FINAL FANTASY: POINT OF INTERSECTION
BOOK 1: THE APPROACHING STORM


CHAPTER 7


For a long time, all she knew was darkness.

Then, a hint of awareness. Cold and wetness seeping into her bones with frigid, hungry teeth, freezing her blood in her veins. The sharp, fiery sting of pain burning fiercely throughout her body. Pain everywhere, in her wrist, ribs, ankle, arms. Something rough and uneven pressing uncomfortably against her back, digging into her spine. It felt like a tree root.

Her thoughts floundered away like errant leaves caught in an autumn wind. Time had no meaning in her semiconscious state, no sense of progression. She merely drifted, her shivering less and less until she at last lay still. Blackness ensnared her once more, and she tumbled effortlessly into merciful nothingness, the terrible pain forgotten in the midst of a deep, dreamless sleep.

Yet, soon enough, the dreams came anyway.


She stood upon a high cliff, gazing silently across the horizon. The skies roiled in agony, writhing furiously in dark, massive storms of shrieking winds and wicked bolts of blue lightning. Everywhere she looked, the heavens were scorched with red flame as though the sun itself were plummeting downward through the clouds in a hellish explosion of fiery death. Thunder rumbled furiously in her ears, and the acrid smells of ash and sulphur filled her nostrils.

Far below, for miles in all directions, lay the ruined plains of Centra. Rolling hills of stiff brown grass choked with jagged outcroppings of tumbled, broken rock stretched away to the distant, jagged peaks of the surrounding mountains. Far to the west, she could just make out the vast blue expanse of the sea crashing endlessly against the high cliffs.

To the south lay the tower, wrapped in cold shadows.

Once, in other days, it had been the sanctuary of a powerful guardian before his destruction at the hands of a mortal. Darkness shrouded it now, twisting it into a massive spike of black stone thrusting defiantly into the heavens. Something else dwelt there now. She felt its presence, shivered at the dark one's chill touch within her heart. The blackness around the tower pulsed and throbbed as though it were a living thing, its noxious breath poisoning the light, draining it away into the gloom.

Yet the living darkness was incomplete.

It was searching for something, a piece of itself lost long ago. She could feel its burnt, withered Hand reaching out across the world, across mountains and forests, plains and hills, grasping desperately for the midnight shard it once possessed, the very essence of its being. Nothing else mattered, only the Shadow's black heart, yet its Hand could not find it.

Gradually, the malevolent entity became aware of her watching from afar. She stumbled backward, collapsing onto her rump as the darkness surged toward her, its black Hand outstretched. A shriek escaped her lips, her eyes widening in fear as she raised her arms in a useless attempt to defend herself from the dark one's relentless advance. Shadow and flame surrounded her, the acrid stench of smoke filling her nostrils and the heat of the fire blazing against her skin as impenetrable blackness stole away the light from her eyes and left her drowning in darkness.

—Sha'lat! Nu ethyr'nën i temarileth!—

The voice spoke from within her, yet it was not her own. She had heard it before, in the frigid, icy waters of the lake. Now it shouted out against the encroaching blackness, defying it in a blast of pure light that nearly blinded her with its brightness. The fire and darkness receded, kept back by the shielding white glow surrounding her, until she was alone once more and her visions had faded.

Awareness came again, briefly. She was moving, or something beneath her was moving. A cyclical rhythm of forward momentum as the wind whispered softly in her ears. Somehow, she was no longer on her side but sat upright, albeit slumped forward. Something lay against her middle, a thick and strong limb of some kind that held her securely yet gently in place. Again, there was pressure against her back, but this time it did not cause her pain. It was light, yet close, and she felt warmth within it, something she had not dared hope to ever experience again.

Do not be afraid, a voice spoke to her, a real voice, deep and resonant. A man's voice. Death will not take you tonight. I will not allow it.

The weight behind her drew nearer, and the warmth slowly began to spread from within it into her own body. She clung to the unseen man's voice, trusting his words implicitly even though she did not know who he was. Perhaps it was something in the way he spoke, in the gentle, protective way she felt him holding her, but she knew somehow, even here just below the surface of consciousness, that he would keep his promise. As she descended once more into blackness, she felt the light pressure of his arm around her waist and the warmth of his body behind hers, and she knew that she was safe.


The first thing she was aware of was pain.

Bone ground excruciatingly against bone as she struggled to breathe, and from her broken wrist, a harsh, dull ache seared its way relentlessly up her arm to her shoulder. Her abdomen burned fiercely with every inhalation, making each one an agony. Only slightly less troublesome was the insistent throbbing in her sprained ankle and the raw, fiery stinging sensation across her other arm as well as the other minor cuts and bruises she had sustained in her fall.

Slowly, Ellone opened her eyes and looked around.

Tongues of orange flame danced and crackled in the small stone fireplace to her right, filling the room with warmth and the scent of slowly burning wood. By its flickering light, Ellone let her gaze wander slowly over the polished wood paneling of the walls and the light blue patterned blankets of the modest double bed in which she lay. Bound in a makeshift plaster cast, her right wrist rested easily upon a soft pillow atop the covers. Thick cloth bandages dotted with red stains covered the length of her other arm from just below her shoulder nearly all the way down to her palm, and a stack of smaller cushions gently supported her twisted left ankle.

To her right, a man sat at the side of the bed. Clad almost completely in black save for the wide band of crimson fabric that held most of his long, dark hair away from his face, he gazed intently at something just beneath Ellone's line of sight. His eyes were deep brown pools in the dim light, fierce yet also somehow gentle and tinged with some deep sadness he could not quite hide. The soft scratching of metal against wood hung in the air along with the faint smells of gun oil and leather.

You are awake, the man stated quietly, slowly looking up at her. His deep, soft voice sounded somehow familiar.

Ellone blinked, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. where am I?

Do not be afraid, he reassured her. I have brought you to the home of some friends of mine so your wounds could be treated.

found me? she wondered.

The man nodded slightly. You were lying unconscious in the snow, freezing to death.

Ellone's pained breath came in short, ragged gasps of air from within her cracked ribs, how long have have I been out?

It has been almost three hours since I first brought you here, the stranger answered.

Ellone gazed thoughtfully at him. And you you've been watching over me the whole time?

My friends and I thought it unwise to let you wake up alone in an unfamiliar place. I chose to stay with you, as it was I who found you.

Can I can I at least know your name? Ellone asked. I'd like to thank my rescuer properly if I could.

the man replied softly.

Ellone managed a small, grateful smile. Thank you, Vincent for saving me. I my name my name is Ellone.

Vincent nodded. You are welcome, Ellone.

As she came more fully awake, Ellone blinked as she realized that beneath the blankets she wore nothing but her bandages and a pair of pink pajama bottoms. She felt the gauze of her bindings against her bare skin, and although her breasts and abdomen were well covered, Ellone still blushed furiously and found herself suddenly unable to meet Vincent's gaze.

Um... where... where are my, um... my clothes? she asked tentatively.

Vincent coughed and glanced awkwardly away. you were soaked to the skin when when I found you. Forgive me, Ellone, but I had to remove them so that they would not drain your body heat any further. I tried my best to be discreet

Ellone gulped, her cheeks reddening even further. you took off my clothes? Did you did you see anything?

Your welfare was my only concern, he answered. I kept you wrapped in my cloak to keep you warm until I could get you here.

Her face flaming, Ellone sighed uncomfortably. She had begun to like Vincent even though she had only known him for a few minutes, yet now she had just discovered that he had seen her in a most embarrassing state. Perhaps it had been necessary, as he had said, to remove her garments, but Ellone still shivered, not quite able to shake the sense of violation that grasped her heart.

I have offended you, Vincent murmured, rising quietly to his feet. forgive me for any discomfort I have caused you. I will leave you now.

Ellone chided herself then for acting so foolishly and forgetting so easily the kindness he had shown her. He had saved her life, after all, and had stayed by her side for the last three hours. She had awoken to discover her wounds bound and her body beginning to warm. Ellone sighed, ashamed that she could have treated him this way after what he had done for her.

Vincent, please don't go, she pleaded, finally bringing herself to look at him again. I should be the one to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. You you were only trying to help. I'm sorry, Vincent I'm sorry that I doubted you.

Do not be, Ellone, he replied, for your reaction is no more than I had expected. A friend of mine who lives here has left you some of her old clothing that you may change into when you can more easily move about. It was Tifa who treated your wounds when I first brought you here. I should think you will meet her in the morning along with her husband.

Ellone smiled. I look forward to it.

As Vincent settled once more into his chair, Ellone noticed for the first time the bronze prosthesis beneath his left shoulder. The metal limb caught and reflected in its burnished surface the flickering orange glow of the fire, and by its light Ellone could see that in place of flesh and blood fingers, the armored palm bore instead five sharp, curved claws.

What happened to your arm? she asked quietly.

I lost it long ago, Vincent replied, his eyes narrowing slightly as his expression darkened. It is not something I wish to discuss.

Ellone could have kicked herself. I understand, Vincent. I didn't mean to pry or anything.

You did not know, he reassured her, his gaze softening a little, and, I admit, I am not exactly what you would call normal.

Neither am I, she whispered, more to herself than to him. How many times had she wished she could have been born without her powers, that she could have had the chance to live a normal life? If it weren't for the abilities she had been cursed to bear, her family wouldn't have been torn apart when she was young. She and Squall would have grown up together in Winhill, raised by Uncle Laguna and Raine. Ellone might have been married by now, might even have had children of her own. Her power had denied her all that, however, and she was alone because of it.

Vincent looked curiously at her. What do you mean?

Oh, it it's nothing, really, Ellone stammered, surprised he had actually heard her. don't worry about it.

As you wish, he nodded. Rising again from his chair, he turned to the fireplace, where a glazed ceramic teapot emblazoned with intricate blue and white designs rested on the mantle atop an electric warmer. Vincent took the teapot and carefully poured from the spout a stream of steaming hot, dark brown liquid into a palm-sized matching teacup.

Tifa possesses some knowledge of medicine and herbs, he explained, setting the teapot back down on the warmer, so she prepared this for you before retiring for the night. The tea is of white willow bark and chamomile. It will ease the pain of your injuries and help you to relax.

Ellone smiled gratefully as he sat down next to her on the edge of the bed. Thank you, Vincent.

Reaching for the teacup, Ellone suddenly winced as pain shot through her arm from the deep, wicked slash along the back of her forearm where the dark hunter's blade had sliced it open. Swallowing heavily, Ellone shivered and tried not to think about that mysterious figure, but she felt again in her mind the burning pain of the being's other sword cutting across her abdomen. The two blows had come less than a second apart, and had a third one landed, Ellone knew she would have been dead.

Are you alright? Vincent asked, drawing her back to the present.

She nodded. I'm fine, it's just that it still hurts to move too much

Vincent laid his good hand lightly over hers and guided it gently to the teacup, moving slowly so as not to cause her further pain. Her fingers slid around the ceramic surface, feeling beneath her skin the warmth of the hot liquid inside, and with Vincent's careful guidance, Ellone slowly brought the tea to her lips and drank, grimacing a little at the slightly bitter flavor as some of the dark brown liquid dribbled down the side of her mouth in little rivulets.

Ellone blushed at her clumsiness, feeling more than a little foolish, and pushed the teacup away. She let go of Vincent's hand and tried to reach up toward her face, but again pain burned fiercely through her wrist and arm with each motion. Her hand dropped down heavily to rest on the blankets once more. Ellone thought about using her other arm, the broken one, but the weight of the cast proved too great for her to lift in her weakened state.

Please, allow me, Vincent offered, putting the teacup down and taking a cloth from his pocket. He dabbed lightly with the cloth at her chin and mouth, carefully wiping up all of the excess liquid. His eyes never left hers, and for a long moment all Ellone was aware of was his quiet gaze and the gentle pressure of his slender fingers brushing softly against her lips and jaw as he dried away the last of the spilled tea. Time slowed to a crawl in Ellone's mind as Vincent's reddish-brown irises held her own dark eyes, and she could almost hear her heart beating within her breast.

Abruptly, Vincent broke the contact, glancing quickly away from her for a moment and seeming to find sudden interest in the fire. As he pulled his hand back from her mouth, Ellone finally remembered to breathe. She continued, however, to gaze at him, at his long wisps of straight, black hair and the firelight reflecting softly in his eyes.

Ellone blinked and looked awkwardly away, her cheeks reddening slightly as she suddenly realized what she had been doing. What had she been thinking, staring at him like that? Fortunately, he seemed not to have noticed, absorbed as he was in the task of carefully placing the teacup back on the mantle atop a little round saucer next to the teapot. As he sat down again in his chair, he withdrew from his pocket a carving knife and a small, partially shaped block of wood.

What's that you're doing? Ellone wondered.

Vincent glanced thoughtfully at the wood for a moment before finally meeting her gaze. I have been carving this while you slept. It helps to pass the time.

Ellone smiled a little, fascinated. She loved arts and crafts, although she possessed little skill in making such things. What's it going to be?

I am not yet certain, he murmured. It is still taking form, after all.

So you make it up as you go? she asked curiously.

Vincent nodded. In a manner of speaking. Usually I find the shape hidden somewhere in the wood, awaiting its release. I have just begun working with this particular piece tonight, although I do not know what it will become when it is complete.

Sounds like fun, Ellone replied warmly. She had always liked collecting assorted little knickknacks and artworks, from oil paintings and woodcarvings to hand-sewn quilts and other various crafts and antiques. Many such items decorated her small home back in Winhill, adding a quaint and cozy touch to every room in the house.

I suppose I do take some small pleasure in it, Vincent admitted.

Ellone smiled again. Well, I'm sure it'll turn out fine, whatever it is.

I do not share your confidence, he replied, but I thank you for it anyway. You should try to get some rest, Ellone. I will remain here should you need anything.

She nodded and leaned as comfortably as she could back against the pillows. Her body still hurt all over, but not quite so much now thanks to the tea Vincent had given her. Weariness filled her aching bones as she lay beneath the covers and began to drift off, her thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind as her eyelids grew heavy and began to close.

Ellone figured that she would find a way to contact Squall in the morning to let him know she was okay. He would no doubt be upset with her for going off on her own and nearly getting herself killed, but she thought she could handle that well enough. After what she had been through, she would be glad just to see him and Uncle Laguna and the others again.

Yet something nagged at her, something small yet important that Selphie had told her once, and that now filled her with unease. Selphie, who had lived in the Trabia region for much of her life, had mentioned to Ellone that besides the people from Trabia Garden, only moombas, chocobos, and Shumis lived this far north. Because of the harsh climate, there were no other human settlements.

If that's true, Ellone wondered, then where am I?

She struggled to wake, to ask Vincent, but fatigue was fast claiming her. She was suddenly aware of Vincent leaning close to her, and she shivered, suddenly afraid. Her fears proved groundless, however, for he simply reached in and gently tucked her blankets close around her shoulders to help her keep warm. Ellone let her eyes open a little, and she smiled briefly up at him in thanks.

He nodded quietly, without a word, and sat back down in his chair. Soon the soft scraping of metal against wood once more filled the air as he resumed his carving, and Ellone let her eyes slide completely shut. Wherever she might be now, she was safe. As her breathing became more regular and the pain faded to a dull ache in her mind, she let sleep take her at last.

—We meet again—

The feminine voice she recognized but could not name. It spoke to Ellone once more, in the dreamless depths of her slumbering mind. Again she strove to remember who spoke to her, to understand its unsettling familiarity, yet once more her memory failed to provide her with answers. They seemed to hover maddeningly out her reach, just beyond the grasp of her mental fingers.

Who are you? she wondered.

—You'll learn that in time, but for now you must rest and recover your strength—

I'll try but I'm afraid those dreams will come back

—The dreams will not trouble you again tonight. I've seen to that—

How? What what did you say before in my dream?

—The words and what they mean are not important right now. For a moment, I was able to break through the shroud the dark one has over you. The power of the Enemy is great, and it is growing even stronger. I cast Him from your mind for now, although I'm afraid He'll try to return as soon as He can. Unfortunately, you are of great interest to Him—

W-What? Her heart lurched in her breast. Why? Why me?

—You know why—

Of course she did. There could be no other reason, really. My power

—There is far more to it than you know. Your true power is at last beginning to wake, and the dark one fears you because of it. He fears what you may yet become. Beware of his emissary, the dark hunter that pursues you. Your power threw it off for a time, but it will not be so easily deterred. It will come for you, sooner or later—

What do you mean? Who is He? What does He want with me? What am I supposed to do?

—My time grows short, and the great Shadow is lengthening. I can give you no more answers now, but I will reach you again—

Wait! Don't go! There's still so much I don't understand!

But the voice was gone.