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Disclaimer: I in no way own any portion of the Final Fantasy franchise except the spiffy stuff I've purchased and the Squall plushie I snuggle with regularity. I also don't own any song by Linkin Park, especially not 'Shadow of the Day' which provides not only the chapter titles for this story but also the inspiration for this fic in its entirety. Please don't sue – I'm simply an E6 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.
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Chapter 13
The Shadow of the Day
Wish I could write more neatly, but this may be the last opportunity I have to write. To clear my head. While I want to make it through the upcoming trials, I very well may not. Sometimes, a guy has to face reality and realize that this in fact may be the last chance I have to put pen to paper.
Even if writing in this car on the road make this less than legible, I've got to do it – I've got to clear my mind before going into battle. We're only a few miles from Obel Lake, after all. And I've had plenty of time to think.
Everything finally makes sense.
Now that I've had time to really think about it, everything is crystal clear. Why this happened. What has happened. What lies in the near future, and why.
I don't know why I never put together the string of events that have lead to my current situation before now. It seems so very obvious in a twisted and surreal way.
Rinoa was never fate's target. I was.
It seems absolutely insane, but the more I think about it, the more likely it is.
Why did this circle of events start? Why did Garden even start to exist? What could possibly bring the loop to an end? What started the loop in the first place?
Me. It all centered around me.
It's enough to make my head damned near explode. Why me? I have no real idea. That's something I'll have to ponder in the future, provided I survive to see it.
But… me. I was Ultimecia's target this entire time. I was the focal point of her madness. This current reality, this present, this condition I'm in at the moment, was her desire. Is her desire. Will be her desire.
I was the one to lay upon her the final blow. I killed her. I forced unto her the need to strip her power, to cast them to another, to die in peace. To keep another from assimilating her power without her desire, another she would see as unfit from gaining the power of the dark God Hyne himself. To keep the circle running.
I know what her goal was – to compress time into a singularity, an instant where nothing and no one can exist except those persons who can exist beyond time, those who are unaffected by it – those who have the power of Sorcery flowing through their veins. To eradicate an existence in which she and her kind were ostracized, expunged from society as derelicts of humanity, scrubbed from the annuls of history for any good they'd ever accomplished, their efforts rewritten as the triumphs of man and instead labeled as the villainous creatures who haunted the past's shadows. She wanted justice for every Sorcerer and Sorceress who'd ever been wrongly slaughtered, for every man and woman who'd been unjustly burned or drowned or hung on suspicion of holding the power of Sorcery. She wanted this prejudiced, hateful world to die, to be reset by the might of Hyne. She wanted to start existence over, allowing it to blossom from her vision of peace and serenity.
And she blamed her utopia's downfall on me. Because I felled her. With Lionheart in my hands and a scream upon my lips, I struck her down as man has murdered her kind throughout all of history.
She'd intended to give me her might. To make me as she was. To teach me the wrongs of man, the plight of those plagued with Sorcery.
Crazy, huh? Sure seems that way, until a guy stops to think.
She followed me through time.
Not Rinoa. Not the girl who held most of her power, the might poured into Adel and the magic in Edea's veins both having been expunged into my darling fiancé's body.
Rinoa had gone back where she belonged – she had focused well, her thoughts drawing her back to our time, to the field where I'd promised to meet her. To the flowery waves of bliss outside of the orphanage I'd first known as a bastion of peace, to wait for me.
It hadn't been any of my friends – they'd all returned to Balamb Garden, their desires to return home taking them without problem through time and space and depositing them back into the front lobby of the flying academy.
Me.
I'd lost my focus, my desire to return to the orphanage, to that field, having been mingled with my desire for none of the madness to have ever occurred, for none of the misery or pain deposited on myself or my friends to have been delivered. I had dreamt of changing the past, of erasing whatever thread would lead to our precious Matron being a Sorceress from existence.
Instead, I'd been the catalyst to begin the entire chain of events.
If I'd not attempted to see my foolish notions come to fruition, nothing would have happened. If I'd not desired to change the past, our present, our future, would never have come to being.
Ultimecia followed me. Did she know I'd go back to my Matron? Did she know I'd go back to my first home, to see the one who would take on her powers?
I don't think so.
She'd followed me, intending to give me her might.
I remember the day I showed up at the orphanage. I remember running by the 'strange man' who'd been standing with Matron, the one who looked pained beyond belief when she'd ruffled my hair and told me that I was the only Squall permitted there.
The day I'd run to the beach to look for Ellone, the other children had been in the buildings that constituted the orphanage. Zell had come down with a cold, and Quistis and Selphie were both occupied with trying to keep him bedridden. Irvine had been watching them tie the unfortunate blond down with ropes, and Seifer had decided that a bound Zell would be a fantastic victim to torment. I'd had enough of their tomfoolery and decided to escape the entire situation, to see if, against all hope or reason, Ellone had come back to the beach she'd departed us from.
Ultimecia hadn't been going towards the rest – she'd been walking after me. When Edea had told me that she didn't want any of the children to become a bearer of Sorcery, she'd been speaking of me.
Might explain why the Guardian Forces take so easily to me. Why Eden chose me as her permanent harbor. Because if I had been the Sorceress' target to assimilate her power, if I was so capable of taking on Sorcery that I'd not even realized that I'd taken Rinoa's might until I'd unleashed with it when fighting against Eden herself…
History has a way of explaining things. That those who became Sorceresses and Sorcerers were conduits to Hyne's power, chosen by the dark God due to the ease with which he could channel his might through them. Does that mean I'm such a conduit? Is that why she followed me? Or was it simply through a need for revenge? Or a need for me to understand, so that the next time I faced her and threw myself backwards in time, that I'd break the loop and let her finally succeed? That I'd be driven to not tell Matron about Garden and thereby plant the seed of knowledge in her mind, the very seed that would blossom into the complex that would defeat Ultimecia in her own time?
The final option would be the one I would follow, if I'd been in Ultimecia's shoes. I'd want my aggressor to understand what he or she was doing, to understand what he or she was allowing to continue on, and perhaps encourage them indirectly to stop whatever actions were leading to my termination. I think that was her goal. I feel that's why she followed me through time.
She wanted me to be a Sorcerer so I wouldn't start Garden. So I wouldn't arrive in her time. And then I wouldn't murder her.
Time would compress, humanity would be expunged from history's record, and Time would start again, purged of our heinous mistakes.
It almost seems a pity that Matron stepped before her, that she with her awakened Sorceress' blood volunteered to take Ultimecia's might into herself and protect me from becoming one of Hyne's chosen.
If she'd known that I'd become one of her ilk now, would Matron still have made the decision that she did? Or would she have allowed Ultimecia to stagger by us, weak and gasping for breath, to find me on the beach and pour her power into my childish frame?
Guess it doesn't really matter.
The past is the past – Ellone always professed that it could never be changed. Even in the one chance that I had to truly change it, I'd failed in executing any derisive shift in its direction. And now, without the ability to harness the power of compression or knowledge of how to make it work, it is truly untouchable. No amount of pondering, of writing and thinking and gnawing at it, will ever result in a change of the past.
The present is what matters. The future is what matters.
Everything that's lead to the present is set in stone, incapable of being reversed. Rinoa is gone forever. The sun has set for her, and the shadow of the day has embraced her in grey for eternity. I can't bring her back no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I wish.
As much as I long to cling to her for the remainder of my life, I realize that I do in fact have to move on.
While she is no longer with me, while my future with her is dead and buried, I do still have my own life. I have my own future to see.
Even though it seems empty, even though the thought of not having her at my side hurts, it's time to say goodbye to the notion of carrying on with her and focus instead on what I have now, on what I can carry forth with.
As Ultimecia intended, I am one of her kind.
But despite her longings, I still have no regrets concerning what I accomplished.
While I might now hold some pity towards her, her desires clear in my heart and my mind and her motives cleared of any misinterpretation I might have held, I still hold no mercy within me.
Yes, those who have Sorcery in their veins have been wrongly persecuted throughout time. Yes, those who have Hyne's might have been tormented and wrongly accused for all of man's pains throughout history. But even that knowledge would not have stopped me. Will not stop me.
To terminate mankind is not the solution to history's problems. To massacre humanity will not cleanse the future.
To live with them, to scrub clean the slate of mistrust, while a slow and meticulous process is the only process I can see as having any merit.
I might now be man's greatest enemy, but I will not see it ended.
I will not see the world my friends, my associates, my enemies and my Knight inhabit brought to an end by my hands.
I have a future to reach for, a present to live in, a past to regret at times and rejoice in at others. I have my friends, practically my family, to continue to exist for.
I have my Knight to live for.
And I have myself to live for.
It seems odd, to want to live on regardless of all that's happened. Or because of all that's happened. But I think that, perhaps, it's not so odd given what I feel these days.
The ache of losing Rinoa will always swim within my heart. Her loss still leaves a bitter taste upon my tongue and the sting of tears at the backs of my eyes. But whereas a few weeks ago my despair over the emptiness her death left in my heart nearly drove my longing to live completely away, these days it simply leaves me suffering a dull pain when my heart beats in recollection of the sweet times we had together. Only when a familiar song plays, I pass a familiar bit of scenery, my eye beholds those colors she wished to use for our wedding.
More often than not, I feel some semblance of resolution, some drive to continue to live, to find magic and brightness in my life again rather than continue to dwell in the shadows and darkness of despair. To harness the brilliance offered to me with both hands and hold on tight, to let the one who offers me that chance at regaining happiness show me what life has in store for me once again.
I think my heart is beginning to heal.
It seems sudden and quick. It almost seems to mock the deep relationship I built with Rinoa, our slow waltz from my standoffish refusal to immerse myself in the realm of human emotion and her resolution to lead me into that frightening place to our mutual love and understanding of one another that took so very long to craft into the perfection I knew it was.
That my heart could so rapidly find a vestige of joy, a glimmer of hope and a tenacious thread to grasp at and continue to survive should make me angry. At the very least, it should drive me to despondency.
Instead, I feel resolution.
I will strive to live. I don't know if it's possible, but I will try my best.
I will go out there, gunblade in hand and the resolve to be victorious firm within my heart. I will step into battle, any hesitation to use the might Rinoa has opened to me cast aside. I will harness the might of the moon, the sharpness of my blade, and emerge alive if I am capable of doing so.
Not because it's what I desire, even though it is something I hope for. Not because it's what Rinoa would want, even though she'd punish me for eternity if I were to give up living simply because she were no longer at my side (that is provided that an afterlife even exists and we were to run into one another there).
Because he needs me to.
He needs to know he's succeeded. He needs to know that we've won together, that we've overcome the obstacle that now stands before the both of us.
Because only once he's succeeded will he be happy.
Then I can do what must come in order to secure his happiness – I can see if this power Rinoa granted to me can send him back home.
Because… I've come to realize that something she always professed is so very true.
When you care for another more deeply than any other, you want everything for that other. You want nothing but happiness for that other, even if their happiness comes at the cost of your own.
No matter how alone I will be, no matter how miserable life will become without that simple glow of painless restitute I've found in him, I will ensure his happiness. And in delivering his happiness, I will find some for myself.
While I've always hated being alone, my days of being a lonely orphan followed by my days of being a lonely recluse at the Garden crafting my cynical and standoffish persona, I will throw myself back into that cast if necessary. I will take on the burden of solitude without hesitation.
I will not damn him to staying at my side – I can't ask him to keep sacrificing for me. I have never begged anyone to stay by my side, no matter how much my heart has screamed for me to do so – I'm not going to begin now.
I will send him home. Before I assign the word to my emotions that I dread this feeling I've so quickly come to tether to my Knight has become. Before I confess to myself what I know Rinoa would be egging me on to accept as the truth. Before I acknowledge that I might in fact be falling for someone once more, allowing myself to feel as strongly for someone as I felt for Rinoa.
Before my heart decides to finally be selfish, and keep him here for myself.
Cloud sighed as he brushed his fingers over the page with its rough and light lettering, the script a touch shaky and jumbled, its hurried lack of quality making it difficult to make out. A few jittering scratches marked the paper, evidence of the instability present in the moment the page had been scrawled upon.
The vehicle had in fact been bouncing, its suspension being worked by the poor quality of the earthquake-cracked road, when the page was being written on.
One final draw of a finger over the last words in the book reinforced the tale's derisive end once again. A tremulous breath drawn into compressed lungs made Cloud clench his teeth, his determination not to allow his emotional state to run away with him nearly overcome by his realization of what those final words meant.
He still couldn't get over most of the secrets kept from prying souls that had been opened to him by his perusing of the surprisingly intimate journal. In the last few hours of reading, he'd come to know the author of the work more than he had over the course of the days they'd spent in one another's company, their stuttered conversations shy and limited at best. For the first time, he finally felt that he had an understanding of the writer behind the halted, introverted words he'd been absorbing.
All reading the faltering work had done was reinforce his decision.
The notion of going home, of working towards his goals with the intention of testing whether or not Sorcery could place him back in the world of his origin, had been shattered completely.
Cloud had come to a conclusion – what had happened, his sudden expulsion from his life built on a shattered foundation of guilt and doubt, had been fate allowing him to reset his destiny. His dull and monochrome existence, the day-to-day doldrums that constituted his life upon his home world, had been brought to an end.
There, he had been defined by his friends, by his actions, by his checkerboard past with its sorrowful and erroneous paths. He had been running from that definition of himself even as he had accepted the lackluster continuity of existence with his dearest childhood friend, seeking to distance himself from who he was and what others perceived of him. He'd been set to live for himself, by himself if necessary, because living to others' notions of him had formed an unsatisfying past filled with heartache and failure.
His desire to live up to Tifa's expectations for him to be a defender, to have the strength to come back and rescue her from whatever would trouble her, had lead him to his notion of being a SOLDIER, his disappointment in his failure to attain such a position, his downfall and his shame when he returned to Niebelheim at General Sephiroth's side as a simple infantry man, his inclusion in experiments that made him something less than human and rather a clone of a fallen warrior whose purpose was to serve the one who created him.
His desire to live up to his friends' expectations for him to be a leader, a point upon the spear that was posted to defend the Planet against those who would harm it, had lead to his dismal spiral into self discovery and the full confrontation of his weaknesses that left him embittered. He'd been overtaken, controlled and manipulated along every step, his leadership being forced upon him and his directions a joke at best. Everyone looked to him not for his capabilities as a leader, but for his strength to cover them in the heat of battle.
His desire to live up to the expectations of the beautiful flower girl who'd been so enamored with his hero had ultimately lead to her death, his inability to stay by her side and defend her from the clone of the fallen General that sought his original's resurrection and aspirations of godhood attained having set her as the unfortunate sacrifice for the Planet.
And when he'd decided that he'd had enough with living to fulfill the desires of others, he'd found nothing remained for him.
He'd been living for himself – a purposeless, empty, directionless meandering through life that had left a bitter flavor upon his lips.
He'd run from Seventh Heaven, his business giving him reason to flee, to escape the meaningless meandering that his life had become. He'd run from what his life had become. His running had erupted into the cataclysmic end of his past life.
He missed his friends. He missed Tifa. He missed his motorcycle. He even missed the crazy Turk who'd dragged him to North Crater and inadvertently made possible his new future.
But none of the emptiness in his heart derived from the lack of his friends' presences would move him to desire a return to his home world.
He'd finally found purpose. He'd finally found direction. He'd discovered someone who needed him more than any ever had in his past, who had no expectations or preconceived notions of how he should act, how powerful he should be or what he should be capable of. He had no expectations to live up to other than those he placed on himself. He had someone else to live for rather than simply himself.
Cloud had finally found satisfaction with his life.
Even as he closed the journal, his fingers lightly caressing the worn cover and the creased binding, he cast his gaze towards the one who had written it.
The young man rested perfectly still in his crystalline sarcophagus, his eyes closed to the world, his appearance that of a corpse preserved under a sheet of glass. Thin hands folded over a thin chest, their papery skin as white as the paper in the journal Cloud held in a tight grasp, didn't flinch from their arrangement. Dark lashes pressed against dark bruises under closed eyes that colored pale skin purple didn't flicker.
Only the abnormally slow rise and fall of the death-colored body's chest gave any outward inkling that life still flowed through it.
Squall had been in his strange comatose state, cold to the touch and incapable of being roused, since the clamorous end of the battle.
Cloud unconsciously rubbed his arms, his eyes drifting shut to block the sight of the unconscious Sorcerer from his vision.
Exeter's explosion still filled his ears.
He remembered flying after Sephiroth, every ounce of strength granted to him by the mako that tainted his blood, every iota of agility granted to him by Jenova's cells poisoning his system, launching him with speed beyond humanly attainable after his prey. He'd found the energy to grip his sword more tightly than he had even at the beginning of the battle, his hands nearly pressing new grooves into the impressively strong metal.
His Sorcerer was threatened. Sephiroth's goal was to reach Squall while he was distracted, the youth's focus strictly on defending all who stood upon the ground from the spells of the girl before him.
The anguish he had felt through the bond he and Squall shared had been palatable. Cloud still couldn't wash that agony from the back of his mind.
Jenova had been infused in the body of the woman Squall had loved.
The Sorceress Rinoa had become Jenova's vessel upon the world Cloud had been stranded upon.
And the young man who'd been run through defending her, who'd been forced to take her power as she thrust it upon him in an effort to keep her enemies from garnering the strength of the deity of the moon, who'd mourned her loss with every breath of his life, had been reluctant to fight her.
Cloud understood his dilemma – Squall couldn't bring himself to strike down the woman he loved. The young Sorcerer, despite Cloud's urgent thoughts and desires pressed unto him to ignore the body and see instead the alien monster that boiled underneath the pretty surface of innocence, wouldn't slay her.
He couldn't bring himself to kill the girl he'd already seen die.
Jenova had learned the ways of her vessel – she'd learned to harness the power of the girl she possessed, much as she'd learned to direct the corpse of her favored son, Sephiroth. As she'd harnessed his strength and might when Cloud and his friends had faced Sephiroth at the Planet's Core, she was drawing the magic of the moon through the diminutive frame she infested, the effects of every effortlessly cast spell magnified beyond comprehension.
The only equalizer, in fact the only defense they had, was Squall. The man who had taken every ounce of power Rinoa had forced onto him before she'd been taken by the silver-haired invader to contain the putrid green energy that contained Jenova's final cells.
The pair had taken to the air, carried by wings crafted of the moon deity's magic, their battle a chaotic whirl of feathers and light, a pinwheel deflected by a hastily raised gunblade and spells hurled with reckless abandon that razed the land in hellfire and ice.
Sephiroth had pressed against Cloud, giving himself the opportunity he needed to escape his battle against the Knight and take it to the Sorcerer himself.
Cloud had readily pursued. Squall wasn't prepared for Sephiroth. He'd had his hands full dealing with Jenova.
But Sephiroth had the lead, and with Masamune's impressive reach Cloud soon came to a grim realization – there was no way he could intercept the strike.
He screamed, his cry both of terror and hatred, as he hurtled with every shred of speed he had after his prey, frustration coloring his voice as he watched every tenth of a second pass with excruciating slowness, watching his target get closer and closer to his ward as he failed to close in. His eyes were nearly forced shut, the murderously white light of paired wielders of Sorcery harnessing the might of the bloodied moon above them, the feathers of Jenova's stolen body burning with heavenly fire that reflected off the mirror-sheen of Squall's huge silver wings blindingly brilliant.
Exeter had roared.
Cloud's vision was suddenly filled with red even as his ears took in the unearthly scream of his Sorcerer.
He felt his heart shatter even as they all plummeted back towards the ground.
Sephiroth had overshot his target, his eyes huge in shock and disbelief even as he unfurled the one great black wing he possessed, turning his momentum and sweeping for the ground.
Cloud's opportunity came in taking a wild swing at the SOLDIER General as he changed direction, his own vector shifting enough to carry him back to the hard soil below.
When he landed, he felt nauseous.
Squall knelt, shivering and wide eyed with tears pouring over his cheeks, staring at the body he held in his arms. Blood, red tainted with green, coated his chest and his arms and pooled around his legs as he knelt on the singed grass, silver wings folded over his back with long flight feathers pressed to the ground. Soft purple energy floated around the both of them, flittering like translucent butterflies of light from each white feather as they faded from reality and seeping into the shaking boy who held the disintegrating corpse with its shattered head. The soft whisper of magic floating through the area, quiet music infesting silence, accompanied the fading light that shone on the shredded remains of the deceased girl's face that finally held serenity and peace.
Even as green energy slid around his boots, Sephiroth ground his teeth together, his emerald eyes narrowed in sheer rage.
Before anyone could even shout a warning, he lifted his sword, gripped its hilt in both of his hands and sprang towards the pair soaked in blood.
Cloud burst forward, his sword leading his way, a cry upon his lips as he swung. The sharp clang of Masamune and Caladbolg meeting soared through the night.
Sephiroth planted his foot hard into the soil, turning with a roar of unfettered rage even as he pushed against Cloud's sword with all of his might.
With a cry, Cloud was flung away from his opponent at bone-breaking speed, slamming solidly into the SeeD who'd been charging towards the swordsmen with every intention to assist – he and Zell went down with a thunderous crash.
As Cloud had managed to lift his head, he'd seen Squall slowly stagger to his feet even as Sephiroth bore down on him, murder in cat-slit eyes and Jenova's final tendrils of being seeping into his skin.
The Sorcerer turned sharply, huge silver wings rapidly flinging out to his sides to maintain his balance.
White burned the edges of those feathers, thin wing fingers much like those of a bat gleaming like pure ivory holding sheets of mirror-like silver feathers deployed. The glow that erupted from those wings, more brilliant than any seen yet in the night, was more blinding than the flares of the sun itself.
The moon visibly surged in the sky.
After Cloud had managed to see anything other than white, thin shadows beginning to seep across his vision, he'd staggered to his feet with his sword tightly gripped in his hand. He shook his head sharply, trying to clear the ringing from his ears, the explosion that boomed through the atmosphere when the moon had pulsed in the heavens still bombarding his brain. Taking a shaky step forward, he'd called for his Sorcerer.
When he'd received no answer, he'd burst into a run.
Seconds passed before he knelt by the dark shape he judged to be Squall, his hand not occupied by his sword shaking as he reached for the humanoid form. The chill that met his fingers nearly drew a sob from his throat.
But then, he'd felt the soft beat of the youth's heart, slow beyond what any human's rhythm should be but present all the same.
It had taken many minutes after he'd gathered the Sorcerer's body into his arms, his sword abandoned by his knee, until he could finally see his surroundings again.
The rest of the SeeDs, in a similar blinded and dazed state as himself, had simply unleashed their Guardian Forces to deal with the few monsters that remained in the area – Selphie was barely beginning to seep back into reality, the cacophonous chugging and rattling of the demonic train that rested in her mind fading back into the obscurity in which it primarily existed. The rest were getting to their feet, staring at him and his charge with huge, frightened eyes.
When he'd looked for Sephiroth, all he'd managed to find was Masamune, shattered and scattered across the landscape, and one of the General's boots that still smoldered and smelled of burned flesh.
They'd tried all they could with Squall – harnessing the might of their Guardian Forces, they'd attempted to use magic to heal him to no avail. They'd brought forth Mega-Elixers that failed to work. They even attempted to use a Phoenix Down without results.
Cloud had taken a deep breath and shook his head. He remembered how Squall had been in the Medical Ward on Balamb Garden, when his skin had been cold to the touch and his vitals below anything capable of supporting life. When the magic of the moon itself had healed him.
After reassuring himself that everything would be fine, after gathering the youth into his arms and burying his face into soft brunet hair, he'd breathed a sigh of relief.
They'd won.
His relief had been cut short – a huge ship, eerily similar to the nearby Ragnarok, landed with ear-splitting racket and hot exhaust.
Cloud was shaken – he was worn and beaten by his battle with Sephiroth, his wounds healed by a few Hi Potions given to him by gracious SeeDs when they'd been doing their best to restore vitality to Squall, but they still horribly aching. His muscles were tired beyond belief, his strength so depleted that holding the frail Sorcerer in his arms was taxing.
The others around him, much to his surprise, stood before him.
"But…" Cloud had whispered softly.
"But nothin'," Zell had snarled at him, even as he pulled his blood-soaked gloves over oddly twisted knuckles and winced as they tugged against bone that was most certainly shattered. "We're gonna defend our friend. You just keep him safe."
Walking to Zell's side, Irvine had gifted Cloud a confident and serene smile as he slung Exeter off his shoulder and held it before him. "Would've said it more eloquently myself," he said with a chuckle even as he busied himself loading large blue rounds of ammunition into his gun.
"Indeed; you can't expect us to abandon Squall in his time of need," Quistis sharply clarified as she moved to step forward, being stopped by Selphie and asked to stay back and lend her support magic to Squall and Cloud in case any of the frontline defenders fell. She'd graciously smiled and nodded, even as Selphie flung her flail's chain over her shoulder and grinned, standing by the Sorcerer and his Knight.
When the huge ramp that lead to the new intruder vessel's cargo bay had dropped, Cloud couldn't help but stare in disbelief even as Quistis gawked, Selphie stared, Irvine nearly dropped his gun and Zell cried out with a loud 'What the hell?'
"Woah, woah! What's with all the commotion? I'm unarmed! We're all unarmed! Kiros, come show them that we're unarmed, will you?"
"Sir, we're hardly unarmed. The ship has gattling guns on it."
"Oh, you know what I mean."
Cloud had narrowed his eyes, looking over at Quistis before snorting. "What the hell is this?"
"I can't believe it…" she breathed, her eyes huge.
"Yeah. Where can you get a shirt that bad on this world? On my Planet, you had to go to Costa Del Sol," Cloud blandly observed.
"SIR LAGUNA!" Selphie squealed as she launched herself at the new interloper.
Cloud could barely keep up with the commotion that had followed. Within moments he'd been introduced to a man who insisted on being called Laguna even though every SeeD with the exception of Selphie called him President Loire, his assistants Kiros Seagill, a tall and slender dark skinned man with long intricately braided hair and a stern expression and Ward Zabach, a giant of a man with an impressive scar running over his throat and along his face and a gentle expression in his warrior eyes, and half of the crew of the newly restored Rapture, which apparently one of the two sister ships of the Ragnarok that had carried something called an 'Adel' into space a goodly number of years ago. He'd been forced to carry his Sorcerer into the Rapture, Zell and Quistis accompanying him even as Irvine and Selphie volunteered to get the Ragnarok back to Balamb Garden, and directed to deliver his charge to a singular bed in a side room off the cargo bay.
After he'd finally laid Squall down, he'd marched around the ship once it'd lifted off to demand answers.
He'd been pulled aside by Quistis before he could brashly avail himself upon their new companions.
She'd been the one to inform him of the history between their group and the new people Cloud had been introduced to. She'd also informed him of the dubious relationship between his Sorcerer and the man called President Loire.
At first riled, Cloud's recollection of Squall's brief recounting of his past rising immediately to mind, he'd snapped that there was no way the tether between his Sorcerer and the man with his easy smile could be true – Squall had, after all, been raised in an orphanage located somewhere called Centra. After Quistis had shrugged and suggested it was speculation but likely true, he'd stormed off to get answers for himself.
However, once he'd found the man in question, his anger immediately fell away.
Cloud couldn't bring himself to question or complain once he'd returned to the small room he'd laid Squall in only to find the man with his long, dark hair and his hideously bright shirt hovering over the comatose youth with a petulant and worried expression on his face and devastation swimming in his eyes.
"He'll be fine," Cloud had attempted, his heart softened by the genuine sorrow and worry worn by the older man.
"Of course," Laguna had softly stated before giving Cloud an empty smile. "He has you to defend him, or so I hear."
Cloud only offered him a quick nod before taking his leave of the room.
It was only when he'd finally found the man named Kiros that he'd discovered why the Rapture had arrived so promptly.
They were of the nation called Esthar. The very nation that Cloud had garnered from every conversation he'd been privy to that held the greatest threat to the Sorcerer. The most technologically advanced nation on the face of the planet, able to scan and monitor the entirety of the globe with their satellites and capable of not only defending themselves but of presenting a viable threat to any other nation that would stand at odds with them with their army populated by highly trained human soldiers and cyborg warriors alike.
They had been monitoring, looking for the Sorcerer, the claims of Balamb Garden telling that the person in question had died from the injuries incurred during its fight with the Guardian Force called Eden having fallen on suspicious ears. Kiros explained it as them looking for whoever the new recipient of that power was – the expression on Ward's face was enough to clue Cloud in that they'd simply refused to believe the cover story, and were watching the Garden like hawks from afar, waiting to see what exactly the military establishment was up to.
With the amount of explosive might on display during the battle between the Sorcerer and the Jenova-infested Sorceress' body coupled with the movement of the moon itself as they called upon the satellite's deity for strength, the Esthar operatives had been able to quickly zero in on their location.
They had a location called 'Sorceress' Memorial.' They intended to seal the Sorcerer in question within it.
Kiros had simply breathed out a lament that no one had suspected they'd discover the Sorcerer was Squall.
At that time, Cloud had been shocked – Quistis and Zell had both entered without his being aware, Zell's angry cracking of already splintered knuckles sounding just as painful as it must have felt. "You think we're letting you lock him in that thing, you've got another thought coming," he'd growled without hesitation.
"Zell," Quistis had softly scolded, laying a hand on his forearm even as a frown turned her lips. "Let's reason with them before we kill them."
"Sure. Reason. Got all the time in the world – right 'till we land."
Cloud did his damnedest to not let the smile that wanted to leak from his mouth display itself on his face – instead, he crossed his arms, walking to Zell's side to stand beside the shorter blond and lend greater numbers to the already formidable threat he presented on his own.
"That won't be necessary," Laguna's voice said, entering into the fray.
As one, everyone turned to face the President as he strolled into the room, his hands shoved in the pockets of his khaki pants and his sandals scraping over the steel of the floor.
"Sir, certainly for everyone's sa-" Kiros began.
"Ut tu tu," Laguna uttered, waving a finger in the face of his taller companion. "Let me speak. This is Squall we're talking about, Kiros. Not just some errant Sorcerer."
"Which is precisely why we have to worry," Kiros muttered quietly under his breath, even as Quistis sighed and nodded her agreement.
"Oh, come now! So he has a short fuse at times," Laguna whimpered.
"And now can blow the entire Palace sky high."
"Not like he couldn't do that before with Eden," the President exclaimed with a cheery grin.
As everyone fell silent, staring with mouths agape at the dark-haired man, he smiled and nodded. "See? He's no more dangerous now than he was before."
"All we've got to worry about is him eventually going insane and unleashing that power against civilization," Kiros stated, his voice flat even as he crossed his arms.
"And that's why we've got this guy!" Laguna professed even as he flung his arm over Cloud's shoulder.
Squirming, the awkwardness of the situation slipping under his skin, Cloud offered Laguna a queasy smile.
"That's right. This guy's his Knight. He'll keep Squall behaving himself!"
"And if he fails?' Kiros asked, one elegant brow arching over a dark eye.
"Eh…" Laguna uttered, his smile falling away and his eyes widening. "Um, hadn't considered that."
At that moment, Quistis bit her thumbnail. "Wait, Sir. I remember something… Rinoa was intending to give it to Matron. Something to suppress her power…"
"Oh yeah!" Zell chimed in, punching his palm with one balled fist. "That bracelet! The Odine invention!"
"Couldn't something like that be crafted? Just in case the inevitable occurs?" Quistis supplied with a shrug, the beginnings of a hopeful smile forming on her mouth.
Cloud carefully buried the resentment that bubbled within him. He was determined to not fail his Sorcerer.
But still, he had to look at all angles of the issue.
What if he were to die? To be killed in battle, eaten by some monster or slain by someone hunting the Sorcerer? What if Squall were to refuse him, to lose himself in the flow of Time despite Cloud's presence? What if he were to somehow take control of Cloud, driving him to do as he pleased and losing himself to the madness of the moon?
And what about the peoples of the nations of the world? Would they be comforted, knowing that Cloud was all that stood between them and destruction? Or would they find reassurance, and he and Squall find a semblance of peace rather than continual threat by simply existing, if there were some external means of controlling Squall's power?
Laguna had mimicked Zell, leaning over with a humongous cheeky grin on his face as his palm nestled his fist. "That's a great idea! Kiros, let's make it so! First stop, Odine's Lab!"
Clearing his throat, Kiros growled, "How about 'first stop, Sorceress' Memorial, after we get Odine on the phone and direct him to meet us there?"
"You're still intending to put him there?" Laguna whimpered with a pout.
"How long do you suppose it will take Odine to craft another suppressor?" Kiros stated, his voice dark as he leaned over Laguna.
As the President verily melted under Kiros' hard glower, Cloud frowned. "This Memorial… he can be freed from it once the device is constructed, right?"
As Ward granted him a silent and reassuring nod, Cloud sighed and nodded. "Alright then. Memorial it is."
Quistis and Zell had both gasped in shock, staring at him with wide eyes. Laguna had nearly fallen on his face as he lurched free of Kiros' overarching gargoyle-looming stance to stare at Cloud also.
With a shrug, Cloud closed his eyes. "Squall needs time to recover. He's physically beaten, yes. But that will heal quickly. He needs time to deal with everything that's just happened – to come to terms with what's occurred. His heart needs to mend itself. And if he can sleep in this Memorial while we build a means for him to have one less thing to worry about, some way to suppress his powers so he doesn't have to worry about suppressing them himself, then maybe that's the best thing we can do for him."
They'd proceeded to the Sorceress' Memorial without any further argument.
Once there, they'd been met by the man everyone referred to as Odine – a tiny, crazed man in a huge ruffled color topping brilliantly colored robes with a laugh that brought eerie recollections of professors from his past that set Cloud on edge, the short beastly creature had been snarling grins and anticipation from the moment they opened the cargo bay door. Cloud was almost reluctant to hand his Sorcerer over, relenting to transferring custody of Squall to the Esthar scientist only at Quistis' request and comforting consolation.
Even as Odine spouted off materials he would need that were apparently in short supply, Zell and Quistis had said their goodbyes, their presences long removed from Garden and certainly missed. Within the hour after arrival they had a shuttle arranged for transport and were whisked from Cloud's life more quickly than he'd wanted them to be.
Cloud hadn't been able to watch as they'd shuttled Squall's still body off to encase it in its crystalline prison. Instead, he'd busied himself with gathering the few belongings he and Squall could both claim from the miniscule collection of things that had been grabbed from their car and thrown into the Rapture before liftoff.
He'd found Squall's journal.
He'd finally read the words spilled by the soul of the man he was defending.
He'd finally realized the depths to which their bond ran.
And he'd discovered that maybe he wasn't so alone in this alien world as he suspected.
He was needed. He was desired. And above all, even if the other wouldn't write the word itself, he knew he was loved.
Pressing his fingertips against the cool exterior of the sarcophagus, he let a thin smile slide onto his lips. "Promise I'll be back soon, Squall. Odine has a list of materials he needs to build that suppressor by now, I'm willing to bet. I'm just going to be fetching them – I used to be a delivery boy, you know. Just gathering and delivering once again."
Turning his back to the crystalline coffin, Cloud shouldered the pack he'd gathered, the journal buried safely in its confines among his clothing and the few supplies he'd claimed as his own. Grasping his sword, he began to wander towards the door.
He'd barely set one foot outside of the huge metal doors that completed the vast, intricately designed Sorcerer prison complex when he felt a presence behind him.
"So, you vill vork for me, boy?" Odine's crackled voice hissed from within the compound.
Turning, running one hand through spiked blond hair, Cloud sighed and nodded. "Yeah. I'll work with you. Just to the ends of restoring Squall's life, to suppress his power and help him live."
"Such dedication to this one," the scientist grumbled even as he handed a hastily scrawled list to the departing warrior. "Vhat are you, SeeD?"
And as the shadow of the day raced over the Estarian desert sands, Cloud turned towards the fading horizon with determination burning in his eyes, his voice firm and proud as he professed, "No. I'm the Sorcerer's Knight. And I will be until death's darkness takes this world's final hour."
-the end-
Well, that's all for 'Shadow of the Day'! I'm certainly thankful for you sticking with this story and reading it through to the end, and hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. And I certainly hope that you guys are as satisfied with its ending as I am.
I am actually considering continuing this arc in another story, one detailing Cloud Strife's journey through the world of Final Fantasy 8, discovering all the weird nuances of it – the fact that monsters level up with you, the fact that materia doesn't exist and magic is derived from stones you can find unless you're SeeD and can direct-draw from monsters, the fact that monsters have magic up the wazzoo and aren't afraid to use it. Just a simple story of Cloud vs. the world in his attempt to complete Odine's requests and restore his Sorcerer.
And sorry to those of you who didn't want Sephiroth to be wiped out! But really, it was the best way to complete Squall's arc. Because not defeating Sephiroth would've played complete and utter hell with his motivation and mood. XD But I certainly hope that you guys were satisfied with it, even though it was rather quick. :P Sephiroth vs. Sorcerer = Sorcerer pwns. And c'mon, there's other villains outside of Sephiroth. FF8 has enough political skeez to make a million of 'em. :P Heck, with the world's view of Sorcery, the entire world can be seen as a villain from Cloud and Squall's point of view, with SeeD right on the forefront of the charge. :)
While I'm rather sad that it ended so quickly, I did make a goal for myself – 13 chapters. That was destined to be the overall length of this story, and I'm actually pretty proud of myself for maintaining it. Now granted every chapter was in excess of 20 pages, thereby putting this at the length of a short novel, but still…
That's it for this story! Thanks again for reading, and all reviews are definitely appreciated! :D Hope to see you guys with a future story!