Visions of Peace

by Elessar

FF6: Devastated by the Imperial Civil War, a leaderless, divided Empire only hastens the encroaching shadows of another Dark Age. Our heroes fight to ensure peace for all peoples of the world, but can even they halt the inevitable ruin of civilization?

21. Quarantine

The Twenty-First Chapter - Quarantine

They held for a second, waves of energy washing over the pair of colossal doors. Swirls of scarlet and emerald light clashed in the center, gnawing upon the other and fusing into a sickly shade of yellow that slithered about in spirals. The door frame buckled, the walls shook and the very floor itself trembled.

Then the maelstrom subsided. Protective spells that had held up against innumerable Magitek Knights simply faded away without any ill effect.

A pair of leather-adorned guards exchanged concerned looks.

The doors imploded. A rising wall of thick smoke smashed into the onlookers. A second wall, sparser but deadlier, passed through the surprised crowd. Splinters imbedded themselves into a few unlucky souls, cutting clear through armor and into helpless flesh. They collapsed to the ground but were quickly pulled aside by their peers.

Screams of pain subsided along with the smoke and all that could be seen, framed in the doorway of the Emperor's residence, was the shape of feathered wings spread wide.

Terra Branford turned towards them, glowing red eyes cutting through the thin layer of settling dust.

"Come."

Her aides followed without hesitation, each pushing an empty cart. They stormed through the dusty chambers that had belonged to Gestahl, Terra in the lead.

The statues guarding each side of the main hall seemed to have warm, lingering auras, but there were no more protective barriers. Terra gestured before the personal library of the late Emperor.

"Go. Take everything."

Her aides divided the shelves up efficiently, quickly emptying the chamber of its many treasures. Terra felt more than a few of the tomes calling to her, several so strongly that she felt a physical pull.

"How did you know, my Sophis?"

Terra let out a deep breath, her skin returning to its normal colour as she felt herself diminish. "Locke told me," Terra answered as her head was cleared of all the cobwebs. Several of the tomes still pulled at her, but she resisted them with ease.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "All who serviced these chambers are dead, and others were never allowed beyond those doors. Respectfully, how did your friend know?"

Terra glanced at the living reminder of Anson. The Loyalist did not look like she had recently fought off death, but until just a few days ago, she had been hospitalized for grievous injuries. Catherine had fallen only due to the number of wounds overwhelming her, but amazingly, none had been fatal. Still, she had lost a lot of blood. That she had lived had been a miracle, the doctors said.

"For the same reason you survived the Guild," Terra avoided the question of her Magitek Knight -- mage, she mentally corrected -- bodyguard.

"Strength of faith? Then God is with him."

Terra glared at the normally quiet mage, but Catherine was inscrutable.

"By the whimsical nature that is war," Terra growled inaudibly.

---

Locke glanced around the Imperial Library. The huge chamber was mostly empty, but near the side, a number of tables had been moved in. Dozens of scholars -- bookworms really -- were scanning through piles of divided books. Most were making notes, others conversing with each other about proper translations or double meanings.

Neither soldier gave Locke any trouble as he passed by. Security in the palace had been doubled and the black-trimmed leather of the Imperial Guard was everywhere. Unlike the past -- when Gestahl was in charge -- these men were armed as if they were marching to war. Locke shook his head in amazement, wondering how they dealt with the weight of carrying so much. Even if they weren't moving often...

Terra glanced up as he approached. Her feet rested atop her personal table; everyone had given her wide berth and she had seized the opportunity to get comfortable.

"How is it?" she asked hopefully.

"Total lockdown; second-level quarantine procedures are finished and a further layer is being set into place. We're doing our best to make sure that the library and basement labs are carrier-free," Locke answered. He held up his hand, declining Terra's offer to sit down. "It's really bad out there, but at least none of the garrison have joined in the rioting yet. It's only a matter of time though."

Terra sighed. "And Home Division?"

"They've practically got Vector sieged, no one leaves without approval from the Empress or yourself. Unlike us, they're not undermanned. Chocobos, Armors, they've got it all. They've finished digging trenches and building battlements. I heard they're starting walls on the outside to prevent people from breaking in," he shook his head at the madness of it all. "Not sure why anyone would want to come here."

Terra nodded bleakly. "The Major of the Imperial Guard asked if we wanted another battalion. What do you think?"

"You'll need them," Locke expressed dreadfully. "Tell them to go around back, it's the shortest path to the palace and if they go at night, the riots should be at a lull."

Terra set aside the flimsy piece of paper she had been reading. Locke didn't mean to, but he read some of the writing nonetheless.

"Don't worry Locke, we're doing what we can to stop the Plague. I have practically all of Anson's general staff researching Gestahl's books. We should thank the dead Emperor, he had excellent taste and knew valuable tomes when he saw them."

"At least there's that," Locke answered, trying to keep quiet.

"I'm not going to allow all of Anson's work to go to waste. The Empire will not crumble, not on my watch! We need the security of their armies for peace, you and I both know this."

"Yeah," Locke's eyes flickered back to the letter against his will.

"If it wasn't for these stalwart soldiers, we wouldn't even be able to keep quarantine. The Plague would've spread far and wide, infecting and killing millions more. It's for the greater good that we have them keep the peace, even if they might catch it themselv-"

"Why are you reading a letter from Farin?" Locke interrupted, unable to keep quiet any longer. "I mean, at this time!"

Terra glared at him, then picked up the letter and flipped it over. "That wasn't very polite of you."

Locke ran a hand through his greasy hair in frustration. "Dammit Terra, you haven't been out there for days. You don't know what kind of hell it is! People are becoming symptomatic every hour now, and that means they're as good as dead! And it's not just the working men, women and children are coming down with it too!"

"I've told the people to stay at home as much as possible and avoid contact with others," Terra grumbled. "I knew this would happen."

"They're dying out there, Terra," Locke exasperated. "So why in the name of everything good are you reading crap from Farin about morale? Who cares about the Tzen armies? They're not infected!"

"Farin's a good man," Terra snapped.

"I'm not saying otherwise."

Terra waved Farin's letter at Locke. "He's had his hands full dealing with veterans, pardoning war criminals and settling them. Do you know how the Empire awards its retiring soldiers, Locke?"

"I honestly don't care," Locke answered.

"Right, because it's my problem, not yours," Terra put down the letter with care. "Despite being here, despite all that the Plague is doing, I am still First Citizen. There are many issues that require my attention and I won't let the Plague distract me from it. There's no point stopping one threat just to see this tenuous alliance dissolve and the Empire plunged into another Civil War."

"The greater good," Locke quoted.

Terra's eyes were downcast. "Yeah, the big picture."

"I don't know what came over me. I know you're working as hard as you can on a cure. Sorry."

"Don't be," Terra answered sympathetically. "You're right, I haven't been out there and if I tried, the Imperial Guard would probably try to restrain me by force. I guess I'm losing touch, locked away behind these walls. A cure is on my mind though, every waking moment that I can spare," she emphasized.

"I know you'll find it."

She sighed. "I wish I had as much faith as you do, but the fact is that most of my time is spent on politics."

Locke nodded. "I wonder how our friends are doing," he tried to stretch out the conversation.

"Until the labs get the prototype working, it's too much effort to maintain casual communication via magic," was Terra's excuse. "I'm sure they're doing fine and understand our situation. It's not as if we can go visit them; besides the work, there is the quarantine."

Locke nodded again. "Yeah. At first I was surprised they were helping the Empress, but it seems natural for Edgar to do something like that. He's not the type to pack his bags and run home to Figaro. As for Cyan, he's fought through much worse. At least we know they're alive, I mean, it's been so long and I wish we had the time to check up on them. But with the Civil War, and then your work with Anson and mine with Norris, there just wasn't anytime," he rambled.

"Alright," Terra narrowed her eyes. "What are you hiding now?"

"Hiding?" Locke put on the most innocent look he could.

"I'm not stupid," Terra growled. "What are you scheming?"

Locke sighed. She would find out eventually and then get angry again, so it was time to face her head-on. "I'm leaving Vector," he stated plainly.

Terra's mouth was open for a second, and then she shook her head and started giggling. "I think not," she declared after recovering.

"I don't see what's so funny," Locke mumbled beneath his breath.

"No one leaves Vector," Terra continued. "I don't care what you're trying to do, I won't risk it."

"I'm not a plague-carrier," Locke tapped at the phantom wound on his chest. "And don't ask me how I know, I just do."

"That's not why I'm worried," Terra snapped, seemingly annoyed. "I won't have you out there anymore than absolutely necessary. I understand that you want to work with the people, to understand their suffering and try to alleviate their pains. I respect that," she stressed, "and I'd do it myself if it was possible. But just like I can't devote all my attention to finding a cure, I won't stand aside idly while you put yourself in harm's way."

"I appreciate your concern," Locke started.

"Then you'll respect my decision," Terra interrupted. "I don't want to order the Guard to keep you here, but I will if I have to."

Locke straightened. "It's not your decision, it's mine. I told you: I made you a promise, and I'm going to keep it."

Terra folded her arms apprehensively. "What exactly did you do?" she realized there was more to this.

"I joined the Inquisition."

Terra was inscrutable.

"Norris spent most of his time getting together the people he feels are trustworthy, assigning them regions of the Empire to investigate. However, that's over and he's finally turned his attention towards the west."

Terra's scowl was gradually more and more pronounced.

Locke swallowed. "He's organizing strike teams to slip behind enemy lines and deal with the Guild before the rest of the army arrives. There are standing orders to destroy everything the Guild stands for: find their leadership, eliminate their body of members and most importantly, find the plague pits from which they developed this-"

"Dammit Locke!" Terra shot to her feet. "Do you want to die?"

Her outburst had attracted much attention, but a dark-leather wearing woman -- Locke was pretty sure he had met her before -- glared down most of the scholars. He turned back to Terra.

"Norris needs all the help he can get."

"Norris won't be risking infection during every waking moment!" Terra snapped.

"Actually, he will be," Locke defended, but Terra wasn't listening.

"You're barely capable of wielding magic," she continued in a rant. "Those are real mages; Magitek Knights trained for battle and you won't have me to fend them off! And then there's the plague, who knows what kind of diseased land is past Callaghan? I can't believe you'd be so reckless to run off and go get yourself killed. Why would you do something so stupid? You won't even get behind enemy lines; every scout has reported that all of Callaghan is a battleground in waiting!"

"We'll sneak around, probably arrive by sea."

"So the Strachan Mountains?"

"No," Locke snarled. "Never; we'll go around."

"And do you plan on going around mages capable of blasting you apart before you even see them?"

"I can handle a bunch of fanatics," Locke said confidently.

"And the Plague?" Terra snapped. "Even Sherwood couldn't handle that!"

Locke inhaled sharply. "Yeah," he grumbled. "Well, I guess I'll be reason enough for you to work harder on a cure."

Terra's arms fell to her sides. "You're serious about this," she reasoned with a more composed tone.

Locke nodded.

"Is it because of him?"

Locke gazed into Terra's eyes. He didn't know how to answer her question.

Terra sat back down. "Fine," she sighed reluctantly. "Since you've relegated yourself to this insane quest, I'll just have to sleep less... maybe once a week."

Locke felt a smile break loose. "Try once every two days, I guarantee it'll be better; less hallucinations," he winked.

Terra laughed, and it was a hearty sound that Locke committed to memory. "I'll look into that," she said as she waved at the dark-leather armored woman. "But until that comes to be, I'm going to need more help."

"Why's that?"

"Anson cobbled together a great team, but no one had a better mind to breach theory and application than he did. There's many here who are great with theory and they tell me I'm a bastion of intuition," she said with a roll of the eyes. "Which basically means I'm a worthless addition to their research team."

"So why don't you just tell one of your Magitek Knight bodyguards to deal with the applied theory?" Locke asked. He had finally remembered where he met the short-hair blond woman before. She seemed different this time; thinner than he remembered.

Terra lowered her voice. "Catherine is a warrior -- and I don't mean she's stupid -- but she has an even worse feeling for theory than I do. Most of the mages are the same way," she stressed the word mage, reminding Locke that the Magitek Knight had been abolished by the Empress.

"So what you need is a magical scholar."

"Engineer," Terra corrected as Catherine finally arrived. "Considering the Sack of Vector, as well as all the casualties from the Civil War, I wouldn't hold out much hope for that," she stood up and issued a quick set of orders to the deadly warrior.

Locke quickly decided that it was time to leave, while Terra was still in a relatively good mood. "Well, I'm off," he turned away on his heel.

"Locke."

He turned back without hesitation.

Terra wet her lips. She looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"You said you made me a promise," she began. Her fingers tapped against the table nervously. "Well, it's my turn: I promise you that everything you've done, everything you plan on doing... none of it will go to waste. I swear to you that I'll create something beautiful, a lasting peace throughout the entire world."

Locke smiled. "A beautiful world huh? That sounds great."

"Promise me you'll be careful," she grabbed his arm before he turned away again. "Don't take any unnecessary chances."

He glanced down and gently placed his free hand on top of hers.

"It's a deal."

---

He watched carefully as the liquid fell from the spout, glistening in the reflected sunlight with just a few tiny bubbles swirling about.

"I take it he's talking about serving justice again?"

Edgar rolled his eyes. He quickly sniffed the liquor in his glass and grinned. A perfect amber shade and so strong that smelling it gave him a kick. He took long sip and found solace in the sensation that travelled down his throat and warmed his belly.

"I suppose it's a prerequisite for bartenders to be telepathic?" the King of Figaro replied at last.

"Me? I'm no bartender, just a tavern owner down on his luck and forced to serve patrons himself."

Edgar raised an eyebrow. He glanced around the establishment and noted the fine and recently-bought furnishings. Though they were not up to his high standards, one could hardly fault the businessman for that. After all, they were in the middle of a desert, far away from the trappings of civilization. Yet ale and liquor were available from all regions of the Empire, the food was delicious and the waitress was a delight to rest one's eyes upon.

"I think you're being a bit too modest; you've been moving up in the world. Why, I can tell that no more than half a year ago, you probably would've hustled out your current clientele in fear that a fight would erupt and your reputation ruined."

The tavern owner chuckled. "I see you are quite used to drinking the Empire's finest."

"And you equally experienced with keeping the peace."

A broad smile appeared on the aging owner's face. "On the house," he declared as he poured more of the amber liquor into Edgar's glass. "It's been a while since I've had such a perceptive patron."

Edgar leaned across the bar. "I take it that the Empire has been cycling its soldiers through here?"

"I don't worry about law and order anymore, if you get my meaning."

Edgar had thought as much. "Well I'm not of the Empire."

"That's no surprise. You might not have the thick accent that your friends have, but that doesn't mean you don't have one."

"I have an accent?" Edgar was surprised. When he was younger, he had worked hard to remove the nuances of his speech. It helped set people at ease.

"A slight one, I wouldn't have caught it but a long time ago, I had a guest who spoke the same way you did. Now that I think about it, he kind of looked like you."

"Really," Edgar raised his glass. "Then to coincidences, Bill."

Bill poured himself a drink; just enough to be polite. "To the security of the Empire, keeping us alive so we can drink in peace."

Edgar downed the rest of his glass. The tavern owner was a good man, he decided, and a natural diplomat. It was obvious Bill was unused to so many Imperials. Considering Halstead's location, far away from the Core and without a port, that wasn't much of a surprise. The King decided that this was a good opportunity to find out more about Danielle's recent actions.

"I guess you're glad that the new Empress is here, right? Law and order-"

"-and a stream of excellent men such as yourself, Mister Edgar," Bill was still unaware of Edgar's stature, having only been told to house important guests of the Empire. "I can't complain, business is good and the town is flourishing."

"You don't have to be so diplomatic around me," Edgar leaned closer. "So many soldiers must really throw a wrench into your other affairs."

Bill looked shocked. "I don't know what rumours you've heard, but my establishment has always been clean of such scum. Dust or women, pleasure is not my business."

"I didn't mean to suggest otherwise," Edgar quickly said. "I just meant dealing with soldiers all the time, it must be very taxing. Not much time to relax after-hours," he recovered smoothly.

"You don't know the half of it! You and your friends aren't demanding, but I've dealt with men from all corners of the Empire. Every single soldier has his own favourite drink and they get pretty angry if I don't have it. Finding the right folks to keep me in business, now that was a real struggle. You don't know how hard it is to find people trustworthy and dependable."

Edgar scoffed at the irony.

"Took me a couple months, but the winter was key. A bunch of folks that weren't with the army came to my door because it's always nice and dry here. That's when I found him: a chocobo driver who pulled me through the hard times. His name's Mark and I owe him big."

"Sounds like smooth-running now."

"There are a few bumps here and there, but nothing compared to the storm after the Long Night. I'd tell you a couple of the stories from back then, but I'm sworn to secrecy!"

"I'm sure you could pass them down as legends," Edgar lied. He hopped off his barstool and dropped a few coins on the counter. He had heard enough from a man on the fringes of the Empire.

"Please, Mister Edgar, the Empress is covering your stay," Bill palmed the coins and held them out to Edgar.

"A tip then, for the enjoyable break."

---

Cyan was riled up. He had been in a fiery mood ever since the Imperial Counsel and even Edgar felt his patience beginning to wane. The King of Figaro had hoped Cyan had calmed down while he had been out to town, but it looked like the Knight of Doma had drawn on an infinite font of outrage.

"Did you know that Leo Christophe once apologized to my person?" Cyan was saying again. "There was an honourable man; he felt guilt over an atrocity regardless of the circumstances. It is the same in this case."

Arvis sipped at his cup of tea -- Bill had only one kind of leaf on hand -- and glanced up with hope as Edgar walked in. "Any news?"

Edgar shook his head before sitting down. They were gathered above Bill's tavern, a common-area for guests but at the moment, they were the only patrons in the entire building. Danielle had known that the establishment was below Edgar's standards and tried to make up for it by ensuring their total privacy.

He would have preferred to stay on the battlefield like Danielle, but that was not an option. Despite her grand speech and so-called policy of dealing with other nations, she wasn't all too keen upon his presence. Edgar knew there were many possible reasons for that. Her position was akin to a balancing act: she needed the assistance of Figaro and the northern nations, yet she could not give any impression of weakness.

There were more than a few officers in her command both bloodthirsty and desiring advancement.

"The Empress Danielle shall parley with us tomorrow. As for Banon, it should be another day before he is back with the fleet," Edgar answered Arvis' question. He wiped his brow and was amazed at the wetness -- strange, he hadn't thought it was hot enough to cause him to sweat. "I wouldn't worry," Edgar mumbled as he wiped his hands. "The men with him are reliable and Tzen is still safe from the Plague."

"And it shall remain that way," Cyan said. "I heard from many that the Empress has tasked Farin Starson with keeping Tzen free of the vile Plague. I need not remind you of his past deeds; he is amongst the few I would judge to have a strong moral compass and the integrity to follow it."

Edgar nodded. "I heard the same, though mostly gathered from hearsay because I don't have a legion of Imperial soldiers fawning over me," he said jokingly.

"Perhaps you should go back to the house of Lord Mansfield, you and he shared quite the connection."

"I still think he'd fawn over you," Edgar laughed. "I just can't compete with the great Cyan Garamonde."

Arvis and Cyan both broke into laughter, but the Knight of Doma's head was bowed and his laughter sounded forced.

"I shouldn't talk about the Duke like this," Edgar relented. "If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't be sitting here."

Cyan glanced out the window. The roads leading to Halstead were full of Imperial convoys carrying supplies to the front. A large force was camped out here as well, for the desert town was the keystone of the Imperial supply train. "I am truly grateful for his assistance, but I wish we were closer to the front," he mused as he watched Imperial soldiers build fortifications at the edge of town.

"Is that really safe?" Arvis pointed out. "The enemy commands the Plague, as crazy as that sounds. One swipe of a blade and the infection would spread throughout the army. Everyone might catch it all at once and like a wildfire, it would destroy us before any response is organized."

"All the more reason to be at the front, to look these devils in the eye and show them the meaning of justice."

"I'm more concerned that the Maverick might start infecting his own people and send them into battle," Edgar sighed. He had written detailed instructions to Douglas and hoped Banon would deliver them soon. The last thing his people needed while recovering from the coup was an epidemic of a magical nature. "There's been no word from Terra; nothing more has been discovered about the Plague. How it infects people is still nothing more than a guess."

"I am sure that she is doing her best," Cyan tore his eyes away from the Imperial convoys upon the road. "Terra understands what a vile and despicable beast the Maverick and his fanatics are. They are evil, and though she is young and inexperienced, she is doing what is proper. I wish everyone was as principled and selfless."

Edgar's eyes flickered to Strago, who had been silent all day. The old lore-master was seated on the other side of the room, staring out the window without a sound.

"We do what we can," Edgar wanted to change the topic quickly. "I'm just glad that Danielle is so forgiving. She never struck me as the type to simply drop matters, but I guess that's changed now that she's the Empress."

"We're lucky she hasn't pressed the matter of her ships," Arvis agreed, happy to help Edgar steer the conversation away from a topic they had touched too often in recent times. "I suppose it's only a matter of time though."

"I intend on offering a division," Edgar explained. "It won't make up for what she's lost, but by lending a portion of our fleet to her in good faith, I think it'll be a gesture she won't refuse. Considering the pace of this war, I'm sure she could use additional seafaring vessels in the push westwards..." the King's voice faltered with that last word.

"Sabin will take care of himself," Cyan was full of confidence. "He always has."

"Yeah..." Edgar tried to compose himself, as he could do nothing for his brother regardless. He wiped at his brow again. "I just hope the Imperial Armies don't charge too recklessly towards Pierpoint. The timeline that the Empress has set is barely feasible. It's just not possible to coordinate armies of such size."

"Well I'm impressed with her decision," Arvis leaned back into his chair. "I think it's good that she's going after the Maverick with such vigour. It puts her people at risk, but sends a clear message. This warlord attacked her capital without provocation, even though the Empire was waiting for a peaceful solution with their former colleagues. Such an act is reprehensible and should be punished!"

"It reminds me of Kefka," Cyan snarled that cursed name. "The more we learn of the Maverick, the more I am certain that his kind must be brought to justice."

"Agreed," Arvis closed his eyes in recollection. "We can't allow another madman wielding magic to threaten us, not after we've worked so hard."

"Such a shame we have no allies who could counter such magic."

"Cyan!" Edgar snapped. "That was crass of you."

But Strago continued to stare lifelessly out the window despite the insult. His silence infuriated Cyan.

"I play not politics nor will I dance around the truth. The cowardice of his people-"

"Cyan!" Edgar was on his feet in a heartbeat and his hands came down upon the table between them. "Enough already!"

The Knight of Doma folded his arms, silenced but unapologetic. Edgar could not believe how long the two men had feuded over a minor slight; he didn't even remember the original circumstances! But this would continue no longer. "I've had enough of the daily bickering, it's driving us all up the walls. I don't know what's come between you two, but these snide comments will stop."

"Please Edgar, it's quite alright. You don't have to defend me," Strago said at last. "Cyan is quite right, my people are cowards and I have no defence for them."

"Strago..."

"It's fine, Arvis. Like Cyan says, this is not the time to dance around the truth," the lore-master sighed. "His only guilt lies in his tactlessness and I doubt old men such as we shall ever change."

Edgar stepped over to Strago and put a hand on his shoulder. "We don't care if Thamasa doesn't willingly join this war, it doesn't matter to us," he said in a comforting tone. "If we force your people to help, to make them go against their will, then we would be just as immoral as our enemies."

Strago's smile was thin and devoid of joy. The old man stood up and brushed Edgar's hand off his blue coat. "What's immoral is to idle while a magical plague kills thousands of innocents. Haven't you seen the reports? Dozens dying with every day that passes! Hundreds more becoming symptomatic and that's just in Vector. The same is happening throughout the Empire and we all know that anyone who shows the slightest sign of the Plague is as good as dead. Cyan's right, we have to do something."

"The Empire is-"

"Failing to find a cure," Strago interrupted Edgar. "Terra oversees that project," his smile, as fake as it was, faded away. "A girl scarcely beyond her teenage years with barely any academic training is in charge of finding a cure, of performing a miracle. If that's not desperation, then I fear to discover what is."

"We can't do anything about it," Edgar pointed out.

"No, you can't do anything about."

With those words, Edgar experienced a sinking feeling to rival his concern for Sabin's well-being. "Strago..."

"Yes Edgar, I have already done something stupid. It's the right thing to do; the moral choice. Without the Empire and her Magitek Knights, her scores of scholars and vast continental resources, the Plague might be forever unstoppable." Strago shook his head. "The greatest atrocities since the War of the Magi have not been man-made, but the results of an epidemics similar to this. I cannot, in good conscience, hide behind the Empire's screen of soldiers while children die of wasting disease."

"Strago-"

"I have already spoken to the Empress. I leave for Vector tonight."

Arvis shot to his feet. "Strago, that's a little hasty!"

"No! This should have been done the very moment I heard of the Plague, but I was afraid," Strago frown twisted into a scowl. "No more! I am no coward. I will do what's right."

"There has to be another way," Edgar mumbled in shock. "Books elsewhere that you can delve into."

"We could convince Terra to move her research somewhere safer. It would be best for everyone involved to stay far away from Vector," Arvis added.

"Yes, move to Tzen where ships from my fleet could ferry the Figarian Libraries to you. The knowledge of my ancestors would be at your fingertips, Strago."

"Those are unacceptable solutions. There is a reason why Terra stays in Vector," the lore-master explained with a sigh, "and that is because research can only go so far. Experimentation is necessary and for that, we must be at the source."

"You'll purposely bring yourself in contact with the Plague," Arvis deduced dumbfoundedly.

"You're not young anymore Strago, the adventures of your past are nothing compared to this," Edgar exasperated. "If you go to Vector, your chances are terrible."

"I know and I'm sorry, my friends, but this old man has made his choice."

Edgar turned to Cyan for further assistance, but the stubborn Knight could not even bare to look at them. Edgar spun back around, growing ever more desperate. "What about Relm?" Edgar demanded as he wiped his brow again. He had to convince Strago out of this mad plan! "What do you want me to tell her when you come down with the Plague?"

Strago glanced down at his feet. He closed his eyes and bunched together his fists.

Evidently, Edgar hit a nerve. This was his chance. "What am I supposed to say when the Plague takes you from us?" he pressed forcefully. "What do you want me to tell her when this mad plan of yours takes the only family she has left!?"

"Tell her..."

"Tell her what, Strago? What do I tell your grieving granddaughter?"

"Tell her that her grandfather always did what was right."

A tear fell onto the floor.

"Strago!" Edgar shouted as his friend fled their room. He ran into the hallway, but Strago had already charged down the flight of stairs. He gave pursuit, but as he threw open the door and the heat of the desert hit him squarely, he knew it was far too late. "Dammit!" Edgar swore, slamming the door in frustration. He stormed back.

Arvis held his head in his hands while Cyan stared blankly at the wet spot upon the carpet. They were all stunned silent.

Vector would soon be the city of walking dead. It was a disaster that was waiting for the right moment and now Strago was going there willingly.

"Dammit," Edgar whispered as he collapsed into his seat.

---

It was bound to happen.

The sun was setting, its rays of light blindingly brilliant in the eyes of those who tried to look west. Though alone, that should not have been an issue, this was the proverbial snowflake that started the avalanche.

He was an older Sergeant nearing the end of his service. What youthful ideals that came with joining the army -- duty and honour from serving the Empire, the glory of battle and of course, the spoils of war -- had long since disappeared. The Civil War had sapped the strength of many soldiers, especially those who had sought peaceful tours by garrisoning within the Imperial Core.

All he wanted to do was leave the service. A few more months and that would become reality. He had survived the Esper attack, the Long Night, and fought in numerous battles over the course of the Civil War. He had donned the emblem of the New Order, but only because of the beliefs of those he served. He was a decorated, loyal soldier that had found himself in the Imperial Guard, so the last thing he had ever expected was this:

The Plague.

He had friends in Vector. A lot of friends. Family too, many had moved back from the northern settlements at his behest. Vector's recovery had been full of possibilities. Anyone could become rich if they just had the will!

And now they were likely dead.

They had a good commander, an officer who was willing to bond with the men. The Lieutenant had explained to them what they were bottling up Vector; explained to them why they had to keep their own people from leaving Imperial Center. Perhaps their commander had left some details unspoken, but this Sergeant had already heard enough.

He had invited his family to die.

Yet still, for the sake of the rest of the Empire, he did his duty. For the millions more that were not infected, and in the forlorn hope that his family might still survive, he manned one of the easternmost blockades.

It had been weeks since the initial quarantine, weeks since the unforgivable attack on the Palace, weeks of turning away the people he had taken an oath to serve and protect. They could not get close to the infected and thus arrows were always levelled at innocents. Fences, barricades and strong walls were erected between them and the victims.

Words were rarely enough. Even the threat of arrows failed twice, but one thing had always worked.

The trembling earth as Magitek Armors took position.

Imperial Guardsmen were typically proud of their standing, of working closely with the wizards of their army: the Magitek Armor Corps. The courageous pilots that commanded the symbols of Imperial Might weren't the egotistical brats that the Sergeant had heard many stories of. They were brothers-in-arms, patiently awaiting discharge while serving in a place that should have been peaceful. None desired the glory of victory nor the guaranteed profit that would accompany those marching beyond Callaghan. They cared not for the Maverick, let others deal with that villain! They had served long enough.

This was the easternmost blockade, upon a road that was known as the Principate. Level-headed men, veterans of many wars, with none of the youthful recklessness that might have marred the professional nature of the Imperial Army.

So what happened?

The sun was in their eyes as it sank behind Vector and the Dalziel Mountains. The noise beyond the barricades had risen only slightly, so no one, not even the attentive Sergeant noticed something very odd.

That the people gathered on the Principate had become organized.

Minutes passed and the people's complaints had risen a distinguishable level. Their shouts were ever louder and it was always the same: they weren't infected, let them leave, they didn't want to die. After weeks of ignoring their pleas, it was easy for the men barricading Principate Road to disregard the crowd's increasing frustration, anger, and desperation.

And then the ranking officer -- our veteran Sergeant -- was alerted by one of the men in his command.

With a hand shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun, he saw that the people had begun to climb over fences. Others were gathered, carrying something between them... something that was silver.

A steel beam.

Yet in the split-second between that and alerting his squad, he saw her.

His daughter.

Or... he thought he saw her. He shook his head in amazement, surprised at how easily he had been caught off-guard. But the few seconds it took for him to recover was all that was necessary for the first layer of barricades to come down.

The rioting crowd charged towards them. Spurred onwards by their success, they were too enraged to be dissuaded by words, too numerous to be stopped by arrows. They had whatever weapons they could scrounge up, knives, swords, some even had bow and arrows. Yet the vast majority carried tools from work, planks from half-completed buildings, rocks they had picked up from the ground, and a team of eight construction workers had decided to use a steel beam as a battering ram.

The situation had gotten very bad, very fast.

There were two more barricades, the last of which was sturdier than mere sandbags and chain-link fences, but that would not be enough. Those positioned at the blockade were too few to deal with a riot of this magnitude. Quick and decisive action was needed! The Sergeant spun about-

"I'm sorry sir."

He was one of the new arrivals to the growing Imperial Guard: tall and muscular, blond hair and somehow, a face clear of scars. He was a handsome man -- probably broke many hearts during his campaigns -- with a glorious future but at the moment, there was a hard look in the Private's eyes. It was at this critical juncture that for the first time, the Sergeant forgot a subordinate's name.

"What are you doing, soldier?" he demanded as he faced the tip of a bloody sword.

"I have family out there," the Private was perhaps half a decade younger than he. "I won't let them die."

There was no fear in the man's voice, despite knowing there was only one fate for those that dared point a blade at their superiors. But they were far past insubordination; the man was a traitor that had killed at least two of the men in his squad.

They glared at each other. Neither was willing to say anything, for both achieved their goals in the terse silence. The Sergeant awaited reinforcements; the Private wanted a hostage for bargaining, as well as waste what precious time remained before it was too late. The tension was interrupted by the sounds of those desperately trying to break through the second set of barricades: some screamed in pain as they were cut by barbed wire, others grunted as they threw their bodies into the chain-links.

"If any of them are carriers, you'll have signed the death warrants for thousands more," the Sergeant declared suddenly.

A condescending sneer. "That's the price I'm willing to pa-"

An arrow embedded into the side of his skull; there was so much force that it almost lifted the body off its feet.

"Sergeant Erik!"

It was the Lieutenant and trailing him, two squadrons. The Sergeant saluted the archer who had saved his life -- the very same spotter who alerted him to the rioters -- and wiped the fresh blood off his face. The black-trim of the Imperial Guard filed up shaky wooden stairs and onto the battlements, bows and arrows being drawn as they got into position. Behind them, two Magitek Armors shook the ground as they advanced.

Both ranking men had climbed to higher ground and saw the extent of the riot. Rocks and arrows flew towards them, none with any accuracy or strength, but the pace of the charging crowd might have put some barbarian tribes to shame. The rioters had actually made it past the second barricade and were charging towards the last.

"Warn them," the Lieutenant decided with a frown.

The Sergeant gestured at the two pilots. "A line in the sand!"

Elemental cannons spewed brilliant crimson beams that detonated just shy of the third set of barricades; a combination of trenches filled with deadly spikes as well as stout chain fences. Dirt erupted into the air -- the force of which knocked the nearest rioters to their feet -- and the two Armors powered down.

"Anyone past that line dies!" the Sergeant shouted.

Not a single person slowed down.

Over two dozen archers positioned at the roadblock had readied arrows. They had been given very explicit orders and did not even pause to think of the moral dilemma.

Arrows first took down five, then ten, and then two-dozen civilians; cold precision shots fired into the chests of the rioters. But they did nothing to stem the tide, for hundreds finally reached the deadly trench. Many tried to jump across and fell to their deaths, but most gathered around the single passage that the Imperial Guard had left. There, Principate Road ended before a wall as tall as an Armor and just as thick, but not even brick and mortar could last long against such a frenzied horde.

The team of eight wielding the battering ram had also crossed the distance, arrowheads with broken shafts sticking out of several. Cracks began to show in the last wall and if that fell, freedom was no less than a dash across ten seconds of open ground. Knowing this, they worked even more vigourously. Not a single man flinched when two were pierced by eagle-eyed archers of the Imperial Guard, instead nearby rioters took the places of the fallen without hesitation.

Twin towers flanked the wall and from that high vantage point, a barrage of arrows rained down upon the swarm. Archers fired relentlessly until slowly, more and more discovered their quivers were empty. They had spares, yes, but with unerring accuracy against an enemy that was basically unarmed, they had used up all their arrows at hand.

Soldiers of the Empire exchanged appalled looks. These were the people of Vector, not some barbarian horde or foreign invasion, but rather their own people. They had quarantined their own people with a beast so monstrous it drove them to hopelessness and suicide!

"Stop them!" the Lieutenant barked, ducking underneath a rock thrown past. His order snapped some sense back into the men, so shocked they were by the sheer desperation of their fellow citizens. Efforts were redoubled for their lives were on the line too.

Great cracks in the brick could be seen on their side now, and a small hole was getting ever wider. Several rioters had managed to scale the wall, but archers nailed them before they made it over.

Given the situation, the Sergeant knew exactly what was next. Cold sweat ran down his back. "Halt or you'll be slaughtered!" he hollered. It was a futile effort, made to delay the inevitable, but to his great surprise he got his response.

"We'll be dead if we stay!"

"I'm not infected! Help me!"

"The children! Please save the children at least!"

"I don't want to die!"

The last was the voice of a young girl, swept away by the crowd before the Sergeant could locate her.

"Erik, we need this situation under control," the Lieutenant growled. "Do it."

The Sergeant swallowed down the bile in his throat. To serve and protect indeed.

"Pilots! Fire at will."

And the whine of elemental cannonade was all they heard.

---

Edgar paused upon one of the streets of the Imperial Camp. He turned around and glared at Cyan.

"The last time we spoke with Danielle, you nearly ended up getting us killed," Edgar said. "We forgave you and then we supported you. We're friends, and that's what friends do."

He waited until the rumble of Magitek Armors passed.

"But this time, I want you to promise me no surprises; let me handle the conversation," Edgar demanded.

Cyan nodded. "As you wish."

Edgar sighed. Again with the attitude. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me what's going on between you two?" While Arvis wasn't with them, it was rather clear that Edgar was not referring to their friend from Narshe.

"There is nothing, Edgar."

"I wish," Edgar mumbled. "Considering how Strago left overnight, without another word to any of us, I find that rather hard to believe. His selflessness could be his undoing, and I hate to think that we had any part in forcing his hand."

"We cannot escape our responsibilities," Cyan stated solemnly.

Edgar's frown twisted. "Stop being so cryptic," he growled beneath his breath.

The two men continued down the streets that had been formed by many orderly rows of tents. The Imperial Camp was heavily guarded, but the usual storm of activity had ceased for the moment. Karen Alysworth had just departed. The Imperial armies were finally entering the Plains of Callaghan to destroy their enemies.

Danielle had remained behind, but Edgar knew her schedule was liable to change and no doubt she craved the battle ahead. Their pace picked up and soon, they stood before a ring of dangerous-looking guards. Baldric was amongst these elite men and he led them into the Empress' quarters.

She was surrounded by paperwork and reading from a half-opened brown folder. A look of disgust was on her face.

"Empress," Baldric's voice was deeper than one expected, even from a man as tall and broad as he.

Danielle glanced up. "Ah? Yes, thank you Baldric," she waved at the seats before her desk. "Please have a seat, both of you."

Edgar watched as Danielle's attention returned to her folder, eyes flickering back and forth as she read. He wondered if she was slighting them on purpose. The woman was crafty and intelligent, and he knew her to be quite ruthless when necessary.

She was the leader of the Empire; the conqueror of Tzen. A hero of two wars now, with growing experience in the political arena. If her mannerisms had been laden with double-meaning before, now that she was Empress, there was no doubt she would be on top of her game. He could not underestimate her.

A single misstep could be lethal.

Still, it was hard not to be peeved at their treatment. Edgar kept his tongue still until she finished, slamming the closed folder aside in contempt.

"I'm sorry, King Edgar," that inflection again, "news from Vector is never good but I have to be aware of it. Knowing what is happening to the capital, to the citizens of the Empire," she shook a clenched fist. "Knowing what they've forced our soldiers to do to the people we swore to defend, it keeps my focus on the enemy and their evil deeds."

Cyan nodded in agreement, but Edgar ignored him. "The Maverick's deeds have been unforgivable, no doubt." His eyes flickered to the folder, a single piece of paper had slid out halfway. He could only read one word.

Loyalists.

Danielle chuckled. "Did you see the fences facing west?"

Edgar shook his head, hiding his own disappointment at failing to gleam anything useful from whatever disgusted Danielle. "We came directly from Halstead," he answered.

"That's a shame. There's quite an assortment of heads out there."

Edgar narrowed his eyes. What was she getting at?

"You see, Governor Ashford -- or whatever he chooses to call himself now -- has been constantly sending ambassadors. They come bearing a white flag and so far, without symptoms of the Plague. Under this facade, they plead ignorance to what the Guild has done. They're offering their apologies!" she laughed.

Edgar laughed along, but he had not known this.

"It's incredible really, they've gone so far as to offer assistance in our persecution of the Guild. They come bearing documents signed by the Governor and the Maverick, treaties that they wish us to be a part of. They've been appealing to our common background, hoping that a 'peaceful arrangement could be instituted'." Danielle raised an eyebrow, "their words, not mine."

"Of course."

"Do you know what a treaty is, King Edgar?" For whatever reason, there was no inflection this time. "A treaty-" Danielle answered own her rhetorical question, "-is a piece of paper. To the aggressor, it is nothing more than a scrap that you would use to feed the winter hearth. Do you understand now why we've done this?"

"This?" Edgar shrugged. "I'm not sure what you're referring to."

"The heads, King Edgar," there was still no inflection. Instead, she seemed slightly surprised that he hadn't caught on. "They're his ambassadors."

"You've been killing ambassadors," Edgar echoed monotonously.

"Yes, and you see why, right?"

It took all of Edgar's experience in politics to keep any emotion from showing on his face. He had known that Danielle held little respect for the unspoken rules of diplomacy, but they were there for a reason. To kill ambassadors, especially men who had been pleading for peace...

"They offer no proof of allegiance, nor of their innocence," Cyan answered for Edgar, concerned by his long silence. "Like the treachery they used to set the Plague loose in Vector, they wish for you to ignore them so they may strike again under the cover of peace. They're despicable cowards."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with you wholeheartedly, Sir Cyan."

Edgar's own words came back to haunt him. He said he wanted to help the Empire, but that had been before. He had been surer then, confident in Danielle's cause. But unlike Cyan, surprise had worn off and his emotions remained in check. He did not forget the past warnings from Marcus, Garrett and Lowell. Nor could he bury his own impressions of the career soldier.

Could he, in good conscience, help a warmonger? What if she was wrong? What if he was helping the enemy? Edgar bit his lip, he needed time to think.

But he could not look weak-willed. A woman like Danielle was one who appreciated decisiveness and abhorred equivocation. "Two divisions," Edgar began, ignoring the way his shirt clung to his back.

"What was that?"

"Two divisions," Edgar repeated. "Your navy is stretched to her limits and the additional firepower would help your ability to keep a tight cordon around the Maverick. I'm offering two divisions of our battle group in order to help you combat the pirates and foolhardy merchants that would try to run supplies through the siege."

He did not want to make the concession, but he knew exactly what Danielle was going for.

"That's quite unnecessary, King Edgar," this time there was the strange intonation. "We're confident of our abilities. Breckenridge Sound is already filled with our ships. Our current forces already double the number that the Maverick has, thanks in part to the Battle of Actarian Bay before the winter. Once the entire fleet gathers-"

"Our ships will help with the northern patrols, the ones launching from Lechmere's Bay. There is no love lost between us and the Maverick, and I will not have our people sit aside idly when they could be helping put down this barbarian. Two divisions will comb the coasts; we will play our part in bringing down the traitor General and his band of fanatical mages, and we will do so with spirit!" he lied convincingly with faked anger.

Danielle leaned back and her finger thumped against her desk repeatedly. Edgar could read her like a book; he knew she was thinking about his offer and that the decision was a close one. But he was unwilling to sweeten the deal or make any further concessions.

All he could think of was those ambassadors and Ashford's pleas of innocence.

"Very well Edgar, I graciously accept your offer of assistance," Danielle answered after the mental debate. "I will alert-"

Baldric and two others stormed into the tent, rudely interrupting them. "Empress," one of the unnamed soldiers said. His cloak was quite dirty and he seemed out of breath. "General Starson requests to speak with you."

"I thought he didn't trust those spells," Danielle waved them aside, clearly agitated by the interruption. "Tell him he will have to wait, I am busy."

The soldier shook his head. "No my Empress, not by magic. He is here."

"What," not a question, and only a thin curtain away from deadly rage.

"General Starson is here with his army."

---

They did not see her anger as they were not even invited. Danielle had left in a hurry, leaving things unfinished between them. Edgar could only wonder about the Empress, her orders defied by even her closest supporter. He remembered Farin; the man did not strike him as the treacherous type. Certainly he was motivated and filled with spirit, the man was a warrior who had fought in the frontlines of a civil war. Men like that were not accustomed to idling, even if so ordered.

Edgar and Cyan were about to retire to Halstead. The King of Figaro had tired of waiting and decided that Danielle would not be back until late that the night. He had also tired of Cyan's analysis of Farin Starson. The situation between Danielle and her military was interesting, but as she had shown during the Imperial Counsel, she had them easily controlled if the situation was warranted.

Then a man that Edgar had met before -- Donnach, one of Farin's bodyguards and likely one of the finest men serving the General -- alerted them that Farin was requesting Cyan's presence. Equally surprising was Cyan's ready acceptance though in retrospect, Edgar should not have been surprised given his friend's recent attitude.

It was dusk when they arrived at the other camp. Though it was a quick ride thanks to Donnach's hurried pace -- perhaps only five minutes by chocobo -- they had waited too long for Danielle's return and the sun was setting.

Farin was lounging in the officer's tent, quite similar to that of Danielle's camp. In fact, Edgar noted that the layouts had almost been identical. He should have known the Imperials were disciplined in that regard, but it was surprising given how little time Farin's army had to prepare.

Danielle was there. The two were alone without bodyguards, though Donnach had brought Edgar and Cyan through three layers of brandished steel.

"Well, it seems your guests, my impatient ones, are here," Danielle stood up. Her tone was a stark contrast to the one she had left with. Instead she was warm and friendly, almost bubbly. She glanced up and made eye-contact with Edgar. "We will finish tomorrow," she decided.

"Of course," Farin answered despite the confusion that should have occurred from Danielle's speech. He rose only to salute, standing tall and proud. "Glory to the Empire, my Empress."

"And to you, General Starson," Danielle smiled once more before leaving. As she passed Edgar, she brought her lips near his ear. "We'll talk tomorrow as well," she whispered. "How about lunch?"

Edgar nodded, ignoring the tingling sensation of her breath. Little respect for the rules of diplomacy indeed.

The Empress left.

"Cyan Garamonde, it's good to see that you survived the winter. I take it you took my suggestion?"

"I did, Farin Starson," Cyan greeted formally. He gestured beside him. "May I present King Edgar of Figaro."

Farin was still standing, so the bow of respect was not in the least awkward. "Your Highness."

"Major-General Starson," Edgar stuttered -- there were only two stars upon his chest and he decided to avoid the usual slang that most soldiers used. "I admit, I didn't expect such warmth," he hinted at their last meeting.

"You weren't officially recognized as an ally then," Farin replied. "And given the circumstances, I think my reactions were perfectly warranted."

Whether he spoke of Cyan's outburst or Edgar's usurped throne, it was unclear.

"Well, enough of the pleasantries. I know you're a man of action, Cyan. This must grate on your nerves."

Cyan scoffed. "There is a time and place for both, Farin."

The three men settled into what seats there were, chairs made of metal and cloth -- they looked highly portable. It was quite informal and despite Farin's high ranking, there was none of the tension that Edgar had felt before. Perhaps it was because he knew that anything said wasn't particularly binding, or maybe it was just the way Farin had treated them.

Or... was Danielle playing him? Tense before, now relaxed.

No, she wasn't that good.

"Cyan, I heard about your little outburst during the Imperial Counsel. Unfortunately I was not there, I was busy with other-" Farin seemed annoyed, "-matters."

"I heard you were quite absorbed in the Wilds," Cyan remarked.

"So your popularity serves you well," Farin smiled. "Quite a few men of the Third and Ninth armies are already here, and I have brought the rest with me."

"I thought you were protecting Tzen from the Plague," Cyan pointed out. His tone had soured slightly. "Why did you shirk such an important duty?"

"Miscommunication, General Cassidy is in charge of Tzen now and he's quite capable," Farin waved aside their concerns. "Fortunately, such miscommunication will soon be a thing of that past. But really, I'm glad to be here. There is nothing I want more than to avenge those of Vector and set the Maverick in his place. I heard you were of the same mind."

"There is a certain sense of justice that would be served if the Maverick were brought to trial," Cyan admitted.

"Don't be so restrained, Sir Cyan."

Edgar's mouth almost dropped open. The way Farin had just pronounced 'sir', it was exactly the same as Danielle's inflection.

"Your outburst was surprising. Not that you had an outburst-" Farin chuckled softly but he was alone in his laughter, "-but what you expressed. Brigadier Falkland is a good friend of mine, he told me that you called them savage beasts. I must admit, that is an excellent description of the threat we face."

"It was an outburst," Cyan defended himself.

"An excellent one," Farin commended. "The traitors to the west cannot be left in peace, I urged the Empress of this fact just after her coronation but she was unwilling to commit. I understood her reasons and I kept quiet, hoping that she was correct and we would not have to sacrifice anymore of our soldiers in extended warfare. Unfortunately, I was right. As always, those who have betrayed us once cannot be trusted ever again. These traitors that the Maverick commands must be annihilated and he brought to justice. The Inquisition is an excellent step in dealing with these fanatical mages and I intend to be a part of the next phase."

"I think you want to be a part of that too, Sir Cyan."

Cyan's eyes were wide in shock, an expression rarely seen on the restrained Knight's face. Edgar knew Cyan wanted to be near the front, but this offer was...

"I'll give you a hundred -- no, a thousand! -- men to command. I won't insult you or your history by giving you a rank, instead you shall only be known as Sir Cyan. You will be accountable to no one but me, with a force of veterans that you may direct as you see fit. Infantry or cavalry, it will be your choice."

"Farin," Cyan was still shocked. "Know that while I-"

"Please," Farin held up a hand. "I understand your reluctance perfectly well, I know your past. But this-" his hand swept towards the west, "-is treachery that cannot go unpunished. I know there is a fire within you, the same fire that burns within me. We will ride into battle, punish these cowards and traitors that dare pretend to be civilized. We will destroy the evil that sends a sweeping disease to kill our innocents: the men, women and children that rely on us warriors to protect them! Are we not of the same mind, Cyan?"

Edgar looked up at Cyan, but the Knight of Doma was not searching for the opinion or support of his friend.

"We are of the same mind."

"Then take my offer, Cyan Garamonde, honourable Knight of Doma! Let it be known throughout the world that justice was served."

"Very well General," there was no hesitation in his response. "I accept."

The two men clasped hands, grinning the smile men had when speaking of victory in war.

"You will not regret this," Farin broke their handshake. "Together, we will ensure that this menace shall never rise again."

Cyan nodded. "Of course. It will be my pleasure."

"Excellent! We will discuss this tomorrow, but there is one other thing," Farin added. "Relm is here."

"Excuse me?" Edgar and Cyan both stuttered at the same time.

"She was insistent that she come with me; said she wanted to be reunited with her uncle and grandfather. An intelligent little one who still remembers my promise, I like her. She has both spirit and a clear mind, and will grow up to be just like Lady Terra."

Promise? Here? Edgar clutched his forehead in frustration. How did she-? When did she-?

"You said she's with you?" Cyan asked the moment Farin finished.

"Yes. I'll take you to her now, I'm sure you've missed her."

---

In hindsight, Edgar should have expected it. But he hadn't been privy to all the facts and the leaps of logic that would have been required for him to guess that Relm had befriended Farin, they were just too far-fetched.

But Cyan should have known.

They all should have known better. He should have alerted Douglas that she might try something like this. But there had been no time and really, when the world was the way it was, how could he have prioritized her so highly? Yet here she was. It was a lesson learned the hard way.

Relm was indefatigable.

"I cannot believe you left the safety of the fleet!" Cyan was half-shouting. Farin had left them alone in the officer area of the camp. They were safe here and their conversation private. "To imagine you would be so imprudent, it is maddening!"

Relm's arms were folded. "I shouldn't have to rely on an old friend to see you or gramps," she snapped.

"An old friend?" Cyan echoed. "Are you talking about Farin Starson?"

Relm's silence was even more infuriating than her retorts.

Cyan cried out in frustration. "I cannot believe that I felt sorry leaving you safe and sound, away from the chaos that is the Empire!"

"Well I'm here now, and just as safe as before," Relm's confidence was the stuff of legends considering her adversary was an enraged Cyan Garamonde. Edgar, who had kept safe distance from it all and felt himself impartial, was almost impressed that she could stand up to Cyan. Sometimes, he didn't think he had that much nerve.

"No! You are in incredible danger," Cyan declared, looming over Strago's granddaughter like a giant.

"I know about the Plague," Relm glared at her surrogate uncle. "Considering that, the Imperial Army is the safest place to be."

The veins in Cyan's temple seemed ready to burst. "Damn your impudence!" he shouted.

"She's right," Edgar quickly stepped in. As disturbingly enjoyable as it was to see a little girl half his height and a third of his weight cause him so much grief, this could not go on. "Convoys have recently been ambushed and the Imperial Army has begun sending troops to secure their lines, apparently between the Plague and the fallout of the Civil War, people feel bold enough to steal from the army. Any of them could be carriers though. We can't risk sending her back, not anymore."

Cyan groaned.

"So I'm here to stay," Relm declared. "Now where's that silly gramps? I can't wait to see the look on his face-" her bravado faltered when she saw the expressions on their faces. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Too smart for her own good, Edgar sighed. They couldn't even lie to her.

"Your grandfather is not here," Cyan answered grimly. "He left for Vector last night."

Relm's mouth was open. "Wha-?"

"He went to fight the Plague," Edgar added. "He wanted to help Terra find a cure."

"But the Plague, it's in Vector. That's what Farin said..."

"We know, dear one," Cyan bent down on one knee and looked her in the eye. "He knows."

"It doesn't discriminate, anyone can catch it at anytime," she continued with wide eyes. "And he's so old, if... if..."

"He knows."

Relm's eyes glistened. "Then why... why that stupid gramps-" she sniffled.

"To do what's right," Edgar whispered in a hollow voice. "Because he always does what's right."

"But that's so stupid!"

"I'm sorry dear one, it was his choice," Cyan pulled her close, but Relm snapped back and pushed him aside.

"Stupid gramps!" she wiped her eyes before tears formed. "Stupid stupid gramps!" she screamed.

The two men gave her the space she needed as she vented. Relm stormed back and forth in the tent, complaining to no one in particular as she ranted about her grandfather and his foolishness.

Edgar supposed Cyan had judged it to be the right time -- it certainly didn't feel that way to him -- as the Knight stepped forward and halted Relm in her tracks. "That's enough. I know you understand exactly what your grandfather has done."

"He's fighting the Plague," Relm grumbled. There was still wetness beneath her eyes.

"And that is the proper thing to do," Cyan said. Both hands clasped her shoulders as he knelt once more. "You understand that, right?"

Relm nodded reluctantly.

"Good. Come on now, you can stay with Edgar in Halstead," Cyan said as he stood up.

"Why, what about you?" she asked suspiciously.

Too smart for her own good, Edgar thought again.

Cyan paused. "I'm going... away," he answered poorly.

"You accepted Farin's offer!"

"How did you-" Cyan grimaced. It was too late, he had just confirmed her words.

"You're going to war. I knew it!" Relm glared daggers at her uncle. "And you're leaving me behind again!"

"Edgar will be in-"

"I want to come!"

"That's impossible," Cyan ruled flat-out. "There is grave risk on the battlefield, I will not gamble with your life."

Relm pursed her lips. To Edgar, he could tell that she was just biding her time. She was thinking of something, scheming. "Uh oh", he mumbled when he saw the look of confusion fade away.

Her eyes blazed with spirit. "Then let me learn about war on the front," she asked. "Let me see what you do out there."

"No," Cyan drew himself to his full height and folded his arms. "It's too dangerous to be with me."

But Relm had already expected that. "I said learn, not fight. Let me go with Farin and learn about war through him. You know I'll be safe if I'm surrounded by his people!"

When Cyan paused, Edgar already knew who had won this battle. He would say something, but he didn't feel it was his place. For one thing, Relm was right. She would be well-protected if she travelled with the commanding officers of the Imperial Army. For another...

"If you truly desire to learn the arts of war, then I commend your resolve," Cyan decided. "However, the decision will be left to Farin, and he may not agree."

There was a devilish, yet disarmingly cute grin on her face. "He'll agree."

For another, Relm deserved to win. It was an applaudable diplomatic solution... and at least somebody was getting what they wanted for once.

---

It might have been night, but the streets of Vector were anything but dark. Flickering street-lamps kept the city illuminated, though many of those poles were broken upon the ground. Three men on chocobos, fully-armored with visors down, watched the streets carefully. Their crossbows were not far from reach, but for now they wielded pikes to keep any potential carriers at bay.

Carriers. It was the term that many an Imperial soldier now used when speaking of the infected. It helped distance them from their fellow citizens.

Strago was in a dark mood, sitting alone in an enclosed carriage as they passed through Vector. He had not seen any of the riots they were warned of, but that was not uplifting news. He shook his head sadly, wishing there were no lights.

He did not want to see the bodies on the streets.

They were fresh, from what he could tell. The Imperial Army had been clearing the dead off the streets as often as possible, but they were few in number and tasked with keeping the peace. The capital itself seemed well on its way to destruction, with many buildings half broken and the structures themselves bare to the light of the moon. He knew that he was being pessimistic, Strago had been briefed by the Captain of his guards -- Vector had been recovering from its sack when the Plague hit.

Still, no sane man could remain optimistic in days such as these.

The walls of the Imperial Palace loomed ahead, Strago's eyes were wide-open in awe of the flawless black stone. He had read of such feats in the ancient texts, but to see with his own eyes...

Never in all years had he expected the past to become reality.

Strago sighed. Then again, he had never expected to see cities as vast as Vector -- and this was as far from her prime as possible. It seemed life had kept most of the surprises hidden until now.

A guttural groan escaped his throat as they neared the gates of the Imperial Palace. Though the road was clear thanks to the work of armed soldiers, there were still people on the streets. Many were huddled around fires, trying to get as close to the palace without setting off the ire of the guards.

Others pushed around carts filled with jars of strangely-coloured liquids; hawkers profiting off the desperate. He could hear their words proclaiming that they had a cure, that the Empire had been hiding it from them. They said anything and everything in order to make money, several proclaiming that their cures were free of magic; the thing responsible for the Plague.

Entering the Palace took a while. They were stopped again and again by soldiers at the gates. Strago left the alleged safety of his carriage in order to pass the second layer of gates. Luckily, the guards that accompanied him from Halstead fielded most of the questions. He waited impatiently, his foot tapping the ground as yet another pair of Imperial soldiers stopped them.

They were questioned thrice at the gates, twice before they were in sight of a vast staircase that led to the Imperial Palace proper, and then once more at both the bottom and the top of the stairs. Strago sighed with relief as they finally entered the lobby of the Palace.

A squad of soldiers -- only now did Strago notice that all their brown-leather armor was trimmed black -- awaited them. Leading them was a long-haired moustached officer, an insignia bearing twin-swords crossed was foremost among the many awards upon his breast.

"Mage Strago?" the man held out his hand. "Major Ivers, Commander of the Imperial Guard."

Without hesitation, Strago shook the stranger's hand. "Nice to meet you Major. I'm here to work with Terra."

"Yes, your papers were unusually complete. First Citizen Branford-" Ivers stressed her title with his peculiar accent, "-is in the Imperial Library; a heavily restricted area. I'll take you there."

Strago gestured with his hand, aware that he had slighted the Imperial officer by addressing Terra so casually. "I am in your debt. Please, lead the way."

The Imperial Palace had seen better times, her corridors still showed signs of battle. Melted steel, shattered stone and a trio of leafless trees with concentric rings of barren dirt around them, Strago could still feel the lingering aftermath of magical warfare. The spells exchanged had been vicious and savage, nothing more than brute force given metaphysical form.

Another of the topics in his ancient texts, and one Strago had hoped that he would never encounter.

They were stopped near the twisted oaks by a trio of threatening soldiers. These men were bulky underneath their woollen cloaks. A single emblem that was nothing more than a black octagon bearing a white Imperial mark was emblazoned by their hearts.

"Major Ivers?" the lead man asked.

A scowl was on Ivers' face. "What do you want, High Inquisitor?"

"Nothing more than a moment of your time."

"I am busy, as you can see."

"It is a matter of pressing security; we just need to ask a couple of questions."

Ivers scowled again. "Fine," he turned to one of the men accompanying Strago. "Sergeant, you're in charge."

"Sir."

The four men left, Strago watching the backs of the cloaked men as they departed. So this was the Inquisition that Danielle had created. How interesting.

"Mage Strago, please, the First Citizen awaits."

---

The Imperial Library was a barren chamber, the size of which was stunning. Thamasa and her outlying farms could have been enclosed underneath the monstrous roof that stretched above them. The combined texts of his village would have filled no more than a single shelf. It was so vast that it almost defied his comprehension; indeed he found it difficult to accurately gauge the distance from one end of the room to the other.

"What happened to all the books?" he mumbled to no one in particular.

"Burned by the barbarian," the Sergeant responded.

"Burned?" Strago's mouth dropped open. He looked around the gigantic room once more -- all that knowledge! "That's... that's barbaric."

"Quite," was the succinct reply. The Sergeant spoke with several of the soldiers standing guard and then strolled across the room. Strago followed through the many attended tables, scholars still delving into books despite the late hour, until he finally laid eyes on her. A smile spread on his face, their favourite half-Esper in the flesh at last.

Terra was surrounded by a dozen men, most wearing white coats, all writing in a clipboard or notebook as she talked. It was quite an assorted crowd aside from them, notably a woman in dark-leather with two lethal-looking swords by her hips. Immediately, Strago realized she was a Magitek Knight.

Then his eyes narrowed in concern.

Was her hair grey?

"-your recent spell-form, in addition to those sections of texts that were outlined. Thus I believe we have figured out the flaw in our implementation. The issue was not the concept of frequency transforms or even the instruments for modulation, but that of supplying signal power," one of the men wearing white reported in a professional tone.

Terra noticed Strago. A thin smile broke on her cold and detached face.

"Thank you Robert. Then that should be high priority, but not the utmost. While the Empress wants the prototype improved upon in range, I want to stress that our main task remains as it always has been," Terra concluded. "That's enough for tonight. Again, great work everyone."

The crowd dispersed after thanking the First Citizen. Only the Magitek Knight in black-leather remained.

"Terra," Strago forced the smile back to his face as he approached. "It's good to see you again."

Her hair was grey, and it wasn't dye or anything of the sort.

"When I heard you were coming, I couldn't believe my ears," Terra expressed as Strago crossed the distance between them. "You look great, Strago."

They embraced out of politeness. Once apart, Terra turned towards the Magitek Knight.

"Catherine, if you would leave us."

The woman's head was bowed submissively. "As you command, Sophis."

Strago's smile vanished. What did she just say?

Terra was a bundle of restrained joy. "You don't know how happy I am to see you moving, Strago," she sighed. "When I think back to those nights after the airship crash, I admit that more than once, I thought you had no hope. It's so great, and also to have you here!"

"Well, I pray that your standards for me improve. Just because I'm old doesn't mean moving is any great achievement you know," Strago answered with a sly smile.

He must have heard wrong.

Terra giggled. "You know I didn't mean that," she pointed out.

"Do I?" Strago's mischievous grin grew wider as her mood grew warmer. "Now that's the smile I'm used to seeing! You're too young to look so grumpy, leave that to us old men."

"I thought you wanted me to ignore those stereotypes!"

"Only when it suits me," Strago remarked.

Terra suppressed another giggle. "I've missed you, Strago."

"I -- no, all of us -- have missed you," he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "How is Locke?" he said with a devious grin. "You two are generally inseparable, even back in my village! I don't see him hanging around here, so I guess he's up to no good?"

Terra's good mood took on an artificial quality. Her radiance dimmed and her bloodshot eyes flickered away from the old man. "He's gone," she answered simply.

Strago's eyes grew wide and a shiver travelled down his spine. "Gone?" he whispered. "That's... that's not possible. He's too damn persistent to fall to disease!"

"He's not dead yet," Terra corrected herself, but there was no change in her attitude. "He left Vector a few days ago."

"And leave you here alone?" Strago frowned. "What an irresponsible young man. I'll give him a good talking to when he gets back."

"If he comes back-" Terra's forced smile was gone now, "-and anyways, I doubt you'd accomplish anything. He was pretty intent on joining the Inquisition and hunting down the Maverick's men."

"He joined the Imperials? Locke joined the Empire?" Strago could not believe his ears. "We are talking about the same Locke, right?"

Terra sighed. "How's Relm?" she asked instead.

"She's fine. Still causing everyone trouble and showing up where she doesn't belong. We managed to keep her aboard Edgar's fleet, so she'll be safe," Strago was still interested in Locke and didn't give much thought into the matter. "Tell me about this Inquisition."

"That's good," Terra's smile returned. "At least Cyan's with her. He'll be able to protect her from anything."

His mood soured. "She'll be away from the war and the plague, that's all that matters."

"So I guess Edgar convinced you to do this?"

"I'm not a child who needs guidance," Strago scoffed. "I'm here of my own accord; I know how deadly disease is and if there's magic involved, well, you're going to need some help. Finding a cure... it's a terrible burden."

Terra expression was hollow, devoid of anything remotely resembling optimism. Strago had seen that expression before and with a shudder, knew at last that the past was gone forever.

"The books we have are all that remain, but they were Gestahl's personal possessions and their quality is high. The selection has been quite broad so far, from theory to philosophy, he had an interesting collection. I've divided the texts amongst all the aides we have, but many are in dead languages and the scholars that can read those are few," Terra gestured to a seat and the two sat down at her desk.

"Do you really think a cure can be found in the books of the past?" Strago phrased his question to guide her.

"No," Terra tapped one of the books that were open on her desk. "But we find references to disease all the time. As well, poison isn't exactly a lost art -- magical or not -- so the counter-poisons are often in these books."

"Then we'll find one with similar effects and experiment with the original cure?"

"That's the plan, but it's beginning to look like an impossible dream. The labs are busy working from another angle, but I don't think they'll succeed. No, I'm still certain that the answer is somewhere in these books. I just know it."

Strago eyed the half-Esper -- grey hair and all -- and nodded. "I believe you," he said sagely, "and you'll be glad to know that I'm a master of quite a few dead languages."

"I hoped as much," Terra waved for an aide. A young girl scrambled to them, perhaps half-a-decade younger than Terra. "Yes Sophis?" she asked with her head half-bowed.

Strago's eyes went wide. He had not heard wrong.

"If you could take Strago to the books no one can read, I'd be quite grateful. Have a couple guards find a desk and carry them for you, I'm sure they wouldn't mind the exercise."

"As you wish, Sophis," the young girl nodded again, rather submissively in Strago's opinion. She curtsied and turned to him. "Mister Strago? The books are downstairs."

"Please have the soldiers carry all of them here, I'll separate out the relevant ones on my own."

"Of course."

As the girl scrambled away, Strago scowled. "What-"

"Sophis," it was the woman in dark-leather from before. "Major Ivers requests a quick moment of your time. He says it's of grave importance."

Terra stood. "Sorry, I'll be right back."

As the two departed, Strago grumbled underneath his breath. There had to be a logical explanation, though for the life of him he couldn't find one that put Terra in a good light. There was only one reason and that was not good.

His eyes wandered over the books Terra had been reading. He took a closer look.

-the power of which would radiate even while idling as a mere spear. So it was that they came prepared, a spell designed specifically to disable Gungnir. Treachery had been the source of his fall -- pride once again his undoing -- but it is the binding of force that must be noted. An attentive reader would recall the failures just two centuries before: controlling vast quantities of energy had been attempted and failed due to-

Strago put down the book. Interesting history, but nothing that should have had anything to do with finding a cure. He flipped the tome over and read its title, but the gilded letters had been worn away through time and the front pages were ripped out.

He supposed that Terra and her aides had been comprehensive in their search, leaving no books unturned so long as they could read them. Why else would she have been reading a title-less, unremarkable tome?

A smile spread on his face. Terra had probably been skimming, just like Relm. He remembered how his granddaughter studied, how her eyes would glaze over as she ignored the details of magical theory. Relm had no interest in such things, but she always liked a good story. Maybe Terra and his granddaughter had more in common than he thought.

Still, his expression hardened as Terra returned. This Sophis business had to stop.

"I've never seen Major Ivers so unnerved," she sighed as she sat down. Terra rubbed at her bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry about that Strago, they do it to me all the time. There's always something that needs my attention."

"Why are they calling you that?" Strago asked directly.

Terra pressed her lips together, confused. "What?"

"Sophis: why are they calling you a Sophis?"

Terra rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. They don't really-"

"You realize what it means, don't you?"

"I don't appreciate being interrupted," Terra remarked. Her eyes narrowed. "Or your tone for that matter."

Strago rubbed his sweaty forehead. It was late and he was too tired for this. "Terra, you're special, we've gone over this. Your lineage is unique and you're a wonderful girl, but having others address you in this manner-"

"They forced it on me," Terra snapped.

"Oh? So they decided to worship you as a goddess on their own?"

Terra sighed. "Yes," she mumbled.

"And you just let them," Strago waved his hands in the air. "After all, there's nothing wrong with pretending to be a goddess! The submissive worshippers, they're just facts of life. Everyone bows their heads, addresses you only by title, and treats your word as law. After all, it's not as if blind reverence of Gods hasn't led to anything horrible in the past, like a worldwide war that nearly annihilated humanity!"

"I'm disappointed in you, Terra," he shook his head.

"It wasn't my choice," Terra growled. "And they were quite a bit more overt before, it took me weeks to convince them to stop kneeling."

"Maybe you should stop surrounding yourself with weak-willed fools willing to deify anything," Strago snapped. "I can't believe you would do something like this."

"Fools?" Terra echoed. "Now see here Strago, you're surrounded by the best minds of the Empire, put together by Anson himself. I think you should have a little more respect for the people that are putting their lives at risk to find a cure."

"Religious fervour has levelled continents in the past," Strago growled. "It doesn't matter how intelligent this Anson and his team of great minds are, they're fools for placing faith and deifying-"

"Strago, I will not stand for this tirade!" Terra was red-faced and her voice controlled, but she was definitely angry.

"Listen Terra, it's immoral for you to delude these people with your magic and-"

"No! You will listen and you will remember that these people are risking their lives to save us all from this Plague; they deserve your respect. I am not deluding or forcing anyone to call me Sophis, they choose to follow my lead. They know I'm not perfect, but that doesn't stop them. Why? Because I use my gift to help the people of the world -- because power begets responsibility. I try with every fibre in my body to help others, that's why they follow me!"

Terra shook her head in disgust. "But I suppose since you've spent your entire life hiding your abilities instead of helping those in need, you feel it's morally necessary to lecture me."

Strago felt his blood boil. He wanted to retort, but knew better and kept quiet. They were saved from a long period of awkward silence when one of the white-coated men arrived in a hurry; he still gasping for air.

But this was far from over.

"First Citizen, these statistics," he showed her a graph on his clipboard. "We're pretty sure they're indicative of a trend."

Strago could see that the graph was fluctuated up and down, with many dots here and there and a line somewhere in the middle. There were all sorts of numbers in the margins, symbols scrawled on. He couldn't make out much more than that though, the writing was illegible and what could be read seemed to be in another language.

Terra didn't bother to look at all. "What's the trend?"

"The time while symptomatic, it's growing," the scientist flipped through his notes. "We have some who nearly survived three weeks, and one of the ones who died today was just starting his fourth week."

"So we were wrong with our estimates?" Terra stood up. "How did this happen? And what else could we be wrong about?"

"Not wrong," the scientist returned to his original graph. "I really wish we wrong, but there's consensus in the labs."

"Out with it already!"

The scientist shook his head. "It's the Plague, First Citizen. The Plague is evolving!"