Sabin sat, staring at the note, and the ring, becoming more and more devastated each time he read it. The others watched him falling to pieces, and hated that they could do nothing to help. Sabin had not let them see the note, had not given any indication of it's contents, but they could guess what it said.

Gerad was gone; he'd fled in the night, leaving the note and the ring behind him.

They could only assume that he'd had enough, and though the devastation left in his wake was terrible, none of them could find fault with the man, he wasn't Edgar, he didn't have a reason to be with them, they had all had a hand in forcing him to travel with them, trying to make him into someone he wasn't, or at least, wasn't ready to be yet, or anymore.

God it was all so very confusing. Why could things never just be simple? Why could good luck never come their way?

VIVIVIVIVI

Sabin's fighting became increasingly more erratic; he was jumping in front of blows that the others were more than capable of handling, and most of the healing items and spells had to be used on him. He was only just on the right side of suicidal. If it wasn't for his promise to help them take down Kefka they knew he would be dead by now.

It had been three weeks since Gerad had left, and every night Sabin would read the note he had left. No one else had been able to get a look at it. Sabin guarded it like it was the crown jewels of Figaro itself… no, that was wrong, he guarded it as though it were Edgar himself.

They had all tried speaking to him, tried to pry the contents of the letter out of him so that they could help, but he had rebuffed every attempt. He was falling apart and no one could do anything to stop it.

VIVIVIVIVI

Sabin's hand clenched around the already crumpled letter, and looked at the ring on his little finger again, as he had done a million times before. He gazed sightlessly at the empty bed on the other side of the room. He had woken to an empty room, and ever since he had cursed himself for ever mentioning the chainsaw.

But watching his brother freeze as he reached for a weapon that should have been there, but wasn't, had frightened Sabin far more than he could have ever imagined, and he couldn't keep it away from him any longer.

He had taken the chainsaw with him.

He'd left the ring.

Sabin didn't know what to make of it, and the letter itself told him little, but it was a missive from Edgar, in his ridiculously neat handwriting that he remembered most from the detailed drawings of his various 'Tools' Edgar had made in their youth. His gaze drifted to the letter again, and the neat print that threw him back to the days of his fathers disapproving looks as Edgar would pull his papers from his robes and start scribbling madly when he was supposed to be paying attention to how their father ran the kingdom.

Father had always been disapproving of Edgar's projects, it had been Mother that had encouraged him, had encouraged both of them to do the things that interested them.

He never should have left… He should have followed his father wishes and become joint ruler of Figaro with his brother. He shouldn't have wasted so many years in the mountains… He should have been there. Then maybe he could have prevented this… somehow…

Dammit! Why didn't he stay? They could have talked about it. Maybe he could have convinced him not to go…

Sabin's eyes shut against the flood of tears he could not hold back any longer.

Poor, poor Sabin… and we still don't know what was in that note. Ah well, things just go from bad to worse, don't they?