FINAL FANTASY VIII and related characters, locations, and weird-looking words are copyright © 1998 by Square, save those which were ripped out of some obscure mythology. Either way, this author owns them not. Events detailed within represent only the personal ideas of the author, and should not be taken to represent the ideas or intentions of Squaresoft of the FINAL FANTASY VIII staff. (At times, the in-story timeline may directly contradict events as described within the game, because the game history is rather self-contradictory itself. (The repetition of "self" in that statement is solely due to the inadequacy of the English language, and should not be construed as a slip on the author's part.)) This story is fictional, unofficial, and created solely for entertainment purposes; if any profit is made through its display and use of aforementioned items, then it is made without the author's knowledge or consent, and is therefore not the author's fault. Duplication of this work without the author's permission and especially without giving said author due credit will seriously annoy him. This text applies whether you read it or not. All your base are belong to us.

—

FATALIS

—

The life of the Sorceress is traditionally understood through four principal events: Fithos, Lusec, Wecos, and Vinosec. These, it is believed, are the defining moments of every Sorceress; how the first two events unfold determines how she will behave in life, which in turn defines how the latter two will transpire. As the Sorceress is held to be a fusion of a mortal human with the living spirit of Hyne, these events carry a profound effect or are affected by everyone who has held or will in the future hold the power of the Sorceress.

Fithos, or birth, is the first event. At birth, she is not yet a Sorceress and, by whim of fate, might never be. Yet this marks the beginning of the time when she must grow as herself and not as the descendant of Hyne. Since she cannot expect to become a Sorceress, her success will depend entirely on her strength of character; and when she does receive Hyne's power, what sort of person she will determine what sort of a Sorceress she will be. Thus, Fithos is considered the most important event in the Sorceress' life.

—

F I T H O S

a FINAL FANTASY VIII fan fiction

—

In the year 2055 on the western calendar, the Dollet Dukedom declared war against the nation of Esthar, marking the beginning of what became known as the Second Sorceress War. After three years of fighting, Dollet successfully beat back Esthar's armies, but the war had nonetheless taken its toll. Revolution in Galbadia, fueled by defectors from Dollet's army, created a new, potent force on the continent; while Esthar held Dollet under siege, it was Galbadian militiamen who liberated the province of Winhill and protectorate of Timber. While Dollet won the war, it had lost its empire, and the status quo that had held since the fall of Centra was nothing more than a memory.

—

December 09, 2058

21 years prior to the Third Sorceress War

Central Lanker Command Center, Timber City

The Major was still in his combat uniform when he entered the General's office. He had been summoned immediately after completing his unit's patrol through the dense forest that surrounded the city of Timber, and had not so much as sat down for the past seven hours; but an immediate summons from the force commander was to be taken extremely seriously.

So, helmet tucked under his left arm, he had walked straight from the debriefing center to the administration complex while his men headed for the locker room and showers.

"I'm Major Caraway, from Division Six," he said, stepping up to the attendant who was substantially more appropriately dressed in base fatigues. "The General summoned me?"

The other man nodded. "Yes, of course. He's expecting you, Major; go on in."

Caraway's brow furrowed in surprise at not even being made to wait; but with a nod in response, he went on through the door at the other end of the reception room, snapping a salute as soon as he was inside. The man seated at the small, simple wooden desk did take a moment to acknowledge him, first committing a list that Caraway couldn't read from his angle to a sheet of paper before him.

"At ease, Major," he said eventually, without looking up. "I'll be with you in a moment." Standing, he walked past Caraway to the door, handing the paper to his attendant. "Have this radioed on the second circuit immediately," he said. "I want confirmation from all the area commanders within the hour."

"Yes, sir." The attendant took the files and left, closing the door behind him.

Caraway watched the man as he returned to his desk and sat down, still not looking directly back at him. General Deling was a man of fairly average height and build; however, he held a remarkably straight posture, and all his actions were taken with a marked precision indicative of strict military self-discipline. His face confirmed the air of cold intensity that seemed to radiate from the man.

"How long have you had your command in Division Six, Major?"

"Three years, sir," Caraway replied immediately.

Deling nodded. "And what was your position before that?"

"I was a unit commander in the Dollet Army, sir. The four-fortieth, stationed in North Monterosa."

"Well, Major." For the first time, the General spared a moment to look at him. "What was it that led you to abandon your men and your country so easily?"

"With all respect to the General, I did no such thing," Caraway replied. "The decision to defect was made by all those in my unit, as soon as the revolution began. Galbadia is my country, as it was for all of them."

"And yet you served ten years as a Dollet musketeer," Deling replied. "You do not see this as a case of divided loyalty?"

"No, sir." Caraway wondered what it was the General was doing. A huge portion of Galbadia's militia was made up of former Dollet soldiers who had defected during the three-year revolution; his was hardly a special case. "Before the revolution, it was Dollet's army that protected my homeland from foreign intrusion, and kept the monsters out of the cities. I joined the Ducal Army to protect my home of Galbadia. For that reason, it was obvious what side I should choose when the revolution began." Deling seemed to have lost interest, and was again shuffling through the papers on his desk; however, Caraway was of the mind that the General was listening as intently as ever. "I wish only to serve Galbadia," he said, "in the best way possible."

Deling scratched his signature onto a sheet of paper before him. "You're quite well-spoken for a soldier, Major. I assume you attended university during your officer's training."

Caraway nodded. "East Academy, sir." In a moment of temerity, he added, "I believe I began attendance in the year following your graduation, sir."

That did cause Deling to look up, though he made no other acknowledgment of Caraway's implication. "What did you study at East Academy, Major?"

"Political science and history, sir."

"Politics and history," the general mused. "Do you suppose it could be said that politics is history, only viewed in the short term without context?"

Now, Caraway was completely lost as to what was going on. "...I certainly think the two are closely related, sir."

"But politics are an active field," said Deling, finishing the sentence Caraway hadn't meant to continue at all. "The study of history is an accounting of things that happened long ago, well beyond our influence." He set down the files, fixing Caraway with a direct, piercing gaze. "But there is the error. History is happening all around us, especially in times such as these. And what governs the fate of men and nations more powerfully than the art of politics?" He gestured out his window at the evening skyline of Timber, with most buildings dark in observance of what was, for now, a voluntary nighttime blackout. "Politics and war. This is history right here, General, and it's already being made. The real trick is what determines whether your name will feature in the story itself or simply the footnotes—or not at all."

"...I think I understand, sir," said Caraway. He did, although he still had no idea why he was being told any of this to begin with.

Deling may have guessed at this distinction. "Major, I called you here to make a judgment about your character. You've had an exemplary service record so far, in both the armies you have chosen to serve." He stood, now fixing Caraway with a steady gaze. "By tomorrow, it will be public knowledge that an armistice has been reached between Dollet and the Nation of Esthar. For all principal concerns, Major, the war is over."

Caraway blinked. Despite the rumors that progress was being made in the talks, this was a revelation that he was certainly unprepared for.

"Moreover," Deling continued, "all parties have agreed to recognize the existence of the Galbadian Republic, with precise borders to be determined later." He smiled thinly. "Dollet and Esthar have kindly chosen to grant us what we have already taken for ourselves. As a result of all this, we will be significantly scaling back our military presence in this region. A force will remain to assist in the training of the local military, but you, I, and most of our commands will be withdrawn to Galbadia over the next few months.

"Back in Galbadia, we will find ourselves faced with completing the task of transforming this militia into a legitimate army. I called you here to determine whether you merited consideration for advancement in that army. At this point, I am inclined to believe that you do."

Caraway nodded, still attempting to reconcile all the new information he had been given. "Thank you, sir."

"For the time being, have your troops prepare for departure," Deling said. Then he saluted, catching Caraway slightly off guard with the gesture. "We're just at the beginning of history, Major. And if we're quite lucky, history may remember our work with favor. That'll be all."

"Thank you, sir," Caraway replied. Turning with drilled precision, he showed himself out of the office and headed back for the barracks where his troops were housed.