Author's Notes: And back. As you will see as you read, this was a logical break for the story from the last chapter, explaining how short it was. Forgive me for that. Sometimes things just break at places they need to break.
Hyne's War: Chapter 20
Centra was a place Nida had never really liked being. The dead, dry land sent shivers up his spine, always had, and he had never been able to explain it. Once he'd thought it was odd that he couldn't put the feeling into words, but these days unexplained feelings were too common to really wonder over. Still, he couldn't help but wonder a bit over the shivers, over why every time he looked at the ravaged land he saw fields of flowers covering it, showcasing the true beauty of the place. Yet it was always a fleeting illusion that passed as quickly as it came, lasting no more time than it took Nida to glance out of his cockpit window and make sure that the place he was circling was free of people or large rocks. Sure enough it lacked both, but that had been the point. Why else choose the second landing sight, several miles off of the position he'd given to the other SeeDs?
He started putting the flier through its landing protocol, glancing out at the barren expanse towards the cliffs where they were certain the Zebalgans were hiding in force. The third glance, closer to the ground than the previous, made it obvious that a group of points he'd almost thought of as rocks were indeed making their way towards his chosen landing spot. They'd clearly noticed that he had no intention of putting down where he had said he would, and were already coming to get him. He'd likely only have the time he needed to unload and destroy the flier before they arrived for him. Then again, he hadn't expected any more than that.
The second the flier hit the ground Nida launched into a flurry of action. He granted a wrench and screwdriver he'd tucked under his seat for this purpose and set about prying panels free, ripping out wires, and smashing anything that came in reach. It might have seemed pointless, but Nida knew better than most just how much could survive explosions like the one he had planned. Soon, though, he was satisfied with his destruction, and tossed his tools aside. With his now free hands he both snatched the duffel he'd packed with one hand, and popped open the cockpit with the other. He took only as much time as it took to turn on the self-destruction sequence and hit the cargo hold release before throwing himself out of the cockpit as well. When his feet hit the ground he turned, grabbed the two weapons he'd stuffed into the hold, snatched up his bag, and ran. In his head he was counting down, and as he got down to ten, Nida thew his bag and weapons ahead of him, smacked the heel of his hand against a spell stone in his pocket, and threw himself to the ground, covering his head as he did, and praying that the protect spell from the stone would help him.
The explosion was loud, and he could feel the heat licking at his back even at this distance, just as he'd been able to feel the tremble in the ground at the blast. For a moment Nida laid still, trying to shake the odd scent of wildflowers he shouldn't have been able to smell over the dirt his nose was buried in or the smoke in the air. Then, with a sigh, he pushed himself back up to his feet and turned to face the blazing wreck before him. With a sigh he reached up to wrap his hand around the mithril harp at his neck, welcoming the cool breeze that flowed through him, a breeze that was not only the touch of Siren, but the rush of power as she offered his paramagic up to him through the physical contact. It was easy to grasp at the quake spell that Siren almost seemed to thrust out at him, and direct it to release in the core of the blazing metal when he held the harp like this. And from the way the spell violently shook the wreck, finishing the destruction, there was no doubting that the spells were still effective enough like this—though admittedly less strong or reliable. It took more asking Siren for the magic than just having it at his call, but Siren was more than willing to help, and even as the quake faded, she seemed to hold the next spell out to him, making it too easy to unleash a torrent of water to dowse the flames.
The hiss of steam was great enough that another person might not have heard the footsteps behind them, but the heightened senses that Siren offered—as available to Nida when he touched Siren like this—meant Nida did. They'd likely come up during the explosion, explaining his lack of notice. But the footsteps now, he not only noticed them, but he knew them. Well, maybe he didn't know them, but Siren did, and when she whispered the name in his ear, his heart ached with longing.
Elijah, Siren whispered, and Nida couldn't tell if she sounded worried or glad.
"I told them that you were smarter than they were willing to give you credit for," Elijah said, his voice soft and conversational, so familiar that Nida wanted to turn and embrace the man. Instead he stood there, watching the rising cloud of steam and doing everything in his power to not turn to Elijah.
"I'm glad you came," Elijah continued, coming closer, within an arm's length if Nida was any judge. "I..."
"You know why I'm here," Nida said, turning and sidestepping the indeed outstretched hand. "It's not for you."
"Can't blame a guy for hoping, can you?"
No, Nida admitted, even if I'd like to try.
"Yes," he lied, ignoring the pained look he found when he finally met the too blue eyes of his lover. "I can."
"When did you go cold?"
"When the man I thought I was in love with betrayed me, but I'm pretty sure we've been over this before. I assume you brought transportation."
"Three cars. Mostly for protection. I insisted. Figured there was a chance you would pull something, so better to protect ourselves," Elijah said, the casual tone gone, replaced by the cool, brisk tone Nida knew Elijah took when he was dealing with subordinates. "We'll have to blindfold you for the trip. Your comms will be confiscated, as well as your things searched for any broadcasting devices or transmitters."
"And how am I supposed to relay your demands to my Commander and the other leaders?"
"We both know that isn't what you're really here for, and neither of us are about to pretend it is, are we?"
"I guess that would be a waste of time," Nida admitted with a sigh. "How long has Xu been one of yours?"
There was a momentary glash of surprise which Nida was glad to have won from Elijah, "You knew?"
"She's too good a shot to miss you, or accidentally shoot Squall in the back."
"I told her to wing me when she let me out," Elijah admitted. "She was always so blood-thirsty as a kid, and what she did to my guards was classic repressed Xu. Figured you guys would get to her eventually, but not so soon..."
Nida was stunned to silence, though he supposed he shouldn't have been. He'd always thought Elijah had broken out alone, overpowering one of the guards and using the knife the guard had carried to kill the other. It had been the explanation floated around Garden once Nida was cleared of suspicion, but now he could see, understand just how wrong he was. There was a murder in Garden, and no way to tell anyone about it.
"I suppose it doesn't matter. Her deployment will end soon."
Something in those words sent a chill down Nida's back. Something of a finality. One punctuated by the darkness that came over his eyes as one of Elijah's men came up behind him and set the blindfold into place.
"We're almost there," Elijah announced, some ten minutes later when the car they were in came to a stop. "So I'm gonna take off the blindfold now. Can't have it looking like we don't trust the Heir when he comes to us."
"I didn't come for the reasons you'll tell them," Nida said as he felt Elijah move to loosen the blindfold.
"You came because your ancestor, the great wise man Vascaroon foretold that you would come here to guide us. You're here because this is where you belong. You will stand in the midst of what was once our greatest city, will stand at the same spot the great wise man stood when he gave his vision to us, and you will lead us. Such is your destiny."
The blindfold slid free, and Nida had to shut his eyes against the bright sun as the car lurched back into motion.
"I don't believe in destiny," Nida said, keeping his eyes closed.
"It believes in you. Vascaroon did day that the son would come home to the people, and that's what you're doing."
"This isn't my home or my people."
"Are you sure?" Elijah asked, and as he did Nida opened his eyes as the words seemed to bid him to do. And as he did, he was met with an unexpected sight.
He had, everyone had, assumed that the Zebalgan camp would be large, possibly organized, but that there would be no real structures to speak of. Maybe some old ruins or overhangs in the canyons that they could use for increased shelter, but not what Nida was seeing now. Sure, there were the occasional tents and obviously temporary structures, but they were only occasional. The better part of the structures were those carved into the cliff faces on either side. A whole city it seemed, carved into the walls with statues, pillars, doorways and windows. The faces of buildings set into red-orange stone, towering above him in beautiful detail, and old beyond estimation. The sight called to mind the Centran Ruins, but Nida had to guess that the designs of the ruins had been based upon this city, a city older than he could even imagine. And it had been hidden away in the seemingly sheer cliffs in a long dead land.
"Beautiful," Nida gasped, and Elijah chuckled in response as the car came to a final halt.
"I know. It takes my breath away every time. This was once the city of Vascan, the ancient safe haven of the Zebalgan people. It was to this place that our people came when the peoples of the world warred over the body of a fallen god. It was here where the ruler of our people sent out the call for wisdom, and to here that Vascaroon came to give the prophecy that you are to fulfill. After a time our people moved from here, built greater cities, but Vascan—renamed for him of course—has always been our safe haven, our hidden refuge. Even after the fall of our empire, the sundering of our people, and the Lunar Cry, it was to here we came when the descendant of the ancient king called us to come together so that the descendant of the wise man could guide us."
"Thanks for the history lesson," Nida mumbled, his eyes busy darting around to take it all in. But the beauty was quickly ruined for him, for even as Nida cast his eyes about, he could see people starting to appear in doorways, in windows, and then pouring out from the stone buildings in every direction.
"It's best at sunrise or set, when there are less people. I'll show you it someday," Elijah said, the words a whisper so low that even Siren had a hard time carrying them to Nida.
"I'm here for Boyce, not for them," Nida whispered as people started to lift their voices in cheers and shouts of his name.
"You're here for them whether you want it or not. Nida, you belong here. You are the Heir, and we are your people..."
"These aren't my people," Nida growled under his breath.
"Can you say that for certain? You're a war orphan Nida, made so in a war where many children were orphaned from many places by a woman who hated our kind. Not everyone ended up having a story like Squall's, you know. We don't always get to learn where were from. Few do. But you..."
"So at last he comes to us! The Heir of Vascaroon stands before us within the city of Vascan, the ancient city blessed by the wise man himself. This, my sons and daughters, is what I told you would come. Before us lies the future we were told of, if we are but ready to step forward and claim it!"
Nida, as well as the better part of the crowd, turned towards the voice, and what he found made his stomach turn. Boyce Megill stood at the top of a set of stairs, his voice booming out—likely because of the stone buildings—over the people. At either side of him and back a step stood a person in a robe and hood—a taller, more heavily built person in brown at his right, and a smaller, lean shape in yellow on his left—but they barely registered in his mind. What caught Nida was the brilliant white of Boyce's robes, made more obvious by the way his arms were spread wide. The white shone in the light, seemingly untouched by the red-orange dust that coated the rest of the place. Yet the most striking thing was the way the black of the doorway framed Boyce from behind. Brilliant white surrounded by pitch black, and red everywhere, tinting the scene. It was familiar and terrible.
Run, part of his mind screamed, a part that was rapidly growing in strength as Boyce started down the steps, still speaking though Nida didn't hear a word that was said. Another, smaller voice told him to wait and enjoy this, revel in the attention and adoration. This had always been what he wanted, hadn't it? Recognition of some sort, whether he desired it or not, wasn't that something to enjoy?
Not like this, Nida growled at himself. I didn't want it like this. Recognition for my achievements, when I deserve it, not for being... What I don't know.
At last Boyce stood before him, hand held out to him in greeting. Nida could feel all eyes turning on him, all breath held as people waited for Nida to do something, say something, show some kind of sign.
"He said, 'welcome home my son,'" Elijah whispered, his voice just on the edge of what Siren could pick up.
Correcting Boyce was hardly something that Nida could do right now, not with all the onlookers. If there was going to be no way to contact Squall, then Nida had to do whatever was possible to protect lives, both those of SeeD and their allied forces, and those of these people before him. His only hope would be to connect with these people, to get them to believe him and follow him. And to do that he couldn't' alienate them now. Not totally at least. Still, with too many dreams still fresh in his head, Nida didn't think he could bring himself to take the man's hand.
"You know why I came here," Nida said in response. And in Boyce's eyes, in his smile, Nida could see the acknowledgment. There was no denying that Boyce could clearly see through what Nida was doing and he thought it was futile.
"We all know why you're here, Mister Nomura," Boyce said, lowering his hand at last, his smile unbroken. "There is not one among us who has not waited for this say, for you to stand before us. Our people know your face, your name, your story, and we welcome you, Heir."
"You have met at a distinct disadvantage, Megill," Nida responded, struggling to keep the edge out of his voice. "Other than Elijah, I don't know any of you."
"And such a sorrow it does us," Boyce replied. "But it is a problem best addressed when you are not so weary from your travel, my son. And there is much that it seems we must speak of."
"Don't call me that." Nida found himself growling, finally losing control. "I'm not..."
"All of those of the Zebalgan blood are seen as the sons and daughters of the King," Elijah said. "Sometimes it is literal, but more often it is not so."
"I'm not..."
This time it was Boyce who cut him off, and there was a gleeful sort of pride in his eyes. "During the height of the Sorceress War, many towns and villages populated by the Zebalgans were attacked. There are many of those among our number today who lost family and friends in the destruction. The final village of our people alone was here on Centra, distant from here. It fell before Adel's wrath, burned to the ground. I was in Trabia with my own family when word reached me, with other news that set the people to mourning. It was said that there was a child there, a boy of two, who had wept for two weeks prior to the attack. When asked why, the child said that all he could see was fire. The boy, we thought him lost in the fire. And yet here he stands before us, and now we realize his gift for what it is."
All Nida could do was stare in shock.
The room Elijah led Nida to was, like everything else, carved right into the stone of the cliffs. When Elijah pushed back the heavy wooden door he revealed a well appointed room, but an oddly furnished one. Shelves were literally cut into the walls, a table made from the natural stone, and even the bed was made of stone, with wooden drawers beneath it, and a comfortable looking mattress atop. And, on top of that was a carefully folded and all too familiar bundle of pale blue cloth.
"The robe," Nida said, his attention fully and utterly occupied by the bundle, to the point where he barely heard Elijah close the door behind them.
"Boyce would prefer if you were to wear this when you go among the people. A show of solidarity and such..."
"Take it awa," Nida could barely even hear his own voice.
"Better that I don't. Not wearing it is one thing, something the people here might understand, even appreciate. Too many of the Council members were prone to flaunting their status and power through the robes. It's part of the reason that I rarely wear my own. But if you have me carry this out of here, know I have to take it straight to Boyce. That will mean carrying it past quite a few people, and world will carry. It will be clear to everyone that you aren't here for this, and you don't want that."
"Don't I?" Nida whispered.
"With how carefully you phrased things around Boyce, yes, you don't want that. I'm not sure why, Nida, but you're obviously trying to do something here and do it without upsetting the people."
"I'm not trying..."
"Do you really think that I can't see through you? How long have we known each other?"
"I don't even know you."
The response wasn't what Nida expected. Instead of any words, there were two arms around his waist, and the warmth of Elijah's body against his back. It was familiar strength of the arms, the sturdiness of Elijah's chest, it was enough to make him want to give in. But what he wanted and needed were two different things right now. So, after a moment of indulging in the touch, Nida pulled away.
"I wish you wouldn't say tat. Dammit, Nida, my uniform may have changed, but I'm still the same person I've always been underneath it."
"The problem is that I never knew who was under it, Elijah. And now that everything is in the open—who you are, and what I'm supposed to be—after what you've done because of it, how can either of us be the same? And how can I even be sure that you really have told me all the truth, or even the most important parts of it? How do I trust you after this?"
Elijah seemed to consider this for a moment, his eyes clearly filled with pain at Nida's words. With a sigh he moved towards the bed and pushed the robe to the side. There was a small gesture, a crooking of a finger that Nida was too used to obeying after all these years, that found him moving to fit by Elijah. Yet her was more than aware enough of the situation to jerk his hand away when Elijah reached for it. For all that he wanted to, giving in now would ruin everything, ruin any hope the world might have, or that Nida might have for getting through this.
"How about this, Nida... Ask me something, anything. No secrets between us anymore. Like it always should have been. Will you trust me then?"
But how would he know the right questions to ask, Nida wondered.
"Who are you?"
The question seemed to confuse Elijah for a moment, and then something clicked, and it made him frown. "You think I lied to you about something as basic as that?"
"You have before," Nida pointed out. "The whole reason we're here now is because of you lying about who you are."
"Nida, it's the way we're raised. My, no, our people have hidden our identities for centuries from all but our own kind. Sorceresses have sought to destroy us whenever they rose to power, and we were not well liked in the times of the empire. Secrecy of the blood is sacred, almost as sacred as the respect that most of us hold for you."
"I never asked for that respect."
"A lot of us never ask for what we get. You never asked for your blood or responsibilities, and I never asked for mine."
"Yours?"
"I told you once I had a foster-father, right? I suppose it's mostly true as well. My dad died when I was a kid, and I was adopted by my father's cousin, my only living relative. He's the one who sent me to Garden. He said it was the best way to train me for what I would one day have to become. I was given over to an older student of the blood to learn about the people more, and then my father came to Balamb for a time to train me further. My free time, before you arrived, was spent in the company of my own kind, learning what I had to know for the sake of the people."
"Your father?"
The question made Elijah flinch, even though Nida could see that he had expected it. Expected it to come eventually, maybe, but Elijah obviously wasn't quite ready for it right now. There was a look bordering on panic plainly written on his face.
"Elijah, who is your father?" Nida pressed, already suspecting but fearing the confirmation.
"Nida, I..." Elijah shook his head, sighed, and pushed himself back to his feet. "Boyce. He's my uncle, my father, my king. I am his last blood relative, and thus his heir. One day these people will look to me for guidance, even as we look now to Boyce."
It explained a lot. Elijah's place on what seemed to be the ruling council of the Zebalgans, the way he placed his loyalty to Boyce and the people over the ones he would have developed for Garden and SeeD, even why Elijah had been at Boyce's side during the videos and in Nida's dreams. Yet there was plenty it didn't explain. How could Joshua threaten him in front of a man he would have owed his loyalty to? Why had Boyce not kept Elijah at his side if he was so important?
The more important question that came to mind, one that came from years of training, was how do I use this?
Now, though, he had kept quiet long enough, and he could see that Elijah was getting anxious. As much as his mind wanted him to work on putting this new information to use, he had to say something before Elijah just left.
"So, you're kind of like a prince then? The only living prince in the world."
"I think Seifer would disagree with you on that one, what with that nickname he came up with for Squall all those years ago."
"Seifer is prone to foolish names. He's taken to calling me either fly-boy or Nidulus."
"Nidulus?"
"I think he's making a play on cloud types."
"Ah. Well, I think it sort of suits you. Not like you've got your head up in the clouds or something, but because you always seemed to enjoy flying."
"And you enjoyed making trouble. Not exactly the Prince Charming out of fairy tales," Nida teased.
"Hey, it's not like I was supposed to be Boyce's heir. I mean, he never had a son of his own blood, though he has been known to adopt children of the blood. My father was supposed to be the heir of the people, and I had an older brother too. I was just a kid, never carrying about my family line or ancient legends, or anything else."
"Why not?"
"Because even when I learned all of this, it didn't seem likely that anything would happen in my life. Nida, finding you was something none of us expected. It changed everything. Hell, the reason that the council even met with Boyce in Trabia was because he was retiring. Not just from Garden, but actually abdicating. Giving up his position. I was going not only to honor the man who was my father, but because I was supposed to take up the white myself."
"What happened?"
That made Elijah sit back down, shaking his head the whole while. "Every meeting of the council opens with certain traditions. One is asking if the Heir has been found. And by Heir, I mean you, not me."
"And you told him that you thought it was me?"
"I didn't want to," he said, voice getting weaker with every word. "Please understand that, Nida. I didn't want to. It wasn't hard to see then exactly what would come of Boyce knowing about you. He's always talked about how the Zebalgan people would rise up to their former glory once they held the power the Heir would grant. How the Sorceresses would never again be able to hurt us. That the people would once again rule over all in an era of peace. But Nida, if it was going to be an era of peace, why were there those of our kind trained in warfare? In assassinations? In espionage? The discovery of the Heir by Boyce would mean only one thing, war.
"I knew, when I sat at the council that night, with the question asked, that he would bring our world to the third war in half a century. People I had grown up with, people I cared about, would have to die by my sword. Rinoa, such a sweet, foolish girl, would be killed for what she became, not who she was. Headmaster Kramer's wife would again be a target, and watch the people she loved and raised fight to protect her. And you... The one I had come to love, would be the center of it all, whether he wanted it or not. Nida, I saw what the last war did to you. You're a nice guy, you hate the idea of killing, despite being a SeeD. You're so... I didn't want you to have to suffer the pain that would come from either side. I was going to wait until Boyce handed the power over to me, until I could secure my hold over the people. Then I would reveal you, have you find and awaken the magic of Hyne. What you did with it would be your business."
"Then why did you tell him?" Nida demanded, pulling away from Elijah. "If you had all these noble intentions to protect people, why didn't you follow through on them?"
Elijah let loose a chuckle, bitter and short. The sound of it was harsh in Nida's ears, lacking everything he had ever known Elijah to sound like. There was nothing like gentleness in it, no love, no true amusement even, just derision and spite.
"The Legend of Vascaroon that is told, even among the people, isn't the full one. Did you know that, Nida? Very few know the whole thing as the council knows it. The truth of the matter is that the piece of Hyne the people came to possess, it wasn't completely void of magic. What there was, the King and his line horded to themselves, passing it along from chosen heir to chosen heir at their moment of accession. It's part of why it's so important that the line of the king has never been broken. If it had, if a king had passed before he could gift on the magic, then we would not be where we are now..."
"What magic? Elijah, you need to tell me."
"The same power which the god once used to rule humanity. When Boyce turns his attention upon one of the blood and gives them a command, they cannot help but obey it. Such has it always been, and never had I, or any other, thought to question why they could deny him nothing for all of these years. I only learned of this a few years ago, when he began to teach me what would come of me taking up his place. Since then I have watched, and never had he really seemed to abuse that power. He hasn't even used it to deal with the faction within our people who actively speak against you and using the powers of Hyne.
"Or I thought he had never used it. How could I tell if he bent his gift towards another? But that day, as I sat with the council, waiting for the power to pass, Boyce asked the question. And though I had no intention of speaking, I rose from my place and began to tell him about you. The fate of the world, my people, and you in my hands, and I spoke. Still, I won't pretend it wasn't my fault. If I hadn't pressed you into a duel that morning, if I hadn't pressed you on what happened, if..."
"There are a lot of 'if's in the world. Why waste time adding more?" Nida muttered, shaking his head. How was he supposed to believe Elijah when he tried to blame everything on a magic that could only be passed on by choice, and one that had never been heard of before?
Has it not, little hawk?
The whisper in his mind almost made him jump, a sudden wave of irrational fear flowing through him, a fear that maybe Boyce had more power than Elijah knew. That maybe he too was susceptible to this unknown power, because of who he was, or this Zebalgan blood that they claimed he had. On the heels of the fear, though, came the feeling of a warm breeze brushing against his cheek, and a slight chill from the metal harp at his neck.
Siren, you scared me, Nida thought carefully, shaping the words in his head and trying to keep them from his lips. The last thing he wanted was to seem crazy at a time like this.
I know. We are tied together, are we not? Still, the idea of compulsion should not be foreign to SeeD. Consider what came to pass for the Sorceress Edea, or Rinoa, when they came into contact with the mind of Ultimecia.
I thought that was because Ultimecia's personality dominated theirs during the possession.
Oh my hawk, you are far wiser than this. Can you believe in the powers of beings such as myself, or in those of a Sorceress, and not in others that you are yet to see?
As much as he wanted to respond, wanted to figure out a response, Elijah was looking at him weird, likely concerned that he had zoned out. Nida could see the worry in his eyes, just as he had been able to see it in those of the other SeeDs when he had first spoken with Siren before them. None of them other than Seifer had spent time with Veringas yet, none quite understood what the researcher was doing, and none other than Nida—and Seifer on a single occasion—had a true conversation with a GF. Obviously, neither had Elijah.
"Nida?"
"I'm having trouble believing what you're telling me," Nida admitted, not only the truth but a good excuse for his lack of attention. "Whenever we've encountered each other since you went to Trabia..."
"I've been working under absolute orders to bring you to the people, Nida. That no price was too great to pay for you to be before Boyce. No action unacceptable, no life worthwhile if we were to become what we were always meant to be. Only with that charge laid upon me did I learn just how strong Boyce's control over the blood was. Do you think I enjoyed cutting down kids I helped train? Even Alana was important to me, if you can believe that."
"You two hated each other.."
"Being rivals and hating each other are two different things," Elijah pointed out, shaking his head. "Well, I guess it came down to hate in the end, but it wasn't how it started out. She was my rival, and not in the self-destructive way that Squall and Seifer handle their rivalry. You know, it was her that got me to stop avoiding after that first time I kissed you..."
He hadn't known, but the very memory of the kiss, the awkwardness that followed, and Elijah's bumbling apology weeks later made him blush. Never had he known just what had gotten Elijah to finally face him, what had spurned the conversation that had turned them from friends to something more. Odd to learn that the object of his first real crush had been the one to encourage a relationship he'd never expected.
"I hate the person I am when Boyce gives me an order, Nida. I hate what he's doing to our people. You need to know that. But, as I said earlier, that doesn't mean I'm not the same person now I always was. Part of the reason that I have done what I have is because, in a way, it's what I wanted. All of it was, in some way, something I wanted to do. Maybe it didn't play out the way I would have liked, but that didn't change the fact that I wanted what happened. I wanted you to be with me, fulfilling the purpose you are meant for, and so I spoke when Boyce asked. I wanted you at my side, free from the place that never appreciated you the way it should have, the people who didn't love you like I did, and so when I was given a chance, I tried to take you. I didn't want anyone coming between us, and..."
Elijah shook his head, and Nida could see that he was biting his lip as well. Saying all this, it hurt Elijah, almost as much as hearing it hurt Nida. Yet the words, they were familiar in a way. Not the exact ones themselves, but the sentiment behind them.
Hardly. I'm no innocent, I'm a mercenary. Sure, maybe that bitch in Edea pushed me at first, but truth of the matter is that I didn't' care enough to fight back. By the end I was more than happy to do anything she suggested because it meant power, recognition, glory. Maybe I was prodded, but it was my own desires I was pushed towards.
"It's your desires he uses. Feels them, feeds them, and uses them to direct you. A corruption of your desires, a wiping away of your inhibitions. And you don't really think anything of it because it is, at the core, what you want. Right?" Nida asked, prompted by the memory of what Seifer had told him in Winhill.
"Yeah," Elijah admitted, looking a little shocked. "How would you...?"
"Not me. Seifer. He told me something a lot like what you're saying when I found him in Winhill. He was talking about how Ultimecia used him, but it wasn't like she was forcing him to do anything so much as guiding him to do what he really wanted. To win what he'd always sought. I guess you two have more in common than either of you would have guessed."
"Maybe that is what makes us hate each other," Elijah said with a chuckle. "We see ourselves in each other."
"Who knows. But hearing this from you, after hearing it from Seifer..."
"Sad to know you can't take my word on faith, but really, it's my own fault that you can't. Thanks anyway. Something is better than nothing."
Again Elijah reached out, and this time Nida didn't recoil as his fingers brushed gently across his skin. Before Elijah could say anything else, Nida twisted his hand to grip Elijah's, and intertwined their fingers.
"What matters is that I believe you, right? That I believe you and that I'm here to help."