You've all heard this before. How life has infinite possibilities. ...I don't believe that one bit.

There weren't many paths for me to choose. Sometimes, there would only be one.

From the limited possibilities I faced, the choices I made have brought me this far. That's why I value the path I chose — I want to hold true to the path that had to be taken.

—Irvine Kinneas

Off to the east, a faint glimmer had begun to appear on the horizon, the predawn glow building around the craggy silhouettes of the nearby islands and turning the sky a rather pretty shade of orange. The few stars that had been visible during the night were hidden away behind the clouds that perpetually hung over the rugged landscape, never seeming to move or dissolve. Save for the gradual transition from night to day the whole of the stark, rocky inlet seemed almost like a painting, frozen in time.

As one sign that the world had not come entirely to a halt, a slight, warm breeze drifted up to Janson's perch. He rested atop a low cliff overlooking his ship's makeshift dock on the inlet's beach; the vessel rested at anchor below him, looking every bit the battered wreck. The sails, all but torn to shreds, had been removed from the rear of the ship and spread out on the rocky shore, where the crew was still debating over whether they could be mended; the rear half of the bridge had been blown away, and the mangled cowling of the portside hydrofan was being pried apart from the engine by a makeshift pulley. The waters and shore were littered with debris that had once been part of the vessel's elegant hull.

Though he tried his best not to think about it, the breeze produced enough agitation to the still-healing cuts on his arms and face to make them begin to itch. He wished for a moment that he had not removed the coat of his uniform, thinking that his arms at least might have some protection from the wind; but the whole reason he had removed the coat was because the fabric of the sleeves itched more. In any case, he was not about to put it back on, as his body ached enough that nearly any motion could cause him far more irritation and real pain than the breeze — this was the whole reason he was perched atop the cliff instead of down helping the other SeeDs as they struggled to repair the ship.

He'd been aware of the individual making his way along the beach toward him for some time, but he returned to the forefront of Janson's mind as the other SeeD finally came up on his location. "So how's it coming?" he asked, glancing from the ship to the approaching form.

"What's it look like?" Davis motioned back towards the vessel turned near-wreck. "We've been up all night trying to put her back together, but she's in more pieces now than when we started." He sighed. "Enough of the parts are still working that we can take her out of the cove, but right now a decent wind could send her to the bottom, to say nothing of that fleet. This is the sort of damage it'd take weeks at a fully equipped port to fix properly."

"Well, assuming we aren't going to find a port that can help us," Janson said, "how long do you figure on us being stuck here?"

Davis sighed. "If we actually had someplace to go, I'd say we might get there faster if we swam." He took another step up to the top of the ledge where Janson sat. "How are you doing?"

The White SeeD leader winced just at the question. "I've been better. I don't feel like I'm bad enough that I should be up here instead of helping, but then I try to move and..."

"Hey, we understand," Davis said. "Although I wasn't too clear on why you had to come up here."

"I wanted to keep out of the way," Janson said. "Plus, I figured if I just worked through it, a lot of the aching might just go away." He shook his head, making sure to keep the motion small. "Bad idea."

Davis chuckled.

A moment passed without any words being said. Janson changed his posture a little in response to a discomfort that he had just become aware of, and his mind drifted back to the one subject that could consistently hijack his thoughts on a moment's notice. "...Maybe they think we're dead this time," he said dully, no real conviction or hope in his voice.

The other White SeeD was equally unenthusiastic. "We've got away with that too many times already. I doubt they'll be happy now until they broadcast our executions on Channel Four."

Janson nodded again, gazing out at the mess that had been made by the ship's presence in the cove. Off to one end of the beach, he recognized Lina sitting with the nine children, telling them some story or other. "This really is a terrible life," he said. "Every time we get so close to death, it gets harder for me to believe that all this is really for the best. Especially with the children; if we can't protect them, what good is the future anyway?"

"Hey, we haven't lost anyone yet," Davis reminded him. "All things considered, I think we've been doing really well."

"That's the thing," said Janson. "We might have been lucky so far, but every time we come this much closer to not making it — to losing everyone." He gestured to the battered ship. "If this is what we got left with this time, what's going to happen when they come again? They learn more about us with every engagement, and we ran out of tricks a long time ago."

Davis was silent for a moment, looking thoughtful and nearly as tired as Janson felt. With a deep sigh, he lowered himself onto the ground next to his commander, also looking out at the vessel anchored in the bay. "What I never got about all this," he said, "is why Galbadia cares so much about us. I mean, we're not even two dozen including the kids, and we've never done a thing to undermine their government or whatever. But still, they'll send half the goddamn navy after us."

"Just by existing, we're a threat to them," Janson said. "They don't control us, so we could act against them. That's what they're worried about; they know what even a few SeeDs can do. If they can't control us, they'll destroy us before we get a chance to destroy them."

"So why the hell don't we go for it?" Davis asked, frustration creeping into his voice. "They're already assuming we're gonna destroy them; let's do it! Maybe if we can get rid of this Naraka bastard, they'll just leave us alone."

Janson shook his head. "There'd just be more like him to take over the hunt. Anyway, SeeD is supposed to protect the world, not shape it to our will."

Davis shrugged. "I dunno about you, but I'd feel a lot better protected without the Galbadians breathing down our backs all the time."

"Well, that's the worst thing about it," Janson said. "If we get rid of Naraka, we just make them madder. Galbadia's only gotten worse since Deling was killed; if we move against Naraka, it'll be bad for him, but things won't get any better for us."

There was a pause as the other White SeeD considered Janson words; then he shook his head, punctuating the motion with a frustrated sigh. "There really is no way out, is there?" he asked.

"None that I've managed to find," Janson agreed. "And believe me, I've been looking."

A few more moments passed in silence as the two of them looked out over the cove, unconsciously scanning the horizon for any signs of a Galbadian fleet coming to finish them off. After a time, Davis returned to his feet, glancing back at Janson. "Well, I'd better get back to the others," he said.

"Right," Janson said. "Stop by again sometime."

"You got it, boss." The White SeeD began to turn, but paused to solemnly salute his leader. "Oh, and with all respect...we will never run out of tricks."

With that, he turned and headed back to the others. Janson nodded, glancing back out to the sea, where the sun was just beginning to rise above the horizon.

"I guess we'd better not," he said quietly.