Again Fury questioned about the progress of her presentation. Again Rinoa offered the same, tired words, "Doing well."
It was enough to satisfy him.
It was the truth, yet not. Rinoa didn't speak of the newfound information she dug up from the depths of the network. Under the guise of the screen name angelwing, Rinoa contacted Timber resistance members. They told her of the secret radio signals they tuned in to as a means of communication. They detailed the attacks on peaceful protests before torching homes, businesses, and finally the forest. They sent pictures of families and friends lost, ranging from toddlers to elders.
They revealed what part her father played in the Timber War.
Rinoa recalled the military functions she was forced to attend, even as a child. She loathed them. No one to play with and always needing to be on her best behavior. Every day was like that, though in those instances it came with a pretty dress and a fancy clip in her hair. The adults honored the memory of a veteran or those currently serving. Many praised their valiant efforts, but what of the victims to the military? Where were the memorials to the fierce and brave revolutionaries, who wished for nothing more than a peaceful life? They fought to keep that and paid for it in blood.
Fury helped expedite the process.
Tears swelled in her wide eyes, but she never pried them away from the monitor. She needed to know. If simple townsfolk were able to stand up against the military and witness the slaughter of their loved ones, then Rinoa could stomach the atrocities no grade school textbook bothered to mention.
She hitched her breath. Memories fired off in rapid succession. Fury loomed over her, barking orders to a mere child as if she were a soldier. Every quiet dinner, every night spent alone, every reminder that she was never good enough, every threat to rip away what made her happy... Rinoa fluttered her eyes and clamped a hand over her mouth.
History teachers from grade school to the prep academy echoed the same lies—that the Galbadian forces were war heroes putting an end to the insane terrorists of Timber. Every teacher repeated an identical explanation a hollow mantra: they didn't know what was good for them or the people.
But maybe Timber was onto something. Whatever it was, it flourished like a brilliant sunrise within Rinoa.
A gentle snowfall graced Deling City. Rinoa counted the flakes instead of listening to the student presentations. Only two more hours of final exams before they were free for winter solstice break. Yawns and whispers crept through the classroom; the lack of overhead lights to favor the projector's images didn't help maintain focus. The end of the day couldn't come soon enough.
"Rinoa Caraway," Mr. Valenport called out.
She perked up and found him gesturing to the open space in the front of the classroom. One presentation left—her own. Rinoa lucked out with capturing the coveted spot of the final presentation in the class, despite her teacher's reminder her that the last spot also meant having to live up to previous successes. No matter when she presented, none of the students would care with their sleepy, bored faces.
It made no difference; Rinoa did her project for herself in the end.
Grabbing her note cards and slides, Rinoa rose and approached the front of the room. She tucked hair behind her ear while fussing with the old projector to fit all her slides. More yawns surfaced, accompanied by coughs.
"There we go," Rinoa mumbled before straightening out and cleared her throat.
Two students had their eyes on her. Mr. Valenport fiddled with his watch. With a deep breath, Rinoa began.
"All of us know about the Timber War. It's been integrated into our education since pre-school, in some cases." Her eyes flicked back and forth from her note cards to her inattentive audience. "We were told stories equating to legends, of the brave men and women who protected us from radicals daring to destroy the very foundation we Galbadians know and love." She licked her lips and narrowed her eyes. "But there are two sides of a coin and thus we only see one version of the story."
Swiping the remote, Rinoa clicked it to reveal the first slide. Gasps washed through the room like a wave. Mr. Valenport's jaw dropped. Rinoa tossed her head over her shoulder to eye the candid image taken by a fellow resistance member of seated protesters gunned down like animals.
"The people of Timber weren't and still aren't terrorists. The Galbadian army forced themselves onto these kind folk, deprived them of their land and humanity, and walked away as war heroes. It wasn't a battle—it was a massacre against the people of Timber."
Rinoa looked forward and held her breath. All eyes were on her, wide with either curiosity, disgust, or grief—she had their attention now.
A small smirk tugged at her lips. "This is the Timber War they never taught us in history books. This is what truly happened."
"Where the hell did you acquire those slides?!"
Mr. Valenport latched onto her arm and hauled her towards the wall while she attempted to exit the classroom. Rinoa shoved his arm away and met his livid eyes.
"I researched them," Rinoa said. "At the library."
"Don't lie to me!" he shot back, his low growl meant to intimidate, but Rinoa never flinched. "What you showed in class was terrorist propaganda—"
"What I showed was the truth," Rinoa replied, not afraid to speak loud and bold. "You told me to dig for more information and spin something new on this tired topic—"
"And be a Timber sympathizer?!"
Her eyes dropped from his momentarily, just enough to think over his words. "You know what?" Rinoa glared through him. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm sick of people walking over those who can't stand up from themselves. Maybe I don't think innocent bystanders deserve to be slaughtered for shits and giggles."
Her clutched her forearm again, tighter than a vice. "Young lady," he hissed, "you can explain all of this to the dean. This is grounds for expulsion. No academy anywhere will admit you into their student body. You have ruined your academic and military career!"
Eyes settled onto her while he escorted her elsewhere. His toxic words spewed out, yet Rinoa did little else than roll her eyes. After several sharp turns, the dean's office lied at the end of the hallway. Her eyes caught onto something else. Rinoa skidded to the halt, even if it meant Mr. Valenport dragging her dead weight.
"What is the meaning of this!?" he demanded.
Rinoa wiggled in placed, thighs pressed together. "Can I at least use the bathroom beforehand?" She gestured to the restrooms. "I don't know how long this talk with the dean will take and I had like, athree bottles of water before your class and I really need to—"
"Fine." He relinquished his grasp of her. "You have two minutes!"
"Oh my goodness, thank you!" Rinoa bolted to the restroom hunched over.
Once through the door, she heaved out a breath and straightened her posture. Several senior girls stood by the propped open window smoking cigarettes. Their giggles died when Rinoa entered, each one harnessing a razor-sharp glare.
"Don't mind me," Rinoa said with a wave. "Just need to um... get through here—" She motioned between them. "—and we'll be good to go—"
"Hey!" one of them said, "we were here first, junior. Find your own window to blow smoke out of."
Rinoa paused and blinked. "Seriously? That's not what I'm here for. Give me a second, will you? Now if you'll excuse me."
Stepping between them, not caring if they hollered and whined, Rinoa tested the window. To her dismay, it didn't budge more than two inches, thanks to some stubborn hinges. She eyed the massive screws holding it in place and grinned.
"The hell are you doing?!" a girl growled as Rinoa swung her backpack around.
"It's in here somewhere," Rinoa said, fishing through her pockets. "Aha!"
She yanked out a metal ruler and held it up like a prized possession. The others stared blankly while Rinoa perched on the window sill.
"Finally get to put something from Geometry class to use," she said, loosening the screws with the ruler.
The screws dropped to the floor with distinct clinks. The window flew open and smashed into the outside wall. A winter breeze eased in.
Rinoa clapped her hands clean. "There you go. More room to blow your smoke out of."
"W-why are you doing this?!"
"Need to make sure all those hours in the basic training sessions were worth hauling ass for."
With her feet propped up on the window sill, Rinoa vaulted out of the bathroom and to the nearby lamppost. She cursed beneath her breath—the damn metal froze straight through her. But she ignored the climate and the few eyes locked on her; she slid down the post as best as she could, hissing at the biting sensation rubbing between her bare thighs. Once her feet touched the pavement, she smoothed her skirt out, brushed hair out of her eyes, and ran without ever looking back.
This wasn't a part of her plan. In hindsight, Rinoa prepared her escape for some time within the next two weeks. Fury buried himself in end of the year bureaucratic garbage, enough to arrive after dinner every night like clockwork. Today was no different; her plans were merely expedited.
She sprinted the entire way home, out of breath upon reaching the gates. The mansion was no haven, though; she needed to be in and out before the attendants noticed something amiss.
Rushing up the stairs, Rinoa tore her backpack off to dump out its contents. Won't be needing this anymore. Her bedroom went from military-grade clean to a disaster in seconds. Rinoa tore it apart to pick only the essentials. She combed her closet for practical outfits, immediately stripping her academy uniform for jeans, black combat boots, a black tank top, her thickest, powder blue hoodie, and matching white mittens, earmuffs, and scarf. She stuffed her backpack and a suitcase with what she couldn't part with from her favorite Tonberry plushie to her old sketchbooks still hidden from Fury.
She paused when she stumbled upon the closed containers buried in the back of her closet. Julia's keepsakes resided there. Rinoa longed to bring all of it with her, but after a shaky breath, she slammed the closet shut.
Her eyes fell upon the last item yet to be stowed away: her mother's jewelry box. Rinoa cracked it open and scanned over the precious jewels and metals once worn by Julia. All saved for a special occasion, or so Rinoa convinced herself. Sitting amongst all the elaborate pieces was a simple, silver band. Rinoa scooped it up and held it to the light.
"This is for you," Fury once said. "It belonged to your mother; she wanted you to have it."
The weight of those words didn't register when she was a child, let alone several months after Julia's funeral. He lectured her to take good care of it and not treat it like a toy, thus Rinoa hid it away to appease him.
"Maybe one day," Fury had said, closing Rinoa's bitty hands over the pristine metal, "it will be your wedding ring."
Maybe. Who knew what the future would hold, but Rinoa knew what it wouldn't hold.
Slipping the band on a spare, silver chain, she secured it around her neck, tucked the closed jewelry box under her arm, gathered her belongings, and left.