Author's Notes: I wish I got summer break anymore. Well, I suppose I shall next summer. As it is, to graduate when I want to and get all the classes I want, I'm already back in classes. That said, they are pretty interesting. But, the interesting thing right now is what's up with the story.

This is quite a short chapter. I hope you forgive me for it. Then again it's short because it needs to be. What happens next has always been intended to occur as Chapter 23. But, hey, aren't you all lucky. Chapter 23 is being released soon anyway, so it's not like a short chapter is going to hurt, right?

Hyne's War: Chapter 22

The room is darker than he remembered, but with little more than a few flickering torches along the walls to light it, what did he really expect? The walls here weren't the same red-orange sandstone as they were everywhere else, but ones of black marble, and while they were polished to a shine, the black still seemed to drink in the light. Further ahead, untouched by the light of the torches, were the stairs, black shot with veins of brilliant white. Those were his goal, well, what was beyond them in truth. If he didn't shut down the system, all of his work here would have been for nothing. More people would be hurt than was even remotely near necessary. So, taking a deep breath and steeling himself against the shock he knew would come when he stepped over the threshold, he strode forward, his hand wrapped around the cold metal of the mithril harp.

Sure enough he felt the unnerving rush of fear followed by an emptiness in his mind that worried him ever since he'd grown used to junctioning. Siren seemed gone, lingering only as a prickle of warmth where the harp pressed against his hand. But that wasn't the only rush of power that went through the room as he strode forward. Lights flashed into life before him, forcing Nida to shield his eyes before the sudden glare. When he finally felt like his eyes had adjusted to the light, he lowered his arm and looked about. His eyes rose to the stairs, now visible in the artificial light that filled the room, and the two people who stood there...

Darkness, a flash, a swirl of fog, and he's standing at the base of the stairs, a hand held out towards him. It's an offer, one he doesn't know how to refuse, how to accept. The hand almost shone in the light, an angel holding out his hand, offering Nida everything he'd never had before, would never have a chance at again. Power, glory, recognition, and most of all, life. Tempting, so tempting. When he looks at his own hand it's covered in scarlet, in the blood of the man he'd just killed. He's tainted, in ways he can't even begin to fathom, and yet he's reaching out as well, his hand lifting. All he had to do was put his mind to the task ahead, open himself to the voice that had always been there, somewhere in the back, somewhere waiting for him to submit to the will of Hyne. All he had to do was take the offered hand. Reach out and...

"Nida. Nida! Geez Nida, wake up," someone is saying as they shake him. No, not shaking him. Yes, there were arms wrapped tight around his torso, but they are warm and comforting and they refused to let go despite how bad Nida's trembling. Hyne, if it wasn't for the fact that Elijah was holding him so tightly, so close, he might have just trembled himself right off of the bed.

"I'm awake," Nida mumbles, more into the pillow than aloud. Elijah hears it though, is too familiar with the behavior to not pick up on it.

"Now if only you could stop shaking so bad. Are you cold?"

Surprisingly, he wasn't cold at all. He'd have thought that in a room made of stone, on a stone bed, all of it set deep into sandstone cliffs, would have guaranteed cold. Yet the whole night he hadn't woken with a chill, the meager looking blanket that Elijah had used had been more than enough. With a sigh he shook his head and pressed further back against the other man.

"Not cold. Just..."

Just what? What could he say, could he claim, could he even begin to blame for the way he was shaking? He knew, though, where the blame lay. In the dreams, the crystal clarity of the surroundings, of the thoughts, of the movements. In the fact that the people he'd seen had been obscured by a smoke. In the knowledge of his surrender to things he knew he had to fear.

"It was just a dream."

Of course, that didn't get Elijah off of his back, so to speak. Once it might have, but now that Elijah thought—knew—about what those dreams might mean, it wasn't going to work. A dream meant so much more now than it had only months ago. They were potential futures, not wanderings of a sleeping mind. And Nida wasn't even sure that he'd let it go if he was in Elijah's place.

"What about?"

"Do we have to do this, Elijah?"

"Do what?"

"Treat my dreams as if they're the only thing that's important."

The arms around his chest tighten, and he can feel Elijah's face bury itself into the back of his shoulder. For a minute they're silent, breathing, just caught up in living and lying there together, in pretending that nothing has happened. It's as if they're wishing so hard that they could just go back to what they were, who they were, when they were just students at Garden. When their days were happy, their nights were lazy, and the most important thing they had to consider was whether or not they were going to pass the next test. Now here they are, caught up in the fate of the world, too afraid to face it, and all to aware that they couldn't deny it even if they wanted to. Still, they steal their moment together, before Elijah moves away, and Nida starts to wiggle out of his grip.

"You know I can't tell you," he says at last. "I trust you, I really do, but I don't trust what Boyce can do to you. If I tell you..."

"He might be able to use it against you."

Nida nodded, though he hated the admission. Hated the idea of his dreams being a tool. Hated the dreams in their whole.

"This one... I'm certain he can use it against me. He..."

He's there, Nida knows. In one, in both of those dreams. Boyce, standing at the top of the stairs, Boyce holding out his hand and tempting him. Blood on his hands. Lives depending on him. All of it set into a place of black marble hidden deep in red-orange sandstone. Whatever this dream was that he'd been having since his poisoning, it was coming to a head soon. Something was about to happen, and there was nothing he could do to avoid it. Maybe there never had been.

"I don't want to think about it," Nida mumbled. "I don't..."

"I understand. Just relax. I'm not going to ask anymore. Just... tell me you're okay."

"I'm fine."

The words are a lie even as he speaks them, because there's a sharp pain in his leg, and Nida's curling in on himself, his hands going to rub at the flesh. An echo of an old pain, coming back just as he'd dreamt it would. More assurance that the time was coming. And with the pain a flash of memory, of holding a body in his arms, of blood everywhere on a black floor, of loss he couldn't even explain.

"What's wrong?" Elijah demanded, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His free hand came to rest on Nida's leg, right where Nida was massaging his leg. With the touch came a rush of cool, healing energy. The pain didn't fade, though. How could it when it all seemed to be in his mind?

"An echo of pain," Nida whispered, still rubbing. "Kadowaki says there shouldn't be any, but there it is anyway."

"Let me guess... the cut you got from Joshua."

"The blades were poisoned."

"He was never a fair fighter. "

"I wish you'd told me that at the time. I barely managed to survive this thing. If we'd known..."

"There was nothing that could have been done for you in Winhill anyway," Elijah pointed out. "And it wasn't like you really gave me a chance to talk."

"Can we just stop talking about this?"

"Then what do you want to talk about?"

Nothing. Anything that wasn't this. That wasn't dreams and Hyne and Zebalgans and destiny and all of that. But it wasn't like he could run away. His hands were still busy trying to work away the phantom pain. Soon Elijah's hand was joining in, still cool with the power of cure spells, for all that it wouldn't help.

"Nida..."

"Once this has passed, we need to get out of bed."

"I'd rather just stay here."

"Me too. But we can't. There's too much to do."

"There's always too much to do."

Elijah sighed, likely agreeing, and pulled his hand away. "You're such a buzz kill."

"Thanks. But you know it's true. I need to try and find a way to get in contact with Squall. I need to convince the two on the council. I need to speak more with the people."

"All of that is easier said than done."

"Nothing worth doing is easy," Nida pointed out. "Now come on. I need you to try and find me a communicator."

"I've been forbidden from..."

"Please, Elijah. Try..."

Elijah was quiet for a while, obviously caught up in thought, and then he was moving, crawling to the foot of the bed and slipping from the edge. Nida followed his movement with his eyes, and couldn't help but smile as the red-haired man danced from one foot to the other, whimpering all the while over how cold the stone was. It was amusing to watch, almost enough so that it broke the tension in the room.

"What did you expect?" Nida chuckled. "It's a stone floor."

"But the bed was so warm."

"Oh stop your whimpering and find your socks."

"You don't even have any pity for my poor feet, do you? You're so mean."

"Mean? Hardly. What have I done to earn that?"

"You laughed. Maybe you don't even get how cold it is out here. Maybe you should learn..."

And then Elijah's grabbed the end of the blanket and whips it off of the bed with a flourish, laughing all the while.

The day is much like what the first one was. Everywhere he went he was followed by a group of Zebalgans, and when he paused a chair always seemed to appear. So Nida would sit and speak, and try to make these people understand that this wasn't a war, that the SeeDs weren't their enemies. Some listened, but more often than not those men and women with blue, black or even red seemed to distrust him. Others, though, seemed to hang on his every word, and would appear whenever he paused to speak. The looked upon him as if he was some kind of prophet—of course in their minds he was—and every word that came from his mouth was the purest truth. It hurt to watch them like this, but he needed that faith. Tomorrow evening the SeeD force would come, and the more people who would not take up their weapons against them, the better. Unfortunately, it was the reds and blacks and blues that were more likely to be involved in the fight anyway, and those who seemed the least willing to listen to his words.

It was nearly noon when Elijah, off about some errand or another, reappeared at his side, and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"I think I've found a way to get you in contact with Garden."

As soon as he could, Nida brought his latest story to the Zebalgans to an end, one explaining what the woman Ruth had done to some poor innocent people and how they had helped the Galbadians, and excused himself to follow Elijah. The red-head was careful to lead them through a few areas where the general Zebalgan population weren't allowed, before bringing him at last to a set of large ebony doors.

"This is a place that normally only members of the council and select others are allowed to come. Through these doors is a room that hides some of our surveillance equipment, among other things."

"Things like?"

"Well, beyond communication equipment, there's a device in there developed based on the power of one of the special GFs that we possess. Boyce's GF that is. It actually manages to block the abilities of any other GFs in the area immediately around it. A few decades back one of our scientists working with Odine found a way to amplify that power, and now whenever Boyce is here, we use the power of his GF to prevent the use of GFs within the whole of this canyon area."

"I've never heard of any kind of power like that before," Nida said.

"Junctioning doesn't work, paramagic doesn't work, none of it. Right now the machine's on a low setting. We turned it down so you wouldn't suspect, but..."

"When SeeD comes in a few days, the thing will be turned up to it's maximum intensity."

Elijah nodded in agreement. "Right now the chamber before the controls is already protected that way, not to mention the fact that Boyce is so tightly bonded to his GF that if we were to set foot into the room, he would know we'd done so."

"So I can't use this until the last minute."

"Pretty much."

"But it only activates if we enter?"

Elijah nodded, and before he could say anything Nida pushed at the door, watching it swing open just a crack. When he looked in through the crack he saw the very thing he knew he would: a room not of red-orange sandstone, but of black marble, and in the distance stairs of the same stone, but shot with veins of white. Here, then, it would happen. And if it happened at anytime at all, it would be tomorrow. Whatever he'd been dreaming, it would happen here, tomorrow.

"Nida... SeeD is going to attack us, isn't it?"

"What choice have you given them?" Nida asked. "The council won't consider peace, Boyce is obsessed with something we can't let him have, and I can't be left in his hands because if I am everything you claim I am, I might be as vulnerable to his whims as anyone else. What do you expect us to do?"

"People are going to die, Nida. My people. Your people."

"They aren't my people," Nida hissed. "The people I grew up with at Garden, they're my people. The people in this world that Boyce is threatening, they're my people. The people of Winhill that were threatened just because they had faith in the sons of villagers... Dammit, Elijah, I won't stand by anymore. I'm doing everything I can but... One way or another people are going to die, and I'd rather it not be people who are truly innocent of any crime."

"And what crime are we guilty of other than faith?"

"That isn't for me to decide."

"Then who gets to decide?"

That really wasn't something that he had an answer for, so he just turned away from the door, and looked back the way he'd come. "Will the council see me again tonight?"

"Yes, but if what we discussed last night when you weren't there gives any indication, there isn't much chance that you'll like what you hear."

"Well then, tell me now so I'm prepared for disappointment."

"Ashura has convinced Boyce, or maybe he's convinced her, that you can't be allowed to leave our possession. They are preparing our people for battle in three days when SeeD is due to arrive. Vernon, the leader of the browns, doesn't agree. He hates war, hates to see blood spilled. Not that he's incapable. He is of a sect of our people who believe that if we are not led by a willing heir, then we cannot unlock the power of Hyne."

"Then there is no point in trying to speak of peace."

"No," Elijah admitted with a sigh. "Not the slightest point. While my vote counts for something..."

"He's all but ordered you to agree with him."

"I'm sorry, Nida. I really am."

"I know. Hyne forgive me, I know."

The halls are cold at night. It really isn't a surprise, but it's something that doesn't bother him to think about. It's easier to think about, easier to care about than what he knew had to come tomorrow. Just as Elijah'd said, nothing had been achieved in the council meeting except for posturing from both sides. Boyce knew that Nida wasn't giving himself over willingly. Nida knew that Boyce wasn't going to let him leave. The meeting went on for almost an hour, and nothing was said, nothing was done. In the end Nida had grown far too frustrated to deal with the anymore and stormed out. He'd even managed to conjure up enough of a tornado spell to slam the stone doors behind him. It had been childish, but so satisfying to hear the bang. And, in the end, Elijah had not returned to his room. So here he was now, wandering the halls in the dead of the night.

In the morning he'd have to lower the defenses and contact Squall, he'd have to hold the black marble room against the Zebalgans, which was what prompted his wandering now. When he'd been brought to this place, the pair of polearms that he'd brought hat been taken from him. There was no doubt he'd need them tomorrow...

Blood, blood on his hands. He'd killed him, he knew it. His polearm was buried in the man's heart...

I'm sorry that you must do this, my little hawk, Siren whispered in his mind.

"It'd be nice if I didn't have to do this all on my own," he mumbled, regretting it instantly because of the way his voice echoed around the halls.

I don't want to leave you, Siren sighed. But if what Elijah says is true...

It is. I felt it in a dream. What comes tomorrow I have to face alone.

My dove...

Nida shook his head, continuing his stroll through the twisting passages. It would be nice if he could have her force behind him—the junctioning of magic to his body, the heightened senses, the paramagic—but he'd fought without it before, and would likely be forced to again. A Garden cadet's first training was always without a GF. You couldn't count on them to always be there, to be strong enough, to be close enough bonded to be of use.

I'll survive, Nida promised. Have faith in that, Siren.

How can you be sure?

Dreams.

There was a mental sigh with that comment, apparently Siren was no more happy with that idea than Nida was.

You know, half of the fun is gone when you know what happens.

Maybe, but when it's a smoke dream, it does help.

And was this a smoke dream you had?

No. What he saw would happen. Something told him that clear dreams couldn't be changed. They would pass as they would pass. Only smoke could be changed, only smoke swept away. He'd acted to late to avoid what was coming.

Nida...

Please, let me be alone.

When he said it, he pulled the chain around his neck out, taking the mithril out of direct contact with his skin. While he'd been hiding it before, he left it to lay on top of his shirt instead of below it. With out the contact she couldn't speak to him. So he was again left alone in the silence of the stone halls. And maybe, just maybe, it was better this way.