"Loire will follow your lead whatever happens – he is your father, however much you deny it." Squall's only response was a glare several degrees below freezing point. "Carraway, Garden and the Shumi will back you up because they trust you."
"Trust doesn't matter. The people will turn, especially with the sorceresses urging them to." Seifer rubbed his forehead in irritation. Squall had come down to his office an hour earlier, ostensibly to discuss how the situation updates with Caraway and Laguna had gone, and was still, three hours on, there. Not that he was there with a purpose – or not one that Seifer could fathom – but rather doing something that Squall never did. Dithering.
"OK, so political spin from the sorceresses. Now, how much sway do you think they have any more? Especially in Esthar and Galbadia." Squall grunted in reply, turning to pace across the office again. Seifer sighed. He might not know what Squall was dithering over, but he knew the conversation they were having was probably nothing to do with it at all. Classic Squallian misdirection. A meaningless discussion whilst the old internal monologue thrashed through what he was really thinking about.
"Enough, if Kylari doesn't illuminate the heavens with the words 'I want to destroy the world'. Too much if she says she's after me, 'for the good of the world'." It was Seifer's turn to glare.
"Why are you so convinced that the sorceresses will all turn against you as soon as you reveal you're a sorcerer?" Squall jerked in surprise, turning to look at Seifer so fast that he blurred. Seifer blinked. That comment had certainly touched a nerve... "So that's what's got your knickers in a twist."
"I don't wear any – you know that." Squall smirked weakly, not bothering to deny Seifer's observation. Seifer folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.
"C'mon. Spill." Squall gestured vaguely in the air – the door lock snicking closed as he did so.
"It's...easier...to show you..." The brunette stopped and looked straight at his knight, silently waiting for permission to take over his mind. There was a long pause, Seifer battling his fear with the knowledge that this was Squall, the man he trusted – not Ultemecia.
"Alright." He closed his eyes, shuddering once as he felt his consciousness replaced by Squall's, and then becoming still.
His name was Logan Thormahlen, and he was a sorcerer. This was a relatively new thing – he hadn't been one three weeks ago – and he was still getting used to the increased reverence from everyone around him. He'd left his home village soon after his powers manifested, embarrassed and a little scared by the way people would drop everything to carry out his slightest wish. He'd left a note for his wife, explaining why he felt he had to leave, and expressing his hopes that the zeal of the people would cool soon, so that he could return. Hyne alone knew how the village would react to it, but if his wife showed her usual sense, she would tell them that Hyne had given him a task in a dream.
He'd been on the road for a week, never staying in a village past the first day they discovered he was a sorcerer. It would take time, he supposed, for the novelty to pass, but he wasn't the only one hoping the world would calm down soon. Other sorcerers – and sorceresses – were also on the move, striving in vain to escape the worship that they'd never asked for. It helped that the sorceresses knew where their powers had come from – Hyne – but only She knew who or what had granted powers to the sorcerers. What all agreed on though, was that bringing all their collective powers into one vessel, one person, was to destroy the world completely. And not just the living world, but the world of the dead. The cycle of death and eventual rebirth would be shattered beyond salvation.
His name was Troy Masterson, and he was a sorcerer. He was able to trace his family line right back to Aimen Thormahlen, and from there back to one of the first sorcerers – Logan Thormahlen. He was also in hiding.
It had started long before his birth, or his father's birth, or his grandfather's birth. The sorcerers had watched as the sorceresses passed on their powers, and their knowledge – but not their memories. They had watched as the knowledge of the consequence of seeking ultimate power faded, and became only a caution against seeking more power than you were given. Generations had watched with inherited memories over thousands of years as humanity and sorceresses alike forgot that they had been blessed with their powers for a reason, and that the abuse of those powers would only lead to disaster for all. And eventually the first murders had happened, and suddenly the world had gone still as certain sorceresses – jealous of those with greater power – wondered 'what if...', turning their eyes towards the sorcerers.
War hadn't been declared at first. It had just been the ever more frequent chills that told the sorcerers another of their number had died. And then, when the sorceresses grew frustrated at their inability to take the sorcerer's power into themselves, they cast their nets wider, inventing vile rumours and poisoning the ears of all who would listen. Slowly, so slowly, the world slid into confusion. The people no longer stared at sorcerers and sorceresses with awe and wonder, but fear and mistrust. No longer was it an honour to speak to one of Hyne's children, but a stigma that led to countless deaths.
Eventually the sorceresses had joined forces, corrupting the minds and hearts of those they could, and declared war on the sorcerers – and the few sorceresses who still held true to their teachings and were aiding the sorcerers. The sorcerers had refused to fight, and had gone into hiding instead, hoping against hope that the darkness would pass. It was harder than it sounded. They had to remain constantly on the move to avoid the patrols in the villages, and with movement restricted, to do so was a dead giveaway. The solution that a fortunate few had found was to recruit the aid of the Guardian Forces. As yet undiscovered by the general population, the shy creatures had volunteered themselves as energy channels, binding themselves as conduits for the excess power that built up and caused the telltale golden eyes. Unfortunately the process left both sorcerer and GF permanently changed. The GFs were becoming more human, with human failings, and more powerful. Likewise the sorcerers were becoming more otherworldly, and where they had never needed knights – unlike the sorceresses, who had always needed them – now they faced insanity and death without them.
Fortunately for him, and his father before him, Troy was in hiding on Bahlambrekiast Island. One of two remote regions where sorcerers were still safe. The Western Provinces were no more, forced together into a single country under the sorceress Galahabria. Likewise the Eastern Nation had been taken control of by the sorceress Esthyre, and Kenthra ruled the Southern Isle. But it wasn't likely to last forever...
Troy Masterson stared at himself in the mirror, noting critically how his blond hair was getting paler with each new white hair. He often wondered what his wife and knight, Cera, saw in him, one of the 'hateful breed responsible for the monsters'. The words of the propaganda still stung, never mind that they were decades old now. They stung because they were the truth. The sorcerers in the Southern Isle had attempted to shatter the power of Kenthra – and succeeded – but at the cost of their own lives, and the lives of the vast majority who had lived there. The Isle itself had also shattered along with its sorceress, shattered under the impact of a stream of monsters from the moon. Whilst their actions had quite possibly prevented a coalition attack against Bahlambrekiast and Tralahabrya, the survivors were now fanatics dedicated to hunting down and exterminating all sorcerers. Rumour had it that they referred to themselves as 'The Kenthra', and considered themselves to be the scattered fragments of their beloved sorceress.
Whatever the truth about the survivors, now that the sorceresses knew the powers were passed along the male line of a family, they were hunting down families – and in some cases even those just rumoured to be related. He was glad his children were both daughters. Even if the worst happened how that Alicia had succeeded Joelyn as Bhalambrekiast's sorceress, his wife and children should be spared.
Fortunately they only had Galahabria to worry about. The propaganda campaign had backfired on Esthyre, and in the face of rampant paranoia she had sealed her country to the outside world. When they would resurface, if ever, was unknown.
Troy adjusted a few chains on his ceremonial robes and turned away from his reflection. Joelyn had kept them safe whilst she had lived, and now it was the turn of he and his fellow sorcerers to see her soul safely to the afterworld, and guard it until its rebirth.
Seifer slowly opened his eyes as Squall's mind receded, taking the clarity of the memories with it. One last image/feeling remained with him – Troy Masterson and six other sorcerers confronting a sorceress, barely deflecting her first attack, then encircling her, and sacrificing themselves to forcibly take her soul to the world of the dead with them.
"Then what happened?" He asked quietly, knowing that the memory had to be several hundred years old at least. Squall shrugged.
"Incoherency for the most part. From what I can understand Troy was right when he thought Cera and his daughters would be left unharmed. Which one I'm descended from – Yéla or Sola – I don't know. Neither of them is the woman the next sorcerer called mother. A similar skip occurs several generations later..." He shrugged again. Seifer was frowning.
"But, surely Troy wasn't the only sorcerer to leave behind daughters?" Squall looked slightly irritated.
"The memories aren't clear." He repeated, glaring at the blond. "I only know that for whatever reason, I'm the last sorcerer, and that if my line ends..."
The end of the world...
The merging of the world of the dead, and the world of the living...
The end of everything...
Sudden frantic knocking on the door broke the foreboding atmosphere with a snap and had both Squall and Seifer reaching for their weapons, ready for anything. This was Seifer's office on the ground floor after all. Anyone could get there. Releasing the lock, Seifer opened the door a cautious fraction. His stance relaxed, and he opened it fully to reveal a flushed cadet, hand raised to pound on the door again. The girl's eyes slid past Seifer to rest on Squall.
"Sir!" She hurriedly saluted. "Galbadia Garden is on the emergency frequency in your office, sir!" Squall nodded, and sheathed Lionheart.
"Dismissed." The cadet saluted again and hurried away, fast enough that Seifer wondered if the cadets were so scared of their Commander that they risked expulsion by using Haste magic to aid their escapes. Squall though, said nothing. Either he hadn't detected any magic, or he had, and wasn't bothered by it. Seifer thought it had to be the former. The day Squall let someone break a rule was the day... His thoughts scattered to the wind as he realised that said brunette was already well ahead of him, and not slowing.
Never had the elevator ride to the third floor seemed so slow. Seifer's agitation steadily, and visibly, increased, but only he knew that Squall was getting just as agitated. The blond pushed the third floor button for the fifth time, as if it would speed the elevator's progress.
"If you break that I'll kill you."
"Not if I kill me first..." Seifer muttered. "Hey!" He suddenly realised. "You could've just..." He snapped his fingers, indicating that Squall could've just magicked them there. Squall rolled his eyes, and quickly strode out of the elevator as it reached the third floor. Seifer automatically went to follow, walking straight into the doors, which had yet to open. "Bloody..." The imprecations against Squall dropped to mutters as the doors swished open, after what seemed like an eternity, and the blond knight strode after his sorcerer.
Something about the atmosphere as he entered Squall's office prevented any complaints that Seifer might have made. Squall was leaning over his desk, eyes closed, emotions a mixture of anger and resignation. As Seifer walked closer the brunette's eyes opened, gold flecks visible in otherwise blue irises.
"Martine's been abducted..."
AN: whew wipes away sweat another chapter down and...consults muses four to go!