A/N: FFTimetravel. Now with 30% less time travelling relevence.

Chapter 3

Alma is back. Through sheer force of will, she separated herself from the false god Ajora.

She was always quite individualistic so I presume that helped.

Ajora remains, but is hopefully weakened.

She stands before us, a fell beast. That saint that we praise and worship is… a terrible beast.

Our entire religion is a front for a cult most foul.

And I have to end it. I have to stop this here.

Damn. If only I had arranged for a more thorough blitzing of her minion!

"Orlandou." I whisper.

"Y-Yes?"

The man stuttered.

He never stutters.

But then again, here we stand at the brink of catastrophe, about to kill the saint that all Holy Knights adore, and faced with an overwhelming certainty that what we see now really is a monster that even monsters worship.

He could be excused

"Sword." I designate.

He grips the steel in his hand more firmly, and steel bleeds into his voice as well. "…Right."

I signal that all else are to fan out in three seconds, and I bring Masamune to bear. It will grant us speed and passive healing magic.

Orlandou would deal damage. All the rest of us would simply try to survive.

We were so tired from our last battle… and against this enemy… this overwhelming force… it was all I could think of.

We just need to make this work.

There are nods all around, even one from Alma.

Alma, no…

"Don't tell me no brother. I'll always be there for you. We promised."

…You were always…

…so stubborn.

I turn to our enemy. I'll have to keep an eye on Alma on a peripheral, but this is the fate of the world. Battle effectiveness will have to… it rails against my every protective instinct towards her, but…

…At least she is a support caster.

"Stay back with Minerva and Meilandoul." I tell her.

I want this to end well. I want us all to make it home together.

If I have to mail my condolences to the family of anyone else…

…If I must dig one more grave…

…I think I will break.

Like my Katana, I am at my limit.

Desperation feeds me and I uncork a Hi-potion, keeping it between my lips even as I dashed on. I toss an x-potion, our last, to Orlandou and he gives me a look before copying my actions.

Yes Orlandou. You are sword.

A swordsman protects their sword at all costs, for without it there is weakness and death. In all likelihood the last blow will come from you.

So you must survive until that last moment.

Orlandou is flanking my left. Agrias, my right.

I send signals off.

I will crash upon Ajora like a cresting wave – from on high – and hopefully keep her in place with that.

Then she must be flanked and occupied.

I spit the empty Hi-potion bottle, draw Masamune, and leap.

I land in empty space, my sword crashing into the dilapidated wooden floor.

That was… teleport?

The time-mage skill?

Oh no. This changes every –

"This realm is under my control…" she whispers into my ear.

From behind me.

There is a specific form to deal with that, and on instinct I switch to a reverse grip and stab Muramasa through the gap under my arm.

"Here, all of space… is mine."

Her voice remains. Her form is gone.

Damn.

Damn.

Damn!

"Scatter!" I scream.

The support casters.

Alma!

That… was a new one.

It was odd. I have been plagued by these dreams for most of my life and often times I repeat particular dreams over and over again. Yet evere since coming to this monastery and killing that rat… I've been seeing new ones every night.

I wonder if there's a connection.

"Mna…Mna…"

Mumbling. Utter mumbling. The source of this is lies under the little mop of blond hair resting on my shoulder.

After the first night of sleeping with Alma and Ovelia, there had been less cause for fear of their own room. The dreadful night where a rat had invaded their abode, and then transformed was farther away.

But a precedent had been set for our sleeping arrangement, and of course that made it less worry to sleep together once more.

And so matters remained in balance, or so Alma had argued.

What had begun as one night of solace had quickly turned to two. And then three, and of course to four.

And then Alma, bless her blunt and honest disposition, made a movement to simply throw out all manner of pretense and just carry on forever.

Again, it was supposedly only improper if anyone found out. And we were young enough that it didn't matter so terribly, besides.

Young enough? I have been allowed to handle live steel, and I go to the academy soon. I'm twelve years now. In two more, I'll be a man.

I really am not so sure what to do about her. If she ever finds a good man to settle down with, I might have to take pity on him.

After I threaten him not to harm my sister and all that.

Regardless, it's been a week. And in this week I have learned of one thing.

Humans are really adaptable. How quickly we fall into a routine.

I awake before the sun. It's not hard, since I don't sleep all that soundly.

Both of them snore.

In fact, Ovelia seems fond of snoring directly into my eardrum, as she has somewhat claimed the crook of my neck for herself. Alma, of course, doesn't care where she lays her head.

We have spent so many nights together, seeking refuge from the dark, that she is rather satisfied with me just being in arm's reach. Why?

Because any bastard that dared threaten her had better be ready for me.

But yes, Alma's snoring is pretty annoying too.

I shake Ovelia awake. She rolls out of bed, literally, and falls with a thud to the floor.

It's funnier than it sounds.

She's really not a morning person.

Or… a per-morning person.

At any rate, I shuffle them to their rooms and get prepared for my own morning excitement.

The priest has passed on and the girls have had their studies postponed but my own instructor yet lives.

So I am to be baptized.

"Ah. Ramza." Guinivere addresses. Her trademark silver armor gleams in the morning sun – a mark of her care.

She polishes.

"And you brought your armor. Good lad!"

I smile wryly at my mentor. She was many things, and had taught me much.

I almost went to bed with my armor on last night, by pure accident, before Alma stopped me.

She wouldn't have it of course. I was already 'far too hard' for her liking as a mattress for herself.

"Good morn, Master." I greet as I meet her atop this small hill. The waterfall behind her drops water down unto smoothed rocks ceaselessly, and it is carried away by a small stream.

Surrounded by this lush and open green landscape, with even the church itself old and covered with vines in bloom…

It's a truly peaceful and wholesome environment to be blessed with.

To think there had been death this past week…

Sir Guinivere breaks me from my appreciation of the scenery. "You'll have to stop calling me that soon. And just when I was getting used to it!" She smiles. "After your baptism, assuming all goes well, you shall be my peer. I shall still teach you, but it shall be as one soldier to another. We will be master and page no longer. What a short run you've had of it! I was a page for years. And to be a soldier before being a man? You Bevoules really are odd creatures." She shook her head in bemusement.

Other people – ones more preoccupied with status and power – might be offended at my fast progress. Indeed, many of my private instructors had. But not Sir Guinevere. She was too… righteous for all that.

And for this she earned my profound respect.

"This is the spot. Here." My teacher explains. "This is where it will happen. The priest has left us. As a dutiful man of the cloth – a fact which I will attest to for the rest of my life – he has surely been allowed passage to a better place than even this life. Still, we are left alone without his aid." My teacher mused. In the past week, she has never failed to speak well of the preist whenever and however he came up in conversation.

I take that she had known him well, and that she wished to honor her friend in death.

I find her really brave for moving on as well as she has, even as she remembers the fallen every single moment of the day.

If I should be half the knight she is, I will be pleased with myself.

My teacher clears her throat. "And so, we cannot place you under the holy light." She considers her words for a few seconds. "And to be frank, I rather prefer it this way. You are a strong lad, Ramza." She admits. "Strong enough that once you enter manhood properly, I expect you to be equal in power to your father. And no soul who has ever served besides Balbanes Bevoule would ever give that praise lightsly."

She fixated me with a stern look. "Your father and the one they call 'Thunder God' both commanded such holy light as I have never seen. They cleaved catapults and carved entryways out of castle walls. And we were all fortunate they were good men – or perhaps they were so powerful because they were good men – and in ten years that shall be you. And we cannot leave you up to fortune, Ramza. We must get it right with you." Sir Guinivere tells me. "For the north and southern sky generals are old and ill. And I fear there will be little force to balance you if you were to go astray. Yes." She nodded. "I do not begrudge you your talent, Ramza, but we must get it right with you."

This is more than a ritual to unlock power. It is a screening process for an elite order.

Fail, and she will never in her life take her eyes off of you. You will be a liability to her forever.

She will chase you down to the ends of the earth and kill you if she must, as a matter of responsibility.

I consider her words. Her praise is far too high, I think. I have no expectation of being able to cut a catapult up any time soon, that much is certain.

But I can hardly complain about having it 'gotten right' with me. It's generally better to get things right, rather than the alternative, after all.

"What must I do?" I ask.

"You meditate." Sir Guinivere explains. "I always found baptism by the church's light to be far too contrived. No mortal, not even the pope himself, holds a true and stable feed to the higher divine realm. What we use to fuel our techniques, and what we ultimately swear by, is justice itself. It is the bit of divine that rests within us all. Why be exposed to holy light directly, in a rather exhaustive ritual, in order to grasp the nature of the divine when what we ultimately use lies closer to home?"

"The holy spirit." I clarify.

"Of course." My teacher nods. "Once you grasp fully the nature of good and evil, and have a true and clear conscience, you will be able to channel the divine energy gifted by god amongst all his children. You have the blood, the blade, and the teachings. Now only this last step remains. It shall be baptism by meditation – as we used to do in my father's time. And my father's father's time. And –"

"And which you probably did yourself." I finish, beginning to get the picture.

"Oh Ramza, you'll see. It is a whole different life." Sir Guinevere explains to me. "It is a true baptism, much as the one which you had when you were but an infant. When you leave there again, you will be reborn into this world as an agent of justice and judgement. The blade at your side and the armor on your back shall be as your siblings forever, for they were born again with you. You shall be…" She searched for the words "… happy, Ramza. For you shall be fair. And strong. For all your life you shall be fair and strong, and you will see that such is indeed enough to make one happy. At least, it was plenty enough for me."

It is enough. Enough to keep a spec of one's warmth in the most blistering cold. Enough to keep one safe. Enough to keep one sane when the world flips around and all refuges are lost.

Enough to feel alive.

I had made my decision long ago... I would follow this path through.

Only...

"You want me to meditate… in there?" I ask.

I stare at the waterfall. It is of moderate width, but the fall of the water is from quite high up. I can only imagine the pressure and the cold from such a task.

Being told to meditate on the nature of good and evil was like being told to empty the ocean with a pail and a pitcher.

One could be at it their whole lives and make no significant headway.

And it's September.

"It's September." I clarify.

Moderate risks of hypothermia exist. Keep your limbs close at all times to conserve heat.

"For the moment." She nods. "And if you take too long to work out for yourself the nature of good and evil, you will fall squarely within the cool embrace of October. And then, of course, December."

…I'm beginning to suspect that all the women in my life are going to be progressively less good for my personal health.

A/N: Back by nothing more than popular demand. It's FFTimetravel.