointed to the task of orchestrating the Garden's greater functions. Squall wondered if Cid was still alive here, indeed, if the portly man had even existed. But Garden had been Cid Kramer's brainchild. If not his in this reality, then whose?

Rinoa, the commander, and Nida stood before a huge desk, behind which stood a well-built woman who was probably nearing thirty. At first glance, Squall thought she resembled Edea, but after staring at her for a few minutes he realized the similarities were superficial. Her sleek, ebony hair was long, but not incredibly so, and her frame was not nearly so slender as Squall's Matron. Where Edea was slim and graceful, this woman—presumably the Garden Master—was lithe and powerful. Squall had no doubt she had been a SeeD, or at least a soldier of some variety, in the past. Her eyes were an intense hazel, almost amber. Clad in an official-looking uniform graced with Garden's emblem, she towered above Rinoa, looked Nida straight in the eyes, and was topped only by the commander's impressive height.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," she said in a strong alto as commanding as her gaze. "I know you all have things to do, but I need your input. The reports of strange dreams have tripled today, and only so far. The incidents are no longer a matter of a scattered few. At this time, I'm also considering that the dreams may be a threat to the Garden, or more specifically, the sanity of its inhabitants. The students and SeeDs that have come to me describe not so much dreams as visions, experiences that seem so real it is difficult to call them simple figments of the imagination. Some people have even told me they question the legitimacy of the living world that we now stand in…those few I have had relieved of duty as a safety precaution." She said the last as if it were a mere afterthought. "What I need to know is what you three feel might be the fastest means of escaping this mist. To determine that, I will ask each of you a some questions and you must answer them completely. Is that understood?"

The three nodded readily. Squall folded his arms. Apparently the Garden Master's approach to decision-making was well-established. Different from Cid's strictly democratic methodology, he noted, but still effective.

The Garden Master proceeded with her questions without hesitation. "Nida. Has there been any progress in determining what is causing the Garden's navigational systems to malfunction?"

Nida shook his head. "No, sir. As far as we can tell, the Garden isn't moving because there isn't anything for it to move in. The propulsion ring needs a solid or liquid surface area to push or pull along. If we're to believe the readouts, there just isn't any. We're sitting on top of a bubble of thin air. It doesn't make any sense, but we can't come up with anything better. Wherever we are, it's not on land or sea."

The Garden Master nodded. "Have you seen any openings in the cloud? Any at all, no matter how small."

Again, Nida shook his head no.

The woman turned to the next person. "Rinoa. Have you been able to determine if the cloud is magical or created through some other sorcery?"

Rinoa folded her hands behind her back thoughtfully. "No…I can't tell you what it is, but I can tell you what it isn't."

The Garden Master nodded for her to continue.

"It isn't magical…and it isn't something Ultimecia created, unless she used a machine to do it for her. In fact, it doesn't feel like anything man-made to me…it's too chaotic for that. As far as I can tell, the cloud is completely natural. No one made it. It just formed somehow."

"Any other insights as to its nature?"

"No…" Looking increasingly uncomfortable, Rinoa bowed her head and stared at the floor. "Not unless you call seeing ghosts an insight."

Squall tensed.

"Ghosts?" The Garden Master frowned, a suspicious glint in her eyes. "Explain."

Shuffling her feet, Rinoa glanced behind her at the wall, as though seeking an escape route. But it was too late for her to hold back now. "Last night…I had a conversation with…someone…in my room." She closed her eyes, blushing faintly.

The Garden Master's eyes narrowed. "Squall?"

Rinoa nodded, slowly.

The Garden Master sighed and sat down in her chair. Leaning back, she regarded Rinoa with an air of frustrated sympathy. "Is this the first you've heard of him recently, Rinoa?" Again, Rinoa nodded. The tall woman's eyes wandered to the side for a moment, and she sat silently, pondering. The chamber was deathly quiet. No one seemed willing to dare infringe on the Garden Master's musings. Finally the woman spoke again, but her voice was carefully tempered, apparently aware she was treading on a very sensitive issue. "Is he here with you now, Rinoa?"

Nida stepped forward suddenly. "Sorceress Rinoa, you were talking about how stressed out everyone is. If there's anyone who's overextended here, it's you. You said yourself you haven't slept well…"

            The Garden Master made a slicing motion with her hand, and Nida fell silent. To Rinoa, she repeated, "Rinoa, do you see Squall in the room?"

            Very slowly, as if afraid of what she might find, Rinoa looked up and searched the room. Inevitably, her eyes fixed on Squall's position in the doorway, and for a moment they locked gazes. Squall stared back impassively. He already knew what Rinoa was going to say. He could read it in her expression, the apology in her eyes. He nodded ever so slightly, not exactly giving permission, but simply acknowledging he understood what she intended. The next instant, Rinoa looked elsewhere, pretending to scour the rest of the chamber, and finally looked back at the Garden Master. Careful to meet the woman eye-to-eye, she answered, "No."

            Without further discussion on the subject, the Garden Master turned her attention to the tall SeeD. "Commander Dane. What is your assessment of the situation?"

            Commander Dane, who had not batted an eye throughout the entire spectacle, now blinked calmly and answered readily, as if he'd rehearsed his dialogue beforehand. "Garden Master, my soldiers are at their wits' end." This earned him an incredulous gaze from Rinoa. Dane ignored her stare. "They are not used to working so hard with so few results. The mist is unnerving us all, and this continued idleness is getting us nowhere. I suggest action, sir, soon. Scientific study is all fine, but there comes a time when brute force may be the most effective method by which to solve a problem."

            The Garden Master, having listened intently, took a moment to digest his opinion, then prompted. "Do you have anything specific in mind?"

            Commander Dane smiled. "Frankly, I think this cloud is in our way, Garden Master. I suggest—specifically—that we pulverize the bloody thing."

            Despite the tension, Squall almost laughed. Would that it were so simple, he would have given the same suggestion to Cid days ago! But unless this Garden had some form of weapon capable of burning away a cloud this size at its disposal, he didn't see how that course of action was possible.

            Then again, this Balamb Garden was one from a world at war with Ultimecia.

            The Garden Master sat up suddenly. "Agreed. Prepare the burn cannons. But…I don't want to instill false hope in the officers. Do not call battle stations. Don't call attention to what we're about to do. I know it is a bit unorthodox, but I think it best."

            Commander Dane nodded his acknowledgment. "Sir." He cast a sideways glance at Rinoa. "What about you?" he asked suddenly, in stark contrast with his usual formality. "Will you help?"

            All eyes turned on The Sorceress.

            Rinoa glanced at each pair of eyes, and for the first time since his conversation with her last night, Squall saw her shiver a little. "A-all right," she answered finally, then stilled her shaking and stood straighter, nodding resolutely. "I'll help out."

            The Garden Master appeared pleased. "Good. You are dismissed. Get to it."

            As the three turned and moved back toward the doorway, Squall stood to the side and waited for Rinoa, trailing behind the other two, to reach him. When she did, he fell in step with her, walked beside her silently, concerned. He had many questions, but decided they could wait until later.

            She glanced at him surreptitiously as they filed into the elevator. The distress in her eyes was clear enough; Squall's frown deepened when he felt a trickle of intense sadness leak from behind the emotional wall she had erected between them last night. Finally unable to stand the tension any longer, he prompted her, not unkindly, "Are you gonna tell me what that was about?" He didn't bother thinking the words to her; not as if anyone could hear him, anyhow.

            Rinoa shot him a brief, accusing glare. Why did you follow me?

            "I didn't. I followed Nida."

            Her excuse for changing the subject foiled, Rinoa looked away and stared at the wall of the elevator. Please…don't make me explain it…I'm sorry, Squall. I couldn't tell her you were there. She'd confine me to my room if I told her that. She thinks you're a hallucination…most people do.

            Taking this in, Squall studied the back of Rinoa's head. He couldn't help noticing her hair was a little disheveled, as if she'd rushed brushing it that morning. The caramel stripes along the sides of her head seemed duller than usual, and the ebony strands, normally sleek and smooth-looking, were lackluster and missing their usual shine. Squall resisted the impulse to reach out and stroke the black tresses. He worried for Rinoa's health. But he refrained from questioning her further and answered gently. "What do you believe?"

            What? This got her to look at him again.

            "Do you think I'm a hallucination?"

            Rinoa seemed shocked by the question. Her eyes darted around the elevator, making sure no one was watching her. Of course I don't, she answered finally, firmly. But it's hard…when no one believes me.

            Closing his eyes, Squall willed himself not to be angry with everyone who had ever questioned his existence to Rinoa. He knew they had no proof other than her word, and it was human nature to question the existence of things they could not see. Had he been on the other side of the argument, he probably would have been just as skeptical. After all, he didn't believe in ghosts, either. But this is different…

            In that respect, he realized that his dogged disbelief in disembodied spirits conflicted with one of his other beliefs: that there were exceptions to every generalization.

            Not to mention it was difficult not to feel a bit of resentment at having his opinions and very existence conveniently denied simply because he was dead. He made a mental note never to do the same to anyone he knew. Even if they think you're seeing things, so what? It's your mind. You can believe what you want to.

            Though he hadn't directed the thoughts specifically at Rinoa, she picked up on them and replied tartly, Ultimecia hallucinates, too.

            Squall had nothing to say to that.

            The Elevator reached the top floor in the span of a few seconds, the same as the length of Squall and Rinoa's conversation. Rinoa, having been the last person in, was the first out, and led the three-man (and one ghost) procession to the lift that would carry them up one more level to the bridge.

            "What are burn cannons?" Squall asked suddenly.

            An energy weapon. Rinoa didn't look at him as she stepped onto the lift and waited for the others. There are four of them. They're very powerful…they can blast the tops off mountains. I don't know how they work.

            "Sounds impressive." He saw Commander Dane give Rinoa what could only be called a worried look as he and Nida boarded the lift, and this distracted him from posing any further questions. He spent the entire lift ride glaring at Dane, who continued to steal brief glances at the sorceress…

            …My sorceress, Squall caught himself thinking, and he wasn't ashamed of the sudden possessiveness that suddenly overcame him. That's what it was, he realized suddenly. This Commander Dane held more in his eyes than professional respect for Rinoa. Squall sensed the man's interest. Gritting his teeth to suppress the growl rising in his throat, Squall barely checked himself. His invisible eyes burned murderously. He kept his next thought carefully muted so Rinoa wouldn't hear. Keep your hands off her, asshole. His fists balled tightly at his sides, hatred for the man swelling in his gut. Much as he was inclined to simply push the arrogant son of a bitch off the edge of the rising platform, Squall knew he had not the ability. If that moron touches her, though…he'll regret it, he vowed, not knowing or caring how he could back up his threat. He'll see how imaginary I am.

            Unable to fight back a quiet snarl, Squall folded his arms and continued to scowl until the lift reached the bridge.

            Nida seemed anxious to get back to his post. He quickly relieved his stand-in and took up a position of readiness, waiting for his commander's orders.

            Squall stood moodily off to the side, skulking, ignoring Rinoa's concerned looks. He stared daggers at Commander Dane as the ranking SeeD began to spout orders.

            "Tactical, bring the burn cannons online. But no one announce this on the intercom…we've orders to keep this quiet in case it doesn't work." The small bridge crew saluted their acknowledgment and hurried to carry out his mandate.

            Squall was unaware of the SeeDs scrambling about the bridge, did not even flinch when one passed through him to get to a control panel. They were of no consequence to him. He paid no attention even to Rinoa, who was now watching him anxiously as Dane went about directing his officers. It was Dane who drew the ghost's attention, and Squall's mental efforts to muffle his hatred were made irrelevant by the look in his eyes. Only when he finally noticed Rinoa staring worriedly at him did he force himself to look away and pretend nothing was bothering him. He turned his eyes on Nida. Strangely, Rinoa made no attempt to question him, verbally or otherwise, about his foul mood.

Just as well, he decided. If Rinoa was unaware of Dane's wandering eyes, that suited Squall just fine.

*

            Balamb Garden turned slowly in the grey void, gradually pivoting to port. It turned until it faced the lightest side of the mist, engines humming steadily as it worked to maneuver in a world without substance. It came to rest with its nose facing the pale aura of the sun, its silvery, battle-scarred hull reflecting a weak azure glow in the sickly light. Then the engines quieted. Every light in the steel citadel dimmed or died completely. For a moment, all in the cloud was complete silence, save for the soft, siren-esque song of the Garden's propulsion halo.

            Almost as silently, large bay doors opened on the extreme port and starboard wings. One similar bay opened on the forward ventral area, and still another sprouted atop the sloping prow. From a distance, it would have appeared rather as though the Garden was about to deploy troops or smaller vehicles. Any questions a spectator might have had about the purpose of the doors, however, was answered when the occupants of the bays finally showed their faces.

            Branched, triple-pronged extensions resembling nothing so much as giant microwave antennae sprouted like deadly lilies from the bays. Translucent, they appeared almost crystalline, an impression that was augmented as they powered on, humming and resonating, striking a minor chord that rose in haunting, disharmonious accompaniment with the Garden's ever-turning propulsion ring.

            The rest of the Garden darkened and the crystal chorus raised every voice, a keening crescendo, as all available power was poured into the huge mechanisms. The air crackled and the Garden appeared to shimmer as the building charge reached a climatic peak. With a final growl of execution, the weapons fired simultaneously.

            Parallel streams of pulsing, intensely blue energy ripped through the mist. They arrowed across the colorless expanse, blindingly brilliant in contrast. The chorus rose to a howling, undulating shriek, as the lament of millions of disembodied spirits—every voice in heaven or every scream in hell.

            As though in defiance of the light, the clouds grew darker. All around the Garden, which now gleamed impossibly as if bathed in holy light, the mist began to coil and boil. A deep sound, like that of an approaching storm, began to rise, poisoning the Garden's resonant litany. The growl strengthened to a roar, one that competed with the crystalline song for supremacy. The world grew blacker and blacker, denying the touch of the sun, until Balamb Garden was the sole beacon of light and hope within the thundering darkness.

*

            Everyone on the bridge—likely everyone in Garden—watched in awe as the grey void twisted and writhed in apparent agony. Then the sky went black and it seemed that a starless universe had swallowed the Garden whole.

            Squall stared in fascination at the incredible weapons called burn cannons. The term was, in his opinion, an injustice. Had it been up to him, he would have named them something more befitting their raw strength. He had not seen such a display of power since Bahamut had fought Griever.

            A deafening roar that seemed to come from all around caused the floor of the bridge to vibrate menacingly. Seconds later, the Garden shook violently, as though it had collided with something. Even as a ghost, Squall had to fight to keep his footing.

            Commander Dane stumbled to Nida's side and bellowed over the din. "What's happening?"

            Nida was straining against the Garden's rudder. He could barely spare the breath to answer. "I don't know! Something is pulling us sideways!"

            "It's magnetic!" The tactical officer supplied. "Everything metal on the right side of the Garden is being attracted toward it!"

            "There goes all the forks in the mess hall," Nida commented sourly. "I fear for the cafeteria ladies."

            Dane appeared to be trying to fight off panic; the attitude warnings began to blare as the Garden tilted further sideways. "Are the burn cannons causing it?"

            "I don't think so," said the tactical SeeD. "It happened when everything went black."

            Squall's mind raced as he took in the conversation and he let his eyes flit over the navigation systems. They were mostly identical to the ones in the Garden he knew…

            "Commander! If we don't do something now, we're gonna capsize!"

            Squall had to climb the listing floor to get to where Rinoa crouched clutching the railing near the lift. She stared at him as he leaned near her. The engines! He urged her. She blinked at him in confusion. Snarling, he explained hurriedly. The engines keep the Garden off the ground by making a repulsive magnetic field between themselves and the surface. Mess up the balance in the port engine, and it'll work backwards and pull us to the left! Go on, tell them to do it!

            She shook her head. I don't understand.

            You don't have to! Just trust me!

            Fighting to keep her balance, Rinoa pulled herself to the front of the bridge, stopping by the engineer. She stared at the woman helplessly for a few seconds, as though she'd forgotten what to do.

            Hurry, Squall urged. Tell her to reverse the polarity of the port engine. You don't have to understand what it means, but she will!

            "Ary!" Rinoa could barely make her voice carry over the roaring and shrieking of the clouds and burn cannons. She had to punch the SeeD on the arm to get her attention.

Startled, Ary turned and beamed, wide-eyed, at Rinoa. "Sorceress?!"

"Switch the polarity on the port engine!" Rinoa screamed, having no idea what she was saying, and praying it made sense to Ary.

The red-haired engineer's eyebrows raised in surprise, but then she seemed to understand the logic of the command and hurried to do as she was told. The Garden was almost on its side.

Instantly, the Garden shuddered, and a whine, like an engine straining, joined the cacophony. The floor stopped tilting, holding its place in a nearly vertical position. The bridge crew was hanging on to anything that would keep them from falling off the platform. With agonizing sluggishness, the Garden began to right itself.

Outside, the war of sound, light and darkness continued.

"All sections," Nida ordered reflexively over the intercom, "report to battle stations." The helmsman saw no reason to keep the Garden in the dark—forgiving the expression—about any possible danger. No one protested his judgement.

When he was finally able to stand without hanging onto the back of tactical's chair, Dane edged over to Rinoa and Ary. "What's going on?"

"I've altered the balance of the port engine," Ary replied readily. "With the polarity reversed, it's pulling that side of the Garden down instead of pushing it up. We're fighting the other pull, sir, but it's working."

Dane nodded, obviously relieved. "Good work."

"I wish I could take credit for it," Ary nodded to Rinoa. "It was The Sorceress' idea."

At this, Dane seemed shocked. "Is that so? Since when did you start studying Garden mechanics, Sorceress Rinoa?"

Shaken, Rinoa shook her head numbly. "I didn't. It…wasn't me…"

"What are you talking about?" Ary blinked. "I heard what you said—"

"I said it," Rinoa snapped, her patience as frayed as her wits, "but I didn't think of it…he…"

"He who?"

"Squall!" Frustrated, having tried to avoid telling them the truth but finally giving into the fact she could not do so without outright lying, Rinoa balled her fists stubbornly at her sides.

The tactical officer snorted. "Oh, perfect, she's doing it again. What, so now we're taking advice from the Cowardly Lion's specter?"

For a moment, no one on the bridge said anything. Everyone except Rinoa turned to stare at the tactical SeeD, who flushed, seeming to realize he'd made a grave mistake. The only sounds were the wail of the straining engines and the chaos outside.

Finally, Rinoa trained a black, razor-sharp stare on the tactical officer. At first, her lips moved, but any sound she may have made was lost in the ambiance. Then she spoke again, slowly, but her words were heard only by the tactical officer. The SeeD's eyes widened as he realized he was hearing her voice in his mind.

You…don't…ever…call him that.

            Meekly, the officer cowered in his seat. "Yes, Sorceress—" Then, catching himself, "I mean, no, Sorceress!" He looked ready to crumble where he sat.

            "Commander, look!"

            Nida's exclamation jarred them from the brief drama scene. All eyes turned to follow Nida's gaze.

            Far ahead, where the four burn cannon beams converged on an invisible horizon, was a crack in the blackness.

            At least, for all anyone on the bridge could tell, that's exactly what it was. Jagged fingers of sparkling blue splayed out in a small web from what could only be the edge of the cloud. The fracture seemed to originate where the beams impacted.

            Then, before their eyes, it began to close.

            "Tactical—" Commander Dane barked, but the officer interrupted him.

            "That's it, sir. That's all the power she's putting out. I can't do any better than this!"

            Silent for a few long heartbeats, Dane suddenly turned to Rinoa. He said nothing, but his eyes asked his question for him.

            What is it, Squall demanded, scowling. What does that…what does he want?

            Never looking away from Dane, Rinoa closed her eyes and nodded. Squall, please, don't interfere.

            Wait! What—

            She turned and stared at him fiercely. You asked me to trust you and I did. Now you've got to trust me.

            Squall shut his mouth, and his mind.

            Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Rinoa stepped to the middle of the bridge and faced forward. Dane moved out of her way. The rest watched her, but did not abandon their posts. The Sorceress glanced at each of them, her expression forceful. Squall felt she wanted no one—not him or anyone else—to come near her or say anything to her. It was clear everyone present was more than willing to allow her that respect. She tilted her head up a little and stared off into the darkness. One after the other, she folded her arms across her chest in the familiar X Squall knew indicated she was preparing to use some greater aspect of her sorceress abilities.

            He shivered and his legs almost buckled. Rinoa bowed her head and ethereal wings burst forth from her back.

            Squall was used to the sensation, and weathered it reasonably well; even when Rinoa didn't use him to fuel her sorcery—which, most of the time, she did not—he could feel the flow of power when she did something substantial enough to unfurl the normally invisible wings. His heart leaped at the thought he would, once again, be the witness of her magic. If there was any power that brought him to his knees, it was this; not because it impressed him, but because he knew her power. He knew Rinoa. An act such as this was a potent reminder of what they were together, what only he could know about her, the things about him that only she could see. Watching Rinoa now, he saw not the power of her magic. It meant nothing. She was the only thing he saw.

Alive or dead, he thought as he watched her spread her wings to full span, he was hers, and nothing could take that fact away from him. Not even the darkest of nightmares.

            As Rinoa spread her arms to the blackened sky, everyone in the room bowed their heads. For most, it was because her wings were glowing so brightly it was painful to look at them. For Squall, it was out of reverence.

            The song of the burn cannons rose above the roar of the void, and the light coming from the sorceress and from the cannon's beams became too intense for anyone to keep their eyes open. The Garden shook again, but this time it was more from the backwash of power than anything else. Dane and the rest of the SeeDs hid their faces in their arms. Squall dropped to a crouch, weak from the thrilling sensation of Rinoa's magic. There was not much she could do to shield him from this, even if she had the concentration available to try. He was too close to her, their bond too strong for such a power play to not draw him in.

            Over time, Squall regained his senses, and though the sensation was still rich, he took strength in it instead of letting himself being overwhelmed by it. Steadily, slowly, he stood up. He watched, Rinoa's power coursing through him and around him. Giving her a wide berth, he walked to stand in front of her that he might see her face.

            She was the image of an angel. Her head tilted back to the heavens, her eyes were closed. She saw only the magic now. Her wings spread as wide as they could, shimmering and glittering white. As Squall looked on, she began to rise off the floor, just a few inches, and it seemed that wind wafted through her feathers, though Squall could not feel it, nor did he see any other evidence of a breeze. She was so beautiful…terrible, wonderful beauty.

            A blue glow behind him interrupted his train of thought enough to make him glance out the window. He did a double-take and froze. What he saw astonished him.

            The burn cannons' output had quadrupled; the beams were now so wide they blended with each other, to become one massive battering ram of pure power. The glare of the weapons was so great, Squall could not see most of the blackness before him anymore. What he could see of it on the fading edges of the cannons—supercharged by Rinoa's magic—made him stare blankly, lips barely parted in an expression as close to awe as could ever be seen on Squall's face.

            The blackness was cracking and falling apart before his eyes, as if the Garden was pecking its way out of a massive eggshell. Beyond that…

The song of the burn cannons ceased abruptly. Blood red light suddenly flooded the bridge as the ceiling of the dark world around them shattered. At first Squall thought they would all be wiped out in some sort of cataclysmic explosion. A moment later, he realized the light was coming from—

            "They sky! There's the sky!"

            The voice was Ary's. Cheers erupted from the bridge crew. Squall almost forgot the fact that the breaking of the cloud meant escape from its nightmarish powers. He was too busy wondering how the world—the real world—could ever possibly sport such a hellish horizon.

            The sky…what happened to it?

            A heavy thud brought his thoughts back to his immediate surroundings. Rinoa had collapsed in front of him, wings vanished, her strength spent. Squall knelt beside her and started to try and help her rise, but remembered just in time that he had no such power. He knew better than to offer her his strength; she would not expect it, and he would not force her to make such a delicate decision now. He knew she would recover with rest. So he stayed by her, motionless, watching her as the SeeDs around him celebrated.

            To his surprise, Rinoa stirred and pushed herself up on one arm. She turned her head to look directly at him. Her weak voice in his mind startled him. The sky…it's red because…because when Ultimecia burned the world, the fires raised red smoke that clouded the sun…it's been that way ever since. She looked at the floor, strangely contemplative. Some think the smoke carried the blood of the fire's victims, and that's why it was red… She closed her eyes and shivered.

            Squall started to say something, though he wasn't sure what. He never got the chance because Commander Dane crouched to help Rinoa to her feet.

            Damn it, was Squall's knee-jerk response, leave her alone!

            Rinoa waved him off with a discreet motion of her hand. It's okay, Squall, she assured him, erroneously assuming he was trying to protect her from physical harm. I'll be all right.

            Squall stood with them, simmering inside as he watched Dane put his arm around Rinoa's shoulders—to support her, he told himself over and over again. He's just helping her stand up. It makes sense…perfect sense…he'd do the same for anyone else.

            The Garden listed suddenly to the left.

            "Recalibrating the port engine," Ary announced. Squall barely heard her. He was too lost in the sight of Dane tightening his hold on Rinoa to keep her from falling.

            The Garden stabilized. Dane relaxed his grip.

Slowly, Squall forced himself to calm down as Dane led Rinoa to the balustrade so she might lean against it. Then the commander turned away from her and went back to his duties.

            "Sir," Nida reported. "I've got control again. Look, you can see water below us, now."

            "Head for that breach, Nida," Dane ordered. "Let's get out of here."

            "Like a bat out of hell."

            A cold, creeping fear chilled Squall's spirit. He could not identify it immediately, not until he registered the fact that they were about to leave their dark prison behind—and with it, any hope of returning to the life he once knew. It was then he took the time to look past the red sky and out into this new world.

            Or at least, what was left of it.

            Contravening his lifeless state, Squall began to feel sick. Though there was still some distance between the Garden and the gaping opening in the darkness, he could see enough through that malicious maw to know he didn't particularly want to see any more. Beyond the hole, the shores of a desolate island were visible. The land looked utterly dead; dry, devoid of any foliage, and as morbidly red as the sky above.

            What now, Squall thought with growing despair, out of the frying pan, into the fire? Do I escape one hell and wind up stuck in another?

            "Rinoa," he murmured suddenly, "tell them to stop."

            Despite his quiet voice, Rinoa heard him and pinned him with an exhausted stare. "What…?"

            Ary turned in her seat. "Did you say something, Sorceress?"

            Rinoa shook her head. "No, nothing." To Squall, she snipped, What do you mean, 'tell them to stop'? Are you nuts?!

            Squall looked from her, to the dead world ahead, and back. "No…I…I need to..." He stammered a little and stopped. Needed to what? He recanted his earlier thoughts and reorganized them before attempting to speak them aloud. "No," he reaffirmed after a few seconds. "Rinoa, if you leave the cloud, we'll never get back!"

            That's the point, isn't it?

            "But—"

            Squall, we're not going back.

            "Commander!" It was Nida. All eyes turned toward her. "The darkness, it's curling around the edges! I think it's trying to become that cloud again."

Rinoa answered before Dane could. "So step on it."

Squall moved toward her, his eyes pleading. "Rinoa!!"

Finally steady on her feet, Rinoa could not bear any more chaos. She shook her head and clapped her hands over her ears. "Please!" Worried gazes turned in her direction. Fighting tears, she edged toward the lift. "I'm sorry…I have to go rest for a while." Not waiting for anyone to respond, she stepped onto the lift and, Squall hurrying to follow before he could be left behind, abandoned Balamb Garden's bridge.

The lift touched the floor below. Without a word, The Sorceress vanished into the main elevator.

Commander Dane sighed. A fatigued expression played across his features. Self-consciously, he straightened the worry lines around his eyes and looked toward the SeeD sitting at tactical.

"Officer," he hailed the man, who turned nervously in his chair. "May I have a word with you in private?

            The tactical SeeD hung his head. He knew that tone coming from Commander Dane. It was the same tone that had earned the man the nickname "Commander Doom."

"Yes, sir," he acknowledged quietly, and inwardly resigned himself to his fate.

*

            Rinoa stormed through the door to her room, moving almost too quickly for it to open fast enough. Squall wasn't far behind. "Don't I have any say in this?"

She stopped at the window and whirled on him. "No! You don't!" He halted abruptly to keep from touching her. Unperturbed, she stood up straighter, almost on her tiptoes, until she was in his face. "You have no support in this world whatsoever. I can't protect you from it, and I can't change it. Bottom line: You're dead, everyone hates you, and the world's about to end. Any questions?!" A hair's breadth from a breakdown, she trembled, turned away and sat heavily on the edge of her bed, nearly collapsing onto her side in the process. She kept herself propped up on one elbow and wrestled valiantly with the tears invading her eyes.

Squall looked on, his face an emotionless mask. Rinoa lost her battle with despair and hung her head, crying softly. He waited, motionless, until he was certain the last of her tears had touched the dampened bed covers. He decided not to speak his next words, folding his arms meanwhile. That's a pretty sorry prognosis.

Still not looking at him, Rinoa sat up slowly, pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as if hugging a long lost child. It took a few minutes for her to work up the courage to look at him again. When she did, there was little more than pity and sadness in her eyes. Had Squall been in the reality he remembered, her pity would have angered him. Here, it was just another harsh reality in an unforgiving world.

"They don't understand," she muttered quietly, as if in response to an unjust court verdict. "They don't know you…they think you're just a slack-off whiz kid who never did anything virtuous in his life. They don't know what you're made of. Everyone thinks you're a traitor, Squall…"

Squall raised one hand half-heartedly like a tired schoolboy.

Almost smiling at the vaguely comical action, Rinoa nodded her permission for him to speak. "Yes?"

Squall attempted to sound as meek as possible, something he didn't accomplish very well, but it was a good effort on his part. "Everyone?"

Rinoa bit her lip, her hard expression faltering, and shook her head. "No…not everyone."

Leaning back against the nearby window (since it was convenient and he knew he wouldn't fall through it), the ghost growled at himself, leaning his face into his hand. "…I'm beginning to really hate what I became here."

"I don't," she returned sharply, startling him. Then with equally surprising gentleness, added, "But I'm wondering what happened to him."

            Again putting his hand to his face, resting his knuckles against his scarless forehead, Squall swore he had a headache, though he couldn't feel any recognizable pain. "I don't know…I don't know anything anymore." A red glow filled the room. He looked over his shoulder, out the window. The Garden had cleared the cloud. That's it, he thought helplessly, I can't ever go back…

            "Is it really that important to you?"

            He fixed Rinoa with a weary stare. He shook his head, waving his hand slightly. "I'm not sure…" His eyes wandered to the gunblade displayed on the wall. "I got scared of losing the chance to go back. It's selfish, though. At first…the only things that were real were you and me. Then I met Simone." He scowled at the floor a few feet in front of him, staring at the air as if the child he spoke of were standing there. "I can't…she made me understand it. This world is just as real. They're the same. The only thing that's changed is the history. Maybe something altered it. Maybe it was the cloud." He swiveled on his heels, meaning to look out the window, but stopped halfway, facing Rinoa, her simple presence halting him as though she had reached out and grabbed him. "This is what's real now," he told her. "I don't think it's a dream anymore. Even if going back to the cloud would change things…I can't ask you to leave Simone. If you go by what I remember, she never even existed…" He trailed off, closed his eyes, trying to picture his life as he'd known it. But the images were fading, distant, as if they really were nothing more than failing dreams. "No Ultimecia…no world war. I don't know if I'd trade Simone for that. Even if it means I've gotta learn to live as a…ghost, whatever, I can't turn my back on this. I can't think about everything I've lost…what's important is what I've got to lose." He turned toward his mounted gunblade again, but inclined his head slightly over his shoulder, watching Rinoa from the corners of his eyes.

            She had been listening intently, and she seemed genuinely interested in everything he had to say to her. The tears and the anger were both gone from her visage. Squall hesitated. Tentatively, he tried to feel something—anything—from her. He got nothing. But she was too honest to lie with her eyes. He dared to hope she was actually taking him seriously.

            "The last time I heard you say that—about what you have to lose—was the last time you said anything to me for five months."

            Squall faced her, blinking slowly. He said nothing.

            "Are you going to do this to me again?"

            Her knight shook his head once. Somewhere in his darkened soul, a spark of hope flared. This was the first verbatim clue about the mindset of the Squall he was supposed to be. It was a good clue that spoke volumes, but he decided to contemplate its meaning later. For now, what mattered was keeping true to his silent vow. "…Never."

            Rinoa stood, walking to within easy conversational distance. She reached out and brushed her fingers across—and partially through—his chest. They both trembled at the icy sensation. Eerie thoughts tantalized Squall's mind, images of Rinoa's hand reaching into him, touching a cold, lifeless heart. He closed his eyes, drinking in the chill, mourning the loss.

"Everyone has accused you of a lot," Rinoa whispered. "Maybe you're guilty of some things. But you're not a traitor," she declared firmly. "And you're not a liar. You never have been to anyone. So…I believe you. When you say you don't remember this life, I promise to believe you from now on, okay? I believe what you just told me. If you have anything else to tell me, I'll listen to that, too. I'll be your champion." She smiled at his startled expression. "Three years ago, you were mine when no one else believed in me."

            Squall squared his jaw and willed himself not to choke. The warmth her words was almost enough to banish the cold touch of her fingertips. "I wish…" He shook his head. He could not finish. Thank you.

            Squall and Rinoa stood motionless for long minutes, neither able to speak nor having anything to say that could adequately be put to words. Squall wondered if his sorceress knew what he was thinking and feeling. Rinoa was wondering the same about her knight.

            "It's hell," Squall said quietly. "I can't touch, I can't feel…" He laughed weakly, a sickly, maddened giddiness coming over him. It was all just too much. How could any situation be so hopeless? "Once…people would say that about me, but it meant something different. I never let myself get close to anyone. They reached out to me, but no one could touch me. I wouldn't let them. Then you showed up. You changed everything." He shook his head at the cruel irony of it all. "Now…I can't. Not even you." He closed his eyes and slowly backed away from her.

The words were so soft, so weary with pain and even a hint of resignation, Rinoa felt her eyes start to sting again. She reached after him, but he avoided her, as if reenacting the alien past he spoke of.

"I think…maybe I went mad in this place," he murmured, feeling sick just to say it. "I'm not any better at being alone…I can act like it doesn't bother me, but it's all a lie. It's stupid to pretend it's all right…but I can't reach out and touch you, either. It's…I don't have to tell you what it's like. You already understand."

She closed her eyes sadly. "…I understand." She grasped the ring on her necklace—only one ring, Squall noticed. Not two. "But, Squall…there's more than one way to touch someone."

Something in her voice made him forget the ring issue. He caught her stare and held it.

"Touch someone's body, and it affects their life," she whispered. "Touch their mind, and it affects their future. Touch someone's heart—" She placed on hand on her chest, and before he could move away laid the other on his the best she could. "—it changes their soul." She smiled in spite of herself, an expression that seemed blatantly out of place in the bloody light streaming in from the window. On anyone else, it might have looked sinister. "It's easy to take a life. With a little more work, you can even direct someone's future. But you can never own a person's soul unless they give it to you willingly. Once that's done…it's forever." Her head bowed, she stared at her feet. "Even when everything else is taken away. That's why this happened. Ultimecia took your life. Being separated like this tortured your mind—both of us—but we can never give up what we are. Now…" She glanced out the window. "That cloud has changed you. It's given you different memories." She gestured to his forehead, where the supposed scar should lie. "But who you are is the same. If that wasn't true, we wouldn't still be talking like this. You're still…the Squall I know. I, have to admit…when I think about it now, I'm…glad." She looked away, feeling ashamed. "You have hope again. It happened when I was beginning to think there wasn't any left in anyone. In a way, getting trapped in that cloud is the best thing that's ever happened to me since you died." Her shoulders twitched strangely. "You're convinced this isn't a dream? I think it's true…you're the same Squall as the one who refused to say anything to me for five months. I realized it up there, on the bridge. You may have saved all our lives. And it doesn't even bother you that no one gave you credit for it. Not as much as it hurts me, when people call you names and act like you're the source of all our problems. If they hate you so much, I don't know why they keep me around…sometimes I think it's just because I'm a sorceress."

Squall frowned, fighting the wish to hit something. This was exactly the kind of post-mortem nonsense he hated. Having once been terrified of people talking about him after he'd died, now it was simply insulting, and seeing how much it pained Rinoa made him that much angrier. He'd always been afraid that something like this or worse would happen; he would be turned by hype into something he was not, and what people remembered about him would forever be a skewed image. He'd always heard others say—while trying to be reassuring, of all things—that the deceased continued to live on as long as they were remembered by someone. But lived on as what? If the only things that remained of someone were memories, what happened to that person when those memories were inaccurate or prejudiced? Squall had always hated the idea of being turned into a saint or a demon by no choice of his own, simply at the whim of other people's perceptions of who he was. He had always believed everyone made their own destiny. What happened when one was no longer alive to determine what that destiny had been?

Squall was this or wasn't that. How disgusting. What right did anyone have to judge him? More importantly, what right had they to judge Rinoa because of him?

            You're gonna have to explain to me what happened, he thought to her. He did not trust himself to speak, afraid his words would come out in a growl to match his irritation. Why do people think I'm a traitor? I'm dead. What the hell do they care? Despite his efforts, a hostile note crept into even his mental tone.

They need someone to blame… Finally pulling away from him, Rinoa's consciousness took a short sabbatical out the window, contemplating Squall's request and his questions. "Take a walk with me?" she suggested suddenly, blinking but not looking away from the window.

"Yeah." Squall started to walk toward the door.

"Not that way."

Halted in mid-step, he tossed a quizzical look at his sorceress.

No longer watching the crimson sky, Rinoa smiled just a little. "They think I'm resting. I don't want the commander to find out I'm wandering around." Her expression darkened into one of vague annoyance. "I don't feel like putting up with his mothering. I'm sick of him reprimanding me for everything I do…makes me wanna hang him by his shirttail from the ceiling of the training center."

Squall did his best not to smile at the mental image that manifested in his mind: the arrogant Dane, a squirming morsel dangling fifty feet in the air, just out of leaping distance of several hungry rexaurs. Though amusing, he decided to keep his jealous thoughts to himself. Given the circumstances, Dane should consider himself lucky Squall was dead. When he felt so inclined, Squall could render a pack of rexaurs preferable company. The mere mention of the commander made his blood boil. He'd wish he'd been hung by the time I got through with him…

But he shared none of this with Rinoa. Instead, he asked, calmly, "Then how do we get out?"

"I'll poof myself there. You'll have to follow."

Squall raised an eyebrow. "'Poof?'"

She shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "Its what I call it. I think 'teleport' sounds funny."

A hint of a smile played at Squall's lips. "Poof," he repeated.

Rinoa feigned indignity. "Is there a problem?"

He shook his head, folded his arms, regarding her with a bemused smirk. "Now I've heard it all."

 "Just for that, I'm not going to make it easy on you." Inclining her head and staring meaningfully at the ceiling to her left, Rinoa appeared to mull over a suitable punishment. "I'm not telling you where I'm going," she announced, a smug glint in her eyes. "You'll have to find me."

Squall frowned. He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "What does that m—"

In answer, Rinoa vanished into thin air. Catch me if you can!

Having no ability that he knew of to "poof" himself anywhere, Squall snarled quietly. So she was going to make him run around the Garden like an idiot looking for her, while she could just spirit herself anywhere she pleased in the blink of an eye. Perfect. He scowled accusingly at the door.

Muttering something about how power corrupts and the dangers of perfunctory sorcery, Squall stalked out of Rinoa's quarters, not even blinking as he passed unhindered through the oblivious doors.

*

Rinoa had not exaggerated when she declared she wouldn't make herself easy to find.

The first place he'd thought to look was, of course, the library, Rinoa's defacto hangout in the Garden whenever she had time to kill or wished to be left alone. But a cursory search of the place revealed no sorceress, and some suspicious blue graffiti on the back of one of the bookshelves that read "Not here." Uncertain if this was coincidence, all doubt of the vandal's identity was annulled when he tried the quad. Before he'd even reached the recreation area, a SeeD passed him with the warning "Wrong way" written in clear red lettering across his forehead—apparently without his knowledge. As other SeeDs in the breezeway snickered and coughed, Squall half-turned to watched the SeeD, who could be no older than seventeen by his judgement, and wondered what the poor sap had done to Rinoa to compel her to so desecrate his forehead. Giving up on the quad, Squall wore his smirk all the way back to the main dome.

He systematically checked every wing of the Garden's main level. There was a sticky note in the infirmary that instructed him to "keep looking," and a menu item in the cafeteria read "Not even close," but Squall grew more determined with each failed attempt and taunt. He even tried the garage, but quickly turned back when the sign that normally marked the area as "parking" instead posed the question, "You're kidding, right?"

That left the training center. And though she had mentioned it earlier, Squall seriously doubted Rinoa whisked herself into the dinosaur-infested enclosure. No, he decided, she was somewhere else, not mixed in with the general mill of people.

Then he remembered: Rinoa had a dog. He cast about for a clock. 1400 had always been lunch time for Angelo. He finally found the time by peering over one student's shoulder to get a glimpse of her watch. It was 2:15 in the afternoon. Bingo.

Squall hurried for the front entrance, remembering that Angelo's run had been located around the corner of the courtyard. He found no blatant "signs" along the way to indicate he should turn back, and this encouraged him. He'd only just traversed the stairs leading to the courtyard when a large tan and black dog lunged from between two decorative topiaries, barking and snarling menacingly at him—at him?

Squall halted with a forward lurch, and backed up a few paces, glancing over his shoulder to be sure there was nothing else the dog might be barking at. There was no one else at the corner. Squall stared at the growling canine in astonishment. Could it see him?

The dog stared right back into his eyes, curling its lips, its legs spread out in an aggressive display. Had Squall not known better, he would have been intimidated by the animal's posture. Instead, he relaxed and looked away, beyond the dog, deciding not to incite it further by trying to stare it down.

As if on cue, Rinoa stepped around the corner. She was breathing hard, having chased the dog all the way from the run. She knelt by the angry creature and attempted gently to calm him down. "Simon! What's gotten into you? Stop it now…" She stroked his bristled shoulders, laying her arm across his powerful chest as if to hold him back.

Squall stared furtively at the dog from the corners of his eyes. He had no doubts that, should Simon try to attack him, Rinoa would not have a fraction of the physical strength necessary to hold the dog at bay. Not that it particularly mattered.

Simon was a very large black- and wheat-colored Centran Shepherd, a robust breed renowned for its intelligence and unwavering loyalty. He was limber but powerfully muscled, and likely weighed close to ninety pounds. Large, triangular black ears pricked atop Simon's high head. Black, shrewd eyes, one of which was almost camouflaged in a patch of dark fur, stared at Squall down a sloping, strong muzzle. Powerful shoulders and haunches braced to leap at him if he made a false move. The dog's tapering tail was raised in excitement, but made no wag of goodwill. Simon seemed convinced Squall was a threat.

Rinoa tugged Simon back, whispering reassurances to him. "I don't understand," she said apologetically. "He doesn't usually act like this around you."

"He can see me," Squall observed aloud, but there was an underlying question in his tone.

"Don't ask me how, because I don't know." Rinoa relaxed a little, as Simon was finally doing the same. He had ceased snarling and was sitting, but his ears still laid back every now and again and he watched Squall with obvious distrust. "No one else has noticed you, not even animals…but he usually isn't like this." She scratched Simon between his ears, a treat he obviously enjoyed; despite himself, his tail wagged happily. "He loves people."

"Just not dead people, I guess." Squall smirked, but not unkindly. He'd meant the comment as a joke. "After Angelo, it's hard to picture you with a brute like that."

"He's not a brute!" Rinoa pulled Simon's muzzle to face her and scratched his furry neck as she cooed affectionately. "Are you? No, you're not a brute, you're just a tough guy. Like someone else I know…" She cast a wry look over her shoulder. "After all, Simon was your idea."

Squall scoffed. "Yeah. I'm not a dog person…" He waited for more than a minute for her to answer, finally unable to silently stand the sad expression in her eyes. "What really happened to Angelo?"

Rinoa hugged Simon, who offered her a sympathetic whine and a cold, wet nose in her face. Smiling weakly, she wiped her face with the back of her hand and scratched between his ears again. "He was in an accident," she said, her smile fading. "We were in Timber…it was after the trains had started up again. We were found out by the Galbadian soldiers and they ambushed us by the west bridge. You were fighting one of them. Angelo jumped him and tried to distract him, but…the soldier threw him off…broke his leg…" Her eyes grew distant, widening a little as the terrifying memory replayed in her mind. "You tried to stop the soldier, but he got under you and pushed you. Angelo was right on the edge of the rail pit. You fell into him." Her voice started to break up, and she paused, giving herself time to pull herself together. Finally, she continued in quick, staccato syllables. "Angelo broke your fall, but he fell onto the tracks. We didn't know it, but there was a train coming about five minutes away. We were trying to get down to get him off the tracks when it came. With his leg, he couldn't get out of the way." She stood slowly, though she kept her hand rested atop Simon's head. "It was very quick," she concluded.

Squall's eyes narrowed, and he denied himself any other reaction to the horrific story. He did not apologize. If the Squall he was supposed to be was anything like him, he would have already done so, and apologizing did not fix anything.

Rinoa looked down at her canine companion. "A month later, you bought Simon and gave him to me. At first I didn't want him…but then someone else told me you'd bought him from a breeder who was going to kill him because he was the runt. And…after a few days, I couldn't make myself get rid of him. He didn't grow up to be so runty." Her eyes and mouth a collection of hard, straight lines, she turned her gaze on Squall. "The two best gifts you ever gave me were Simon and Simone."

Squall looked away, wondering in his embarrassment if ghosts could blush. He felt ashamed and he wasn't sure exactly why. "Then I was a moron. Not that I regret this, but…" He tilted his head a little, briefly. He went back to staring at the walkway. He realized too late he'd let the wrong words slip.

"There is…a reason." Rinoa choked off her words, surprised and stung by Squall's reaction. She tried not to be angry, tried to tell herself that as far as Squall was concerned, this world was strange and alien, that everything he knew to be true had been turned upside down and inside out. It was understandable that he should feel a little resentful.

But how could he ever call Simone's creation moronic?

Squall sat down on the wall beside one of the topiaries, as silent as Rinoa's tears. He had lost count of how many times he'd made her cry today. Years ago, he'd have thought her weak and melodramatic for it. That had been before he'd understood how impassioned she was, how deeply she was affected by those close to her. For Rinoa, there was nothing else but those things. And she was not afraid to love, not afraid to laugh or cry. When she was moved, she hid nothing. In Squall's universe, there were warriors, and there were those who were vulnerable. Rinoa was the only person he had ever known who could effectively be both at the same time. Somehow, her weaknesses made her heart as reliable as stone.

Rinoa always allowed herself to feel, but she had learned not to let her emotions overwhelm her for long. A few moments of silent tears and staring at the sidewalk, and she had regained herself. She did not speak another word of Simone. "There's a reason people think you're a traitor," she finished her previous sentence, her voice once again steady. "It's not the truth, but they believe it, because they have nothing better to believe." A motion to an antsy Simon sent the dog trotting to the other side of the walkway to sniff around, though he stayed carefully within sight of Squall. "Trapping Ultimecia here only limited her terror to this time…we never defeated her. She killed so many people when she found out she no longer had access to the Junction Machine Ellone."

"So Ellone was also kidnapped here for Odine's research…"

"Kidnapped?" Rinoa seemed confused. "I don't know about anything like that. You talked about her a lot, but you never told me she was kidnapped."

"Maybe it's..." He trailed off. He'd been about to say 'just my world,' but rethinking that statement, it seemed inaccurate, or at least incongruent with what he wanted to convey. He decided to stop making a point of differentiating between this reality and that of his memories. There was no way he could do that without in some way belittling the validity of either version of history. Squall's expression hardened further. He was who he was. Which history had led up to it or whether or not it was real did not matter. No one could own a timeline, and likewise he belonged to no single reality.

A tucked-away corner of his mind reeled with disillusionment. Ultimecia had wanted to control time, and so control reality, control history. By fighting her, Squall had earned his right to live this nightmare; without Ultimecia, or something else to control the flow of history, no future could be certain. Which was worse, he wondered, knowing for fact that your future was damned, or not being certain about any future at all? What was the price to be paid to choose one's own destiny? "Before I was born," he began again, leaving out all pretenses, "Ellone was captured by Esthar and Odine studied her abilities so he could make a machine that created windows in time…later, when I was just a kid, Ellone and I were separated. It…hurt me. But that's not important right now. You were telling me what happened..." He waved the subject away.

Rinoa let the matter drop, oblivious to his epiphanies, and continued with her explanation. "Ultimecia absorbed the spirits of all the people she killed, and she continues to do it. Anyone who won't serve her runs the risk of being slaughtered and then enslaved." She knelt as Simon brought her a ball he'd dug out of a nearby hedge (a habit of his, much to the annoyance of the landscapers). Tossing the ball down the less-used branch of the walkway, the better to avoid the possibility of someone crashing headlong into Simon as he gave chase, Rinoa watched him bounce excitedly after the toy. "The day after her massacre…the souls she enslaved were visible in the sky, and people could hear them crying…Squall, they were screaming your name."

Having stared at the ground up until this point, Squall jerked his head up, abhorrence creeping into his scowl. "My name? Did they say anything else?"

"That you'd betrayed them to Ultimecia, escaped her wrath, and they wanted revenge."

His eyes narrowed darkly. "Did I?"

Rinoa shook her head emphatically. "No! No, you…if anyone betrayed them, I did, by saving you and bringing her here. But that wasn't much of a choice…if I let her take you, she would  have triumphed over time as well as the world. Now at least, she's confined here…if there is a future beyond this."

"If they were under her control, it's possible Ultimecia forced them all to say whatever she wanted them to." Squall postulated. "If she wanted to hurt you by destroying support for me, I wouldn't put that past her."

"That's what I said." Rinoa took the ball Simon had retrieved for her and threw it again, as she'd done twice already during their conversation. "But the evidence was against you…I don't have anything that proves you exist. It's amazing how gullible people are. They'll believe most things they see, and some things they hear, but when they see it and hear it…" She shook her head, at a loss for unnecessary words.

"There isn't a way you can…make me visible?" He hardly dared the question; it seemed to Squall that if there had been, Rinoa would have done it already.

"I don't even know exactly why I can see you…or why Simon can."

Standing, Squall moved toward the less-traveled walkway…and promptly found Simon blocking his path. Simon did not bark this time, but planted himself firmly between Squall and Rinoa. He growled a warning.

Sighing, Rinoa scratched between the dog's ears. "Speak of the devil…here, let me try something." She pointed at the ground Simon stood on. "Stay," she commanded, then turned toward Squall. "That goes for you too," she said quickly before he could come toward her. "Both of you…don't move a muscle." Squall had a faint memory of having such a command given to him in Angelo's presence, but thankfully the details of that embarrassment were hazy. He stood still.

It was Rinoa who walked up to Squall. Simon whined uneasily, but he did not disobey her stern command. Ignoring the ensuing chill, she hooked her arm around Squall's and smiled.

Simon stamped his feet a few times, confused, looking from Rinoa to the ghost and back. Then, finally deciding his friend was in no danger, he settled back onto his haunches.

"There," Rinoa piped, and quickly drew her arms away. "See, as long as I'm okay with you, he is, too."

"Glad to know you approve." Squall was still eyeing Simon uncertainly, half-expecting him to become protective again the moment Rinoa let go of him. To his surprise, the canine made no objections when Squall edged toward the walkway. In fact, he fell in step between sorceress and knight, though he showed no particular affection for the latter. Which was fine as far as Squall was concerned; being ignored was much preferable to being attacked, even if he stood no chance of injury. For some reason it was important that Simon did not think him a threat.

"Maybe he can tell there's something different about you," Rinoa was saying as they walked. The path they followed now led to a lesser-known area of the Garden, an aviary. Rinoa had told Squall during breakfast that there were no longer birds in the glass-walled enclosure, but the foliage was still maintained and made for a useful hideout during the busier hours of the day. "So what is it? What's changed?"

 "I don't know," was the honest answer. "I don't understand the thinking of…who I once was. I don't have anything to compare it to, so I don't know what's different." He thought bitterly of his apparent decision to stop speaking to Rinoa. "I know that…what he…what I did doesn't make any sense. Not to me. It…sounds like someone else."

"You said you were separated from Ellone when you were little?" Sensing the current subject matter was hurting him, Rinoa attempted to change the subject.

"She was taken away when I was five. I spent a long time thinking it was my fault she'd left. I made myself believe that if I could prove I would be okay all by myself, she would come back. I kept away from friendships if I could help it. But I forgot why I acted that way. Once I'd grown up, it was just another part of me…then I met you." He ended it there, as if that explained everything.

"And?" Rinoa prodded.

"And…it's a long story. I'm not very good at explaining things like that. It took a long time…" And it…hurts to remember. Squall's shoulders slumped just a little. Those memories are precious to me…but they don't mean a damn thing to anyone else.

They mean a lot to me…please try, Squall.

            It was a plea he'd heard Rinoa make so many times in the past, and it always worked. Never once had he refused to try at her behest. Never once had he failed. "When I first saw you…you were in the middle of the dance floor in the ballroom, at my graduation. You asked me to dance. You wouldn't take no for an answer." Wry amusement sparkled in his dark expression. "I complained the whole time, but you taught me a few steps…when you left, I thought that was the last I'd seen of you. But my first mission as a SeeD was going to be helping your resistance effort…didn't expect it…"

            They arrived at the birdless aviary. Rinoa opened the door and held it for Simon and Squall, who still hadn't grown comfortable enough with the idea of passing through walls to abstain from using doors when they were available.

            "Sounds the same, except for a few things." Rinoa stood with her hands behind her back, her head tilted to one side, peering at him curiously. "The way I remember it, you were the one who asked me to dance. And you arranged having yourself assigned to the Forest Owls mission, just so you could see me again."

            Squall rolled his eyes. "I don't know that person," he insisted. It sounded to him more like something Irvine—or even Seifer—would do…

            What had happened to the bastard, anyway?

            He folded his arms. "Did you ever meet a guy named Seifer?" he ventured hesitantly.

            Rinoa thought, her eyes rolling in a visible attempt to rack her memory. "Never heard of him," she decided.

            So many things were missing. "When did I start acting like an idiot?"

            "I'm sorry?"

            Squall pretended to be interested in a nearby bush. "You want me to be explicit?"

            Unable to stop a short burst of laughter, Rinoa waited for it to subside before answering. "Oh, I understand. Well…let me think…"

            You mean you have to think about it? Squall winced. If I wasn't already dead, I'd kill me for being—

            "Probably around the time we were headed for Trabia."

            "Someone shoot me."

            "Wouldn't do much good." Rinoa grinned, enjoying the flippant exchange. "Now…that's more like the you I remember."

            He lightly cut the air in front of him. "What was normal for me here, you had to drag out of me in my reality."

            "You were that bad?"

            "That was gonna be my question."

            Giggling again, Rinoa beckoned him down the cobblestone path through the aviary. "Come on."

He followed willingly, feeling some of the heaviness lift from his mind. It seemed an eternity since he'd had such a lighthearted discussion with Rinoa. He wished she had his memories. At least then they could share the loss he felt. While Rinoa had lost nothing that hadn't already been taken from her, Squall was left with no one to share his pain. Everyone he had ever befriended might as well have died, and no one, not even Rinoa, remembered them. She could sympathize with him only to the extent she could acknowledge his pain, but she could not commiserate with him. Not unless she dared to touch his soul, something he knew she was still too frightened to try.

His voice quieted in his seriousness as he posed his next question; he might as well, since he seemed to be on a roll and Rinoa was in the mood to answer. "Why did I stop talking to you?"

Instantly solemn, she slowed her pace. "I'm not sure why." She nervously scratched Simon's head. "I know before it happened, you were…upset. But we made a promise not to read each other's thoughts if the other didn't want it, so I didn't."

Squall winced. Promises, promises. It seemed every promise he had ever made to anyone had eventually come back to haunt him. I gotta quit doing stuff like that.

Rinoa didn't perceive his internal grumbling. "You became more and more depressed…I know it hurt you when people started saying you were a traitor and didn't believe I can still talk to you. It was so sad…"

"Sad enough you made me promise not to touch you?" It was that promise thing again.

Rinoa shivered a little as she walked. "It's not that simple. I don't know how to say it."

"…Try?" He hoped she'd return the favor, though the grief in her voice made him fear her answer.

Time crawled. Squall began to wonder how long they had been talking. He tried to banish the nagging feeling that he was keeping Rinoa from being somewhere. If he had been breathing, a break from work such as this would be unheard of, not without having first scheduled it, and then notifying anyone who might be affected by the change in plans. From what he could gather, Rinoa had no defined schedule, rather she had a mental list of things to be done and she did them, one at a time, in order of priority. It baffled him that there was room in Garden for such a seat-of-the-pants agenda, particularly for someone as overtly involved in the everyday workings of SeeD as Rinoa apparently was.

So different, Squall caught himself realizing yet again as he stared up through the glass ceiling at the looming red sky. It was a fact that no longer startled him, but it still moved him. What am I supposed to do with my memories?

"There was a time I could touch you," Rinoa whispered suddenly, stalling his silent questions and drawing the attention of his eyes and ears, "when all I felt was warmth…then you started shutting me out. You went cold…"

"Shut you out?"

They had stopped walking. She nodded wordlessly, stepping into the middle of a red circle on the pathway; in a moment Squall realized the circle was a sunbeam, bleeding through a congruent ceiling window that was more translucent than the others. Standing in the macabre light, bitterness mixing dangerously with the smoldering reflection in her eyes, the Sorceress looked too much like that terrible woman who had so desecrated the sky.

Because of me. Squall's eyes opened a little wider, though his brow furrowed at his infuriating thoughts. She changed because I did. There's nothing else that makes any sense! Doing his best to keep his tone level, Squall scowled darkly at Rinoa, into the scarlet sunlight that bloodied the edges of her black hair. "Just thinking I could be that weak…it pisses me off."

Traitor!

Abject terror clawed at Squall's psyche like a rabid beast. For an instant, he saw it in Rinoa's eyes—the evil, the pure wild hatred, blood, fire. He could see Ultimecia, standing in Rinoa's place.

Then it was gone.

Rinoa answered him readily, nothing unusual having touched her senses. Her voice was soft and encouraging as ever, but in contrast with the vision it seemed like a mockery. "You aren't weak. I don't think you ever were. You were just…too confused to know what to do."

Squall looked over his shoulder at the foliage to his right, every shadow suspect. The experience had been so sudden and so brief, he was hardly able to respond to it, though it had racked him to his core. "…I thought you said I was depressed?" It was a filler question, intended to keep Rinoa talking so she wouldn't notice he was collecting himself. A bird chirped somewhere. Hadn't Rinoa told him there were no birds left in the aviary?

"When I first met you, you were…I don't know. Something. Something different than this."

"Yeah? How?" Squall waited, not for her answer. Nothing else happened. He heard no more birds. No more voices. The vision was gone. He began to wonder if it wasn't just another dream, another illusion. Maybe I really am insane…

"Well…I don't know," Rinoa was saying, and Squall finally calmed himself down enough to actively listen to her again. Throughout it all, his expression had changed little; despite his condition, he'd felt somehow that to allow his composure to break at that moment would forfeit someone's survival. He did not know whose. "You were so sure of yourself. You always had something witty to say. When I was with you, I felt like I could take on anything."

Squall glared at her grimly. He forgot about the voice. The subject of their conversation had suddenly arched to a greater matter. Seifer. The way she's describing me…is the way she described Seifer! Stung, he mentally replayed the past two 'irrelevant' answers she'd given him. "I don't think you even know what you're talking about," he accused, his voice as rigid as his stance, pointedly level.

Rinoa frowned, incredulous, uncomprehending of the reason for his ire. "What?" Simon, sensing her unease, came to her side. He growled a warning to Squall.

Who irately dashed the air with his hand. "You talk about how I made you feel…how you thought when you were around me, how I acted…you haven't once said anything that matters." Seifer…if you had met him in this reality, would we even be here talking? He didn't know anything…too arrogant to let himself learn…even more insecure than I was. He lost it, so… He shook his head, trying to fling his jealousy away. "If you knew," he growled, "if you'd open up enough to listen…you'd understand what I'm talking about. What you're describing isn't love. It's affection. There's a big difference."

It was not embarrassment that colored Rinoa's cheeks. "So that's it, then. You've already decided it. I'm not in love with you, and I never was."

Again Squall shook his head. "I never said that."

"Then what are you saying!"

You lied to me…

Squall managed to keep from reacting outwardly this time, recognizing the accusing voice as the same one as before. Suspiciously, he cast a long glance to the side, searching for anyone else in the vicinity. He saw nothing but plants. But he kept up his debate with Rinoa; he knew without a doubt now, the itinerant whisper in his mind was not hers. "…I'm not sure."

Her mouth dropped open an inch or two, astonished that was the best answer he could come up with. Making a dramatic display of looking up at the ceiling, she seemed to be begging any interested deity to lend her patience. "Oh, well that fixes it."

Squall attempted to sort some vestige of rational thought out from his anger at being inadvertently likened to Seifer and his confusion at the seemingly random voice in his head that had been accusing him of things. He succeeded only in rearranging the disorder. "…I…I think it's possible…that you loved something you didn't see." When had this become an argument about love? He couldn't remember. Damn it, what did I just say?

"Care to say that in a language I understand?"

Squall was mentally floundering. He could not seem to keep track of the conversation. He was too distracted.

Did you think I would not notice!

That voice… Squall closed his eyes, trying to remember. Where have I heard it?

"Squall?"

"Just a second," he snapped. "I have to think…" I know you.

Foolish child. You knew you kould not hide forever!

It clicked. Everything suddenly fell into place—the reason he'd stopped speaking to Rinoa was clear and terrible as the scarlet sunlight. He knew it all without having to know. The identity of the voice and the few words it had spoken had told him all he needed.

Squall was still as only the dead could so perfectly imitate still life. Eyes open, he banished all questions from his mind. Carefully, he constructed his next sentence in his mind before daring to present it. It had to be perfect. It had to be both a question—for Rinoa—and an answer, for the other voice. The other sorceress. "You let me become your knight when I asked you to," he rumbled, a strange mix of tenderness in his voice and defiance in his expression. "Why?"

"Because," Rinoa returned, her tone losing its edge, "you were suffering, Squall. Becoming my knight was a better alternative than being forced to be Ultimecia's."

"Maybe…but I doubt that's why you did it."

She blinked quizzically. "…I don't understand."

Solemnly, Squall became aware he was likely incurring the wrath of a terrible witch even as he spoke his piece. "Of course you do. No one understands what I'm talking about better than you do. You and I know what everyone else doesn't…what being a sorceress' knight means."

You promised!

I won't honor any promises to you. "You know as well as I do," he went on, gesturing gently at Rinoa, a hint of sadness even in the motion, "just how close we had to get. You know that it's not something you can just do with anyone. You know that when it comes down to it, everything about this bond…" He put a fist to his chest, capturing her in his gaze. "It's based on a kind of trust no one can understand. Do you remember?"

Rinoa, trembling, hugged herself, squinting at the grass. "…I remember."

"Then what happened?" he prompted, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. "Something went wrong."

"You…" She sounded as if she were trying to swallow her heart. "You weren't the person I thought you were…you were completely different."

"Different…not like the Squall you knew. More like…the Squall that's talking to you now."

Rinoa stared at him, unable to speak.

TRAITOR!

Squall's eyes narrowed.

You will suffer the konsiquences!

You can't intimidate me, he smoldered, unconsciously setting his jaw. An old, defiant fire rose inside him. You don't know who you're dealing with anymore.

You will suffer, declared the voice matter-of-factly. As will your sorceress brat.

            Squall's hands balled into fists. I won't let you…

            There were no more answers. Rinoa was standing, staring, tortured by the course of the conversation.

            Squall knelt where he was, then sank into a sitting position, his expression as dead and hollow as his sorceress'. "I'm sorry…" That's what happened…somehow, she convinced me. I agreed to stop talking to Rinoa in order to protect her and Simone. And now I've broken my promise. Which means… He stared up at the ceiling, through the circular pane that allowed, seemed to invite the sun's blood to paint the songless aviary.

…Ultimecia is coming.

Rinoa collapsed.

Instantly, Squall was by her side. Though he could not, dared not touch her, he leaned over her, shielding her from the evil light of the sky. Anguish rising in his throat, he fought the inclination to scream. Not again!

The crimson sky darkened to the dull red of drying blood. The mournful wail of battle sirens pierced the glass walls, shattering the peaceless silence.