Disclaimer: Time for a little math problem: How many different ways are there to say 'I don't own Final Fantasy?' Answer: not enough and far too many.

I managed to squeak one more chapter out before college starts. Yay! I wrote the walking through Kohlingen scene months ago, and it's still one of my favorites. There's a subtle reference to T. S. Eliot's Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock with the smoke and windowpanes just for a sense of poetry. Thanks as always for reviewing, and enjoy!

Chapter Eight: Sleeping Beauty

The team finally chosen to search for Terra left for Figaro Castle the following morning. Wanting to avoid confrontation between Celes and Cyan, the Doman was elected to remain in Narshe. Locke was insistent on going with Celes, if not to keep his promise of protecting her, then to keep his promise of protecting Terra. Sabin was too restless to be left in Narshe, and Edgar was anxious about the state of Figaro, so Gau was to stay with Cyan.

Other than a change of clothes for the overly conspicuous king and the worse-for-wear general, along with restocking on supplies and rest, the stay in Figaro was uneventful. With the ingenious maneuverability of the castle, the quartet was transported beyond the mountains to the Kohlingen plains in a matter of hours.

Upon arriving in Kohlingen the next evening, Locke went into a daze. He stood at the town's entrance staring at a damaged house at the northwestern end. It was a cold night, but that's not why Locke was shivering. He shuddered at the ghastly sight of the ruined cottage that held memories of past life…and a past love. Edgar put his hand on Locke's shoulder understandingly and Sabin watched worriedly as the two started towards the abandoned structure, and he and Celes padded quietly along behind them.

As they walked, Celes gazed placidly at the homes of the still village, their windows softly lit by candlelight. The only sounds were of their footsteps on the cobblestone path and the fall leaves of trees rustling in the gentle caress of an evening breeze. Somewhere in those trees was a solitary nightingale singing its sweet song.

Through the cold night air, a light snow began to fall over the village. The small flakes of diamond dust and the feathery swirls of chimney smoke sparkled in the soft moonlight. Soon the cobblestone path was graced by a downy coating of gleaming powder; a striking setting that would capture the attention of any artist.

And Celes saw none of it.

She was used to the harsh setting of Vector, where everything was brick and steel. There, it was dirty and reeking of sewage and chemical waste. One could barely see the sky through the noxious haze, and the constant drone of machinery obliterated any chance for tranquility.

She observed the scene, but couldn't appreciate the perfection of it all. When she looked at the stone cottages with their candles flickering faithfully through the darkness and thin trails of smoke licking their warm tongues against the windowpanes, she didn't perceive the absolute beauty.

How could she? She had no concept of beauty. She was raised in a world where beauty was forbidden and where things such as creativity and individuality were considered blasphemous to the Empire.

She looked upon the village through the eyes of a warrior, the shadow of her memories masking in icy darkness any admiration of the peaceful hamlet. She felt no compassion for the parents tucking their children into their warm beds, nor for the neighbors who felt safe chatting on their porches in the steady torchlight.

She felt only the fleeting reminiscence of the flames she ordered lit that day two years ago in a different place, a different life. She saw only the phantoms of her men chasing innocent men and women down in the streets. She heard only the whisper of their screams in the wind.

They reached the severely fire-damaged and long since vacated cottage, and waited while Locke walked tentatively inside. Sabin turned to Edgar.

"Brother, what is this place?"

"Someone very close to Locke used to live here."

"Used to?"

Edgar hesitated. "…She's dead."

Celes' brows furrowed slightly, but she said nothing. After a few minutes, the three entered the ramshackle house to find Locke standing in the middle of the room.

"…wasn't there…when she needed me…" Locke muttered almost to himself. "I…I failed her…"

Locke turned and walked out into the snow and made his way to the other end of town to another house, this one undamaged. Edgar, Sabin, and Celes followed him down into the basement of the house, and were surprised to see the body of a young woman laying in a bed, an old man watching over her.

"Mr. Cole!" the man greeted with a crazy glint in his eye. "It's been a while! But worry not! Your treasure's quite safe!"

Locke gazed down at the sleeping beauty, seemingly lost in thought. Except for the senile old man who guffawed continuously, something about his herbs, they all stood silent for several minutes, watching from a respectable distance. Locke gently caressed the woman's cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"I…failed her…"

Locke bent down and lightly brushed his lips against hers. Sniffling quietly, he backed away, tears threatening to fall, but he didn't leave, lost in his memories. Celes, too, stood still, her face unreadable, but seemingly entranced.

FLASH

"Celes, behind you!"

Leo's warning was needless as her sword was brought around and thrust back in one fluid motion, and for the first time, her blade bit through flesh and tasted blood.

FLASH

Deserters gathered as she threw a helmet to their feet. It was the helm of their commander.

"Your comrades are dead," she stated firmly. "And you will all share their fate for your disobedience."

For the second time, the blood of the mutinous militia stained the ground.

FLASH

"Two hundred civilians have been gathered in City Hall, just as you ordered, ma'am."

"Torch it."

The screams of those burning alive pierced the still evening air and for the first time stabbed at the general's icy heart.

FLASH

"Get all the clergy out. Then burn it."

The white cathedral was only the start of the Purging of Vector. And not for the last time, her mind was branded and burned by the cries of the innocent.

FLASH

"Eliminate all threats to the Empire."

For the first time, she stood over the body of a young girl, virgin blood dripping from her blade. Not her first kill, and certainly not her last. No, murder. That was the word. The girl's blue eyes were open and clouded, staring into nothing. Red blotches painted her yellow flower dress and blonde hair. Celes looked at her hands, and not for the first time, her tears tainted the blood-stained ground before she returned to her men, hard as steel once more.

FLASH

Celes came back to reality and tore her gaze from the body in front of her, realizing Locke and Edgar had left, and Sabin was gently shaking her arm to get her attention.

"You all right?" he asked.

She met the martial artist's gaze, but her expression betrayed a distance greater than usual. Outside, the thief and the king waited in the frosty air. Locke, his gaze fixed on the ground, seemed oblivious to everything around him, not even noticing when Celes and Sabin finally joined them.

Gloomily, they dispersed to their respective destinations. While Locke and Celes went to the inn and paid for their rooms, Edgar and Sabin went to the café where a familiar figure clad in black sat at the counter. The dog at his side gave a warning growl, and the man didn't even lift his eyes from his drink as he spoke in a low tone.

"We meet again."

"Shadow," Sabin greeted.

"I trust you found your way," the dark man said. "And you, king of Figaro…I thought the general would have throttled you by now."

Edgar notably averted his gaze to a corner of the café at the mocking tone, also avoiding his brother's questioning glance. The mercenary gave a low chuckle before turning serious.

"Leave us."

"What was that about, Brother?" Sabin asked as they retreated to a table.

"Don't worry about it."

"But—"

"I said don't worry about it," Edgar repeated sternly.

The king threw a nervous glance over his shoulder towards the assassin, but the man was gone.

((ooo))

When Celes reached her room, she absently threw her pack onto a chair and laid down, not even bothering to undress or climb under the covers. She merely laid there thinking. Thinking of a past that dared not be revisited. But she couldn't stop.

Maranda. A peaceful village destroyed two years earlier for supporting the Returners. She closed her eyes and saw the chaos. She felt the heat of the flames and heard the cries of the innocent. The air of death and the smell of blood and charred flesh was suffocating. She could taste the fear in the air as a shark tastes blood in water.

Snapping out of her reverie, Celes got up and looked out the window of her room, seeing that it was still snowing lightly outside. Wanting to get some air, she decided to go for a walk to clear her head. Passing by Locke's room, which was quiet as a tomb, she stepped outside into the frosty air. Breathing in deeply, Celes pushed all thoughts out of her mind, a trick she had learned many years before.

Crouching on the hill overlooking Kohlingen, a figure noticed Celes step out of the inn. Even through the snow, he saw a distant and somewhat distracted expression on her face. After a moment, she began walking slowly through town without her cloak and, more notably, without her sword. The soft clicking of her heels on the stone path echoed through the still air.

This woman was a puzzle to him: a gifted general of the most powerful army in the world, commanding the same respect as Leo, and the same fear as Kefka. She held the fate of the Imperial Continent in the palm of her hand, had town after town practically kneeling before her with offerings of gold, grain, and goods. She had the Returners on the run, even more or less trapped in their own hideout, ready to be exterminated, but now here she was traveling with the most infamous of the lot, completely abandoning her Imperial roots.

The man grinned deviously. She'd make a good mercenary.

But the greatest puzzle of all: how was this woman alive? The question plagued his mind day after day since seeing her in South Figaro. He had a perfect record and had watched the arrow hit its mark, so how was she still standing?

Celes stopped beside the small stream that snaked along the northern edge of Kohlingen. Sitting down with her legs folded casually to one side, she gazed into the tranquil water, oblivious to both the cold flurry around her and the pair of eyes studying her from afar. The surface of the stream was like a mirror, sparkling under the vast sea of stars, reflecting perfectly the snowy scene surrounding it. Such peace and perfection did not sit well with her, and she ran her fingers through the water, ruining the flawless beauty. For a haunting instant, Celes swore she saw a cloud of red trail behind her hand. A chill ran up her spine, and she suddenly got the feeling she was being watched. When she searched her surroundings, however, she found no potential source of her unease.

The man emerged from the shadows for a last glimpse of the woman. Our paths will cross again, Chere. It was not thought in malice or contempt, but with a mere sense of Chance. Silently, he slipped away through the darkness, and Celes was alone again.