Chapter 5

The Daughter of the Armageddon Fist

Gerra walked along the harbour front with Thalassa at his side. It was known locally as "the Stretch", she explained. The temperature had warmed considerably, and it was a pleasant late morning. Almost afternoon. The bars and cafes had all opened with many punters out front – mostly commercial fishermen – chain smoking, laughing loudly, flirting with waitresses, jeering any beggars that dared try their luck.

They were going to have to stay in FH until the following morning, when the trawler that had smuggled Thalassa into the ocean settlement sailed out again. Gerra decided to risk getting some fresh air, as long as they stayed near the hotel, to reduce his chances of being spotted by Leo. Wherever he was.

Thalassa gripped his hand suddenly as a couple of Esthar soldiers rounded the corner, but they seemed more interested in the happenings of the harbour and only glanced at them briefly. Gerra noticed that her fingertips were quite rough, much like the women in his time, but the rest of her hand was gloved. She did not let go until the soldiers were far behind them.

They stopped in front of a bar near the end of the Stretch, called The Fin and Flounder. It did not seem too busy, and the prices seemed reasonable.

A teenage waitress stared at them. When she spoke, it was without enthusiasm and with the local accent. 'Hiya. Can I help?'

'Have you got tables out back?' Gerra asked, not wishing to be drinking in view of the street.

'Yeah.' She pointed in the general direction, and they were left to find it for themselves. It was a small, paved yard that was in full sun, mostly empty save for another couple, and three middle-aged fishermen. The fisherman all had faded tattoos and were behind a veil of cigarette smoke, their crude conversation and multiple, empty pint glasses signifying they were on a session.

Gerra picked up a laminated menu and scanned it. He had not learnt to read until adulthood and was a little slow.

'Here,' Thalassa said, handing him a couple of fifty gil notes. 'Keep them. I get paid a salary, but I'm on the White SeeD Ship most of the time, so I don't even get chance to spend it.'

'Thanks.'

In his time, White SeeD had survived for over two centuries after the Third Sorceress War, passing down their teachings from generation to generation. But without Guardian Forces, they could not hope to challenge Ultimecia, and were more of an annoyance than a threat. They would habitually maraud solitary imperial vessels, small convoys or isolated military outposts as part of their initiation rituals, always cloaking their vessel with old Esthari technology and disappearing over the horizon before a counterstroke could be assembled.

Edea's rats, Ultimecia called them, after the Sorceress who founded them. Nonetheless, any White SeeDs Gerra had encountered had been fearsome warriors, and it was understood that a junction with the cactuars – their ruler a slave of Ultimecia – gave them their superior power.

'Do you smoke?' Thalassa asked, bringing him back to this time. She took a pack of twenty and a windproof lighter out of her pocket. 'I won these from one of the trawlermen on my way here, when he tried to up his wager on Triple Triad. I can't stand them!'

Gerra lit one, inhaling deeply as he put them in a pocket. Tailor-made cigarettes were a thing of the past in his era. When he had smoked – mostly when drowning himself in ale, strong wine and whores in the gladiator schools, during his teenage years – it had been through a pipe or bong. And not limited to tobacco.

The waitress came to take their order. Thalassa went for orange juice on ice. Gerra felt the weather called for a chilled cider. He went for a moderate dry, with a chaser of whiskey on ice, but was unimpressed with the golden cider when it arrived. 'Flat as Matoya's tit,' he complained, as soon as the waitress was out of earshot. But he drained nearly a third of it before sampling the whiskey.

Thalassa said that as she had given Gerra her breakfast, she was going to order food. He was still hungry and decided to further line his stomach. Thalassa took the healthy option, grilled bass with salad and boiled rice. Gerra went for battered cod and chips, and the food did not disappoint. The cod had a light, golden batter and the chips were freshly cut, if not properly drained of oil.

Thalassa asked, 'How does this place compare to the bars in your Centra? I can't imagine people drinking out in the open in such a harsh world.'

Gerra smiled. 'They don't really exist anymore. People do most of their drinking underground, along with anything else recreational. Everything's owned by the Empire, so places like this are a wonder to me. I've only read about them.' When he finished the meal, Gerra drained his glass completely. After making a rude noise, he flagged down the waitress for another. Lighting another cig, he asked, 'So, how did you come to join White SeeD?'

'They took me in after my orphanage was destroyed,' Thalassa replied. 'I started my training the same day. I was actually the youngest person to ever pass their test, four years ago now. Both my parents died when Reina took Balamb. I was evacuated before, though, sent to Edea's orphanage in Centra. It's where my dad lived when he was a boy, actually.'

'Of course, I know of your father,' Gerra told her. 'Try as she might, Ultimecia could never quell the story of the Armageddon Fist, and he's still spoke of highly among the indigenous Balambi. Almost as fondly as their sunken homeland. Was your mother a SeeD, too?'

Thalassa shook her head. They both looked at one of the red-faced fishermen, who had started cat-calling the waitress, patting his crotch with his legs wide open. Gerra had been keeping them in his peripheral vision. They had ogled Thalassa more than once, already.

'Ma never passed the SeeD exam, but she worked in the library, at Balamb Garden. She kept working there after she graduated. They got together straight after the last war, and I was born two years after. Pop led the defence of Balamb City after the sea battle was lost, after Garden was destroyed and the survivors fled to the Albatross Archipelago. It was hard fought, but they couldn't hold out against Esthar. Pop's force regrouped outside the capital, but they lost the Battle of the Alcauld Plains.'

Thalassa closed her eyes for a second, and she opened them, they were watery. Her voice cracking a little, she continued.

'Ultimecia killed my father in single combat, and his GF Leviathan was taken. Ma died earlier, at Garden. Her body was lost at sea, along with everyone else. Balamb surrendered.'

Gerra had read various accounts of the war, both forbidden texts and those altered by Ultimecia. That she had killed Zell Dincht personally had turned out to be true, though. Ironically, Thalassa had told him that Zell was one of the SeeDs that had defeated Ultimecia in the future.

Another factor Gerra knew about was that Dollet, and crucially, Galbadia, had opted not to join the alliance against Esthar thirteen years ago. The defence had consisted of Balamb and Timber, bolstered by Balamb Garden. The engagement had been a pivotal point in the war, and Ultimecia had spent several years consolidating before moving on the western continent. Historians had agreed that if Galbadia had joined the alliance, then the young Reina could have been thwarted early.

'You said your orphanage was destroyed?' Gerra prompted after Thalassa fell silent again, giving her tears enough time to stop.

'Yes. After I'd been there for about a year. Naturally, Reina believed my Matron to be raising White SeeDs, and thought that she was still a Sorceress. How Edea unknowingly transferred her power to Rinoa was never adequately explained, and there had never been a case of a Sorceress living on after giving up her power. She probably thought that Edea split her power, like Adel and Rinoa did.

'They came from the sea one summer's night. In reality, Matron wasn't a Sorceress anymore. If she had been, then things could have gone differently, as she was much wiser than Reina. She was junctioned with Alexander, but it wasn't enough. Reina murdered Matron along with her husband, Cid, and all of the children were taken into slavery.'

Gerra figured that an apology would be empty gesture, and it was rare he ever gave one. Instead, he asked, 'How did you escape?'

'I snuck down to the beach that evening with my best friend, Tyris – the one you saw me with earlier. We were pretty far down, dueling with wooden swords in the moonlight, and we saw the ships land. I knew there was nothing we could do; we were just children. But Tyris could hear the battle raging and refused to leave the others.' The White SeeD gave a faint smile. 'Tyris was really brave, and big for her age. None of the boys would mess with her. When I tried to pull her back, she struck me, called me a chicken-wuss and ran to the orphanage.

'I stayed on the beach, hiding behind some rocks until the sounds of the battle stopped. Alexander's holy light was blinding, but suddenly it disappeared. I kept watching as the boats were loaded with the children and departed west, back to their colony. I don't remember how long I remained there, but as dawn came, I walked back to the orphanage. I'll never forget the image of Matron and Cid's bodies, just left broken and bloodied to rot on the flower fields.

'Eventually, I crossed the prairie to the nearby forest, populated with moogles and chocobos. You said they're extinct in your time, but moogles are sentient and can communicate with humans. They knew Matron, and sheltered me for a while, until we spotted a caravan that used to sell supplies to the orphanage. They were enraged when they found out what happened. Their chief, Steiner, made sure the remains of Matron and Cid were given a proper burial.

'I travelled with Steiner's people for over a year. They taught me everything I needed to know about surviving out in the wild: making camp, hunting, fishing, rearing livestock, crafting. Their elders told me many stories, everything they knew of their lost civilisation. I would spar with the older children every night. All I could think about was learning to fight, so I could rescue Tyris and the others from Esthar.

'It wasn't until later that I found out what really happens to children taken by Esthar, used as child labour in their production facilities, or in the mines. The most promising are handpicked for military service, literally the survival of the fittest. As far as I know, Tyris is the only who survived to adulthood.'

Gerra had also endured years in mines. He bore the scars to prove it.

'Also, Memnon was present at the attack on the orphanage,' Thalassa uttered the name with distaste. 'He's now the head of imperial forces. He's Zebalgan, well known as an animal and a sadistic paedophile.'

Gerra had read anecdotes about Agamemnon Zebalga, of course. He had been nothing short of a serial child molester and a war criminal, and only old age had felled him, after decades of ruling one of Ultimecia's Provinces. He had been the ancestor of Vargas, and even more brutal, claiming to be a direct descendant of King Zebalga and Sorceress Zenobia. The Zebalga Clan had resided in the Kakashbald Desert for millennia, long after the dunes had swallowed up their kingdom of legend. They had historically been the enemy of Descendants of Hyne, having excommunicated their own queen, Zenobia, when she had become one of the Original Four.

Though when Ultimecia had first emerged, seeking allies, she had offered the Zebalgans and the other Kakashbaldi tribes an alliance – likely by bewitching the minds of many of their chieftains – before moving on Cactuar Island. However, it was held that Memnon had pledged the Zebalgans to Ultimecia willingly, and when she took power, he was swiftly placed to lead her imperial force in favour of Tiberius Vlahos. The Zebalgans that still followed the prehistoric ways were now free to carry out their barbarism within the Empire's borders, now living in more hospitable terrain.

Thalassa brought her story to a close. 'In the end, we spotted the White SeeD Ship and signalled it. They already knew of the destruction of the orphanage, and their leader, Kurin, took me in. I've been with them for over ten years, and it's the closest thing to a home I have.'

They remained silent now, and Gerra smoked another cigarette. He had almost finished his second pint, whereas Thalassa's juice was almost untouched, diluted by the melted ice. A middle-aged man that was likely the landlord approached the fishermen, told them they could no longer be served and to depart after finishing their drinks. He hurried back inside.

Realising he was going to have to break his seal, Gerra nodded slightly toward the men and asked, 'Think you can handle them?' Thalassa just smirked.

When he came back, all three fishermen were standing in front of their table. The one in the middle was standing in front of Thalassa's chair, the same one that had cat-called the waitress. His lager swelling gut bulged from under his faded t-shirt, and he had unsightly, faded ink on his overly animated arms. He was slurring something about how she should leave her boyfriend behind while they spirited her out to sea.

As soon as Thalassa saw Gerra step back into the yard, she leaned back and kicked the obnoxious man square in the groin. He doubled over, his scruffy beard ending up inches from her face. She rapidly twisted left with an elbow to his temple, and was out of the chair as her courter crashed to the ground.

'Bitch!' The fisherman nearest to her grunted, stepping forward with a sloppy right swing to break his glass over her head.

The White SeeD made a quick movement, catching the man's tattooed forearm on her own, in the same instant stepping through with a crushing piston to his nose. He cried out in pain and crashed back into a table, his glass shattering on the ground as blood immediately began to pour over his mouth. Gerra wondered if her gloves were composed of something other than leather, as he knew was common among martial artists in this era.

The third man was rooted to the spot, shorter and more slightly built than the other two, clutching his glass tightly and glancing from Thalassa to Gerra. 'I wouldn't advise it, buddy.' Gerra said, touching Thalassa's arm and motioning her toward the door.

She calmly strode back into the bar, the landlord giving her a wide-eyed look as she approached the bar on their way out. She dropped a twenty gil bill onto the bar and said, 'Sorry about that. We weren't here, okay?'

Stunned, he just nodded. They walked back to the hotel, careful to check they were not followed.