Author's Notes: Look who's still here! We are making progress. Can you sense the progress? I can sense the progress. There is progress. LOOK PROGRESS. I'll shut up now.

Progress...

Hyne's War – Chapter 33

The sound of booted feet echoes down the hall, and in truth Nida wasn't completely sure whether they were the sound of his own feet, or those of someone he was chasing. He wasn't even sure if he knew how to tell the difference anymore, not with how long he'd been running. So many things were blurring together now, he didn't know why he was here, didn't know where he was going, didn't know what to do when he got there. But he'd grown used to such things out of life, hadn't he? Wasn't this part of the price that he paid for the relative 'comfort' of following destiny's pull around, like a fish hooked and drawn in slowly but unerringly, towards the shore.

There's a weight in his hand, one he couldn't remember being there before. Not his normal weapon, that much he's sure of. No, the weight is different, the grip, it's one he isn't as sure of, one he is less families with. A sword, weighted differently from what he was used to using, and yet still comforting in his hand. The blade comes up, flashing crimson in his hand, as he lashes out at a shadow before him. It crumples at his feet, pooling there uselessly, bleeding out smoke that added to the air around him.

Still have to go further, he tells himself, unsure of why he's certain of that. Again he strikes out with the blade, cutting into a shadow even as it appeared. He's running at the wall then, throwing himself at it, up it, twisting around to throw the full force of his weight into a blow that leaves a third shadow split into two unequal portions. Still further to go, and he won't let them stop him. Too much is waiting on him. The future, his destiny, his promise. He can't stop. With so much blood already on his hands, what was the harm in there being more?

Waking is as sudden as it always is when he's been dreaming. Not that he'd been forced to wake like this in a while. How long had it been since the last dream that wasn't echoing Elijah's death? Nida wasn't entirely sure. No, that wasn't entirely true. He knew when the last one had been, the night before Elijah's death. He just didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to think about a lot right now, especially not where the dreams had led him or seemed to suggest leading him now. Hadn't he already added enough lives to his count in so short a time? Including those he'd been unable to save despite his best efforts.

In the end they dedicated an entire hour to trying to save as many as they could from the sea. Not that it did much. Only twenty-two survivors had been pulled up, and three of those Seifer was forced to knock out when they went for his throat. It was a pathetic showing, but it was all that there was really time for, all they could fish out before the cold water and fatigue pulled what others they saw under. There had even been people who refused to go for the dropped life rings that they were hoping to use to help people make it as long as was necessary until they were pulled up.

All Nida found himself able to do after that was turn the whole damn thing over to Fujin for the remains of the trip to Trabia and then crawl back to his room for the time being. He'd removed the chain which held the paired pendants of Siren and Salamander and tucked them under his pillow and had promptly fallen to sleep in his full uniform, for all that it was uncomfortable. Now, though, he found himself regretting that he hadn't stripped down. Sure, it took a lot of effort to get the full uniform properly situated on his own, but he could call Fujin for help if need be and there might not be such pain in his shoulder if he'd at least taken the guards off.

But all of that was said and done now, leaving him with no choice but to start moving. No choice. Start moving.

Yeah, that wasn't going to be happening any time soon, was it? Why would he even want to move with how he felt right now? Once Siren had released her strangle-hold on his emotions he'd felt drained, but with what he'd just dreamed piled on top of that, he wasn't sure what to think. The return of the dreams, or maybe just the release from the echoes of guilt of dreaming of Elijah's death—new death on his hands to absolve the old—was almost as uplifting as it was infuriating. They should have come back sooner, they should have warned him about what he had to do today. About the assassin in his room, about the Zebalgan ship, about Vernon and...

That was the worst part in a way, the last words Vernon had said. There was no way to be sure, never would have been a way to be sure, whether he was telling the truth. But that didn't make it any less painful. He'd had a chance to learn what his true parents had been like, to maybe learn something of where he'd come from. On the other hand, though, to believe Vernon would mean admitting to sharing a bloodline with him, to being Zebalgan, and all that might entail.

No, that was another thing he didn't want to think off, so Nida just shook his head, finally rolled himself out of his bunk, and resolved to do something to take his mind off of all of this. At least he had a good thing to tie himself up for the rest of the trip to Trabia, and maybe even beyond. There were reports to be prepared for Squall's sake. Summations of the encounter, the rescue attempt, and the conversation with Vernon. There would be more in the future after Seifer had some time with the prisoners, but that would have to wait. All of that to be done, and it didn't even include looking over the damage reports—surprisingly and thankfully minimal thanks to the successful implementation of the new shielding technology that Lieutenant Yoriel had indicated had been installed. If only he'd remembered that in the heat of battle, maybe he'd have been willing to do more of a head-to-head fight with the Zebalgan ship, maybe he could have saved more...

A cheerful chirp came from his door even as Nida opened a reporting system on his private terminal. It wasn't as powerful of a system as that in his office, or even had as much access to ship and system reports, but that didn't mean that he couldn't start here. He knew enough of the basics to start outlining the objective and explanatory sections.

"Open," he called to the door, certain that no one without authority would be coming to see him. The SeeD guarding this corridor wasn't going to let another person who might make an attempt on his command staff again.

"Done with your napping?" Seifer asked even as the door slid open.

"Who said I was..." Nida trailed off. What was even the point? Seifer had proven capable time and time again of getting through doors that he wanted to be on the other side of. There was an unfortunately non-zero chance that Seifer had been in to check up on him while he slept.

"Seems like you're starting to catch on. You're just getting all kinds of perceptive, Nomura."

"Just what I wanted to hear from you," he countered, barely even looking up from his monitor as he launched into typing. "What could you possibly want at this moment?"

"I wanted to ask you about that little tactic you pulled earlier," Seifer said, his comment punctuated by the sound of him trying to haul a chair over to Nida's side. It took a lot for Nida not to chuckle at the thought of it. Almost all of the chairs on the Ragnarok were either bolted to the floor or had another locking mechanism to keep it in place in the event of an attack. Apparently Seifer hadn't gotten that point yet.

"Having trouble?" Nida couldn't resist asking, though he didn't look up. Better to just keep working, pretend like this was an every day occurrence.

"Nope," Seifer said as he obviously gave up and came, instead, to lean against the wall. "Anyway, about what you..."

"Could we cut to the point?" he asked, finally looking up from his typing.

"Well, someone's snappy today."

"If you can't tell, I'm a little busy here, so I'd rather finish whatever business you have sooner over later."

"You sound a lot like Squall."

If he hadn't already stopped typing, that would have been enough to get Nida to freeze.

"Of course you don't see it, but what would you expect? I bet Squall doesn't even fully realize what he's like, but I've got to warn you, as a friend, that you're approaching it rather rapidly."

"I'm not..."

"You are, fly boy, you really are. Enough that you'd be mistaken for emulating the princess. Face it, Nomura, you aren't the same person you were when you found me."

True enough, but a lot had changed, hadn't it? Fate had scooped him up as a tool, only to drop him again when someone else came along.

"That little stunt you pulled today, that was a wholly Leonhart move. Risking everything to win. I don't think you'd have done that just a month or so ago."

"A month ago there was a lot more to lose."

"What about the lives of your crew."

"They knew what they were getting into."

"Did they, Nida? Did they? Does anyone ever really understand what they're getting into with a war?"

"They saw the last war..."

"Not all of them did," Seifer countered. "Some are civilians. Some were just cadets, and you know how Squall sheltered the kiddies. Maybe to make up for the fact that he couldn't protect anyone else. Let's put it this way, Nomura. When you did that dive, you started to see the problem in numbers, didn't you. What the cost would be in ours to take out a number of theirs. Tell me this, how many injuries or deaths would you have accepted as a reasonable exchange for victory?"

"There is no such thing as a reasonable exchange of lives!" Nida snapped, whirling in his seat to glare up at Seifer. "There will never be such a thing. But that doesn't mean I don't have to make decisions. Do you think I enjoyed what happened, Seifer? Do you not understand how hard I tried to talk him down from it? I couldn't. People were going to die. His crew definitely. Mine maybe. But fleeing put innocents at risk if Vernon had other orders. I didn't do something that was right or justifiable. Just something that had to be done!"

That got Seifer to nod, just the slightest bit. Nod and smirk, and all Nida wanted to do was knock that smirk off of the damn blonde's face. Knock him over and force him to understand just how hard this was to handle.

"Good," Seifer said at last. "Keep thinking like that. Otherwise you're no good to your crew, you're no good to your friends, and you're sure as hell no good to Squall."

"What?" Nida found himself asking, genuinely confused.

"Squall's taken that burden on himself. Thinking of people as numbers. Thinking of us as numbers. Taken it up so the rest of us don't have to deal with it. Megill, he does it naturally, barely thinks about how they are valuable to him. But Squall, he does it so that you don't have to. If you start taking away the names and the faces... Well, what's he doing it for then?"

Nida wanted to ask Seifer more, wanted to understand, but even as he stood Seifer was slamming the button for the door and slipping into the hall. Part of Nida wanted to shout after him, reprimand Seifer for leaving without being dismissed, but in the grand scheme of things, what was the point? Technically Nida was Seifer's superior, both in rank and among SeeD. In fact, though, Seifer wasn't under his jurisdiction. No, he was Zell's problem, and were it not for the fact that Nida needed to be here, he'd put two months wages on the line to see how that played out.

Instead Nida sat back down, returned his attention to the monitor, and launched himself into his report. There would be more time to grill Seifer later. After all, he was stuck with the blonde until they got to Galbadia. There would be time. There was always time. Or at least it was easier to believe there was always time.

The hallway is long, so long, and he doesn't even know how long he's been running down it. Two sets of footsteps echo around him and while he knows one set are his, the other set is a mystery. They keep pace with him, half a step off, but never getting further ahead, never falling behind, and for some reason he never looks for the source. Somewhere in his mind he's certain that the owner is no threat, but for the life of him he can't remember who it is or why he's nto worried. All he knows is that as he runs the other feet keep pace, as reliable and steady as his own heartbeat.

Suddenly it's more than two footsteps, it's far more. Shadows rising out of the fog of the hall, and he's lashing out, not even looking, his weapon cutting them down far easier than he would have expected. Not one of his normal staffs then. No, not with how it's in one hand, how it's weighted, how it feels when he shifts his grip. A sword, cutting down the shadows with a slash of blood red and a spreading of the pool of the shadows. Beside and a step behind him there's a loud sound, a sharp retort that covers the sound of the feet. Another shadow falls at his feet, pooling darkness before him, beckoning him to fall forth into it. Instead he rushes forward another step, carrying himself over it and the momentum takes him far. Another shadow coming at him, filling the hall, and instead of facing it he lunges at the wall at full speed. His feet carry him up it a few paces. Then his body is turning, twisting, the weight of the blade twisting with him, coming down full into the area between neck and shoulder. He can feel the crunch of bone giving under the blow, feel it all the way up his arm and into his chest. Part of him aches in sympathy, they don't deserve this, they don't warrant this, but he has to do it anyway.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, will stop him from getting to the end of the hall. To the task that awaited him. The sword in his hand sung for blood, and he had every intention of slacking its thirst. Only by doing that could he answer his own yearning for revenge.

And yet, part of him prayed that his companion would be able to stop him. There were some costs he didn't want to pay, for all that his heart screamed for them.

Things settled into a routine far faster than Nida would have expected, or wanted. No other major problems arose on the way to Trabia, and for all of his efforts he gained no information from the few Zebalgans they had taken. They were put off into the custody of the Trabian SeeDs, with a promise that they'd have the prisoners delivered to 'General Leonhart' immediately. As the prisoners were offloaded, new crew members were brought on, and everything had to fall into a three shift schedule. It was the only way to keep things running smoothly and still have one of the three command staff members on duty at the bridge. Discipline was quickly shuffled over as Fujin's exclusive duty, and Raijin was left in charge of working out supplies, organizing housing, and dealing with the most minor squabbles of the crew. After a few days Nida even gave over scheduling to Rajin, and he had to respect just what his Lieutenant Colonel was capable of. Already he was hearing the whispers of satisfaction among the crew, the appreciation for Raijin's ability to get crew bunked up so that two people out of every six person room was on shift at any given time, and no one was overworked it seemed.

As for Nida, well, when he wasn't on the bridge or staying up late working on report after report, after bloody report, he was drilling the crew on different maneuvers, or helping the mechanics and engineers working on the launching system for the new fliers from Trabia. Time was spent talking to the pilots, discussing strategies for how to protect the Ragnarok against the recently reported lost division of fighters from Galbadia. Seeing as that was his next destination, it was all Nida could really worry about right now. Better than thinking about the potential for endless patrols, nothing to do but crisscross the sky looking for trouble, hoping not to find any, and generally staying out of the way as the war took place around him.

When he wasn't working through Raijin's shift he spent it in Fujin's arms, trying not to think about how he'd gotten there or here, he was staying up late through Fujin's shift delving into the limits of the journal Elijah had left him. Even then he tried so hard to think about how his mind turned back to his dead lover even when he rested in the arms of his current.

Nida, you ever notice how sometimes it's so much easier to ignore what we are meant to do in favor of what we want to do? Well, I guess you do, seeing as right now you're taking a nap on my bed. We both know I should be taking you into the training center to practice with that new weapon of yours, but we're both so tired lately. Maybe it's the emotions. Maybe it's the school work, maybe it's something else entirely. But there you are, resting peacefully, and I'm trying my best not to think about what I'm supposed to be doing here.

Would you even understand if I told you? It's an old story, older than anyone remembers, older than Sorceresses and GFs and all of that. Older than Esthar as an independent nation, and yet there you have it. It's a memory that has been forgotten by all but the people, and we only remember it because of the grays.

Sometimes I wish I was a gray rather than pegged for red and then white. I wish I could live my life how I wanted, bound only to keeping the memory alive. Think of the life I could live then. I could abandon the blade left to me by my father. I could live the life I want, free of conflict, and peaceful. In a place like this Winhill that you tell me about. Maybe someday you will take me there, and I'm certain that I'll love it. Maybe someday we'll leave this life behind and you'll live there with me. Together, with the only burdens placed upon our lives being the ones we choose. Of course, how would we make money? Is there any kind of monster hunting based economy there? I know some small towns pay rather hefty prices for hides and teeth and all that. We could live like that.

There's a letter waiting for me on my desk from Boyce. I don't want to open it. I don't want to know what he wants. I don't want him to call me home, away from you. He could never accept this, never understand. I hardly care, except that he could easily force it to end.

It takes almost an hour to get Seifer off of the ship. For all of the fact that he'd only been on the Rag for a day and a half, Fujin's quarters turned out to be quite a mess. In the end Nida had taken quite a bit of pleasure in ordering one of the SeeD guards into Fujin's room to pack up Seifer's mess and haul it off of the ship. He, of course, had given express orders to not touch the Hyperion, taking the care to carry it off of the ship in its obviously rarely used case and deliver it directly into Seifer's hands. The gunblader had taken a moment to shoot him a really serious salute—impressive considering his dislike for military form—and Nida didn't hold back from shaking the blond's hand. There was a chance he'd never see the arrogant bastard again. If any group was going to get a lot of use, see a lot of the conflict, it would be the ground forces. Sure, someone in Seifer's position shouldn't see too much of it himself, but that didn't mean him and Zell wouldn't find excuses to throw themselves into the thick of it. Fujin too accepted handshake, whereas Raijin had to be removed from his bear hug of Seifer by a sharp kick to the shin from Fujin, a kick that had more than a few of the other officers present hissed in sympathy for. Apparently Fujin's particularly brand of kind discipline was well known already. Well, 'kind' might have been overstating it, but Nida was less than sure. After all, she did seem to constantly carry around her chakram, and those would be far worse punishment than a kick.

Another flock of men and women came aboard as well, these ones with the more playful looks of hardened military fighter pilots. Nida couldn't help but look upon them with approval. He'd likely have them out by the end of the day, testing their prowess to see who he'd want as his flight captains over the less experienced Trabian and Garden pilots. Though they'd probably require some time on Garden style fliers first. The fighters they were used to weren't quite capable of keeping up with the Ragnarok. Not that they weren't fast. No, it was more that the Garden fliers had been adapted from some early military designs meant to compliment the Ragnarok. Still, he was certain he'd have them used to the new method before departed Esthar tomorrow. He'd have a ready and experienced force to deal with soon, which meant making sure that superiority was quite clearly exerted and understood. There would be more than a few struggles for dominance over the next few days. Nida would have to make sure that Fujin and Raijin kept abreast of it as best they could.

The hall ends abruptly, not in a point of light, but in a larger room that he knows looks a lot like the hall, but he can't see it through the smoke. Still, he doesn't question his knowledge, just comes to a stop at the end of the hall, before something that his mind tells him is a railing and drop off are right in front of him. Phase two, complete. Phase three start.

It takes a moment to let the coil of rope off of his shoulder, to tie an end securely to the railing. Footsteps again, always footsteps, and he whirls, letting the rope fall off of his shoulder and down into the drop even as he pulls the sword up to bear once again. It's easy, too easy, to cut the next three down, they seem so meager compared to the ones that have come before. It's easiest not to think about how much younger they looked, for all that they were shadows. For a moment, half a moment, he wonders where his companion has gone. Then he shakes the thought off. There had never been anyone here with him. The sword goes into its sheathe on his back, a set of descenders coming out of a pouch at his side and latching on to the rope. A moment, quick, to check that everything is secure, then he's over the railing, descenders gripped tightly in his hands as he let himself down the rope and into the darkness below.

Raijin gets all of the conflict out of the crew's system in a single afternoon. Fujin suggested it, of course, but with her as the symbol of discipline it wasn't best to let her be in charge. So Nida just allowed them to do what they wanted, heading up a skeleton crew for the initial part of the flight to Esthar. Meanwhile Raijin had everyone else down in the main hold that had been converted into a mess hall. The tables had been pushed aside and Rajin had the men and women shed their uniform coats and shirts in favor of their undershirts. With Fujin and a few hand-picked civilians he saw to distribution of differently colored pieces of cloth to tie around their heads or arms. Three colors: red, blue, yellow, one for each of the shifts. Apparently he'd already assigned people to different ships, something Nida would reward him for later. Then, smirking stupidly, he'd apparently split the three groups and set them through a few friendly competitions.

The whole first day that the Galbadians were on the ship no one went around in their uniform shirts, only their colored bands declaring their connections to each other. No one was referred to as 'sir' or treated as a subordinate. Only Fujin, Raijin, and Nida retained their ranks for the day, everyone else learning to work together and respect each other. Because if they didn't their shift-mates or members of other shifts could appeal to the shift heads for discipline. Those who didn't learn quickly to treat others fairly, that everyone was a team, they were under Fujin's watchful eyes from then on. And when, upon arriving at Esthar the next day, the new crew members were instantly greeted with an order to don colors instead of military uniforms, their shift-mates were ready to tell them what to expect. By the time Raijin ordered everyone back into uniform Nida found that the different groups were working well together, that the only ranks that mattered were the ones on people's collars, not the ones in their heads. Everyone was united, together, under Nida's command.

Nida, I'm not entirely sure why, but Vernon was really interested in you when I showed him your picture. Oh, that was why I was gone these last few days, just so you know. Boyce called me home for a meeting. An induction, really. Us three younger, future-members of the council of the people were finally called up to bear our colors. Xu was there, of course, and she spent the whole time trying to impress Boyce with her knowledge of Garden. What a kiss-ass. Not that she was ever anything else. As for Joshua... Well, we never really got along anyway. Oh, Andria says hi, not that I can actually tell you. Wanted me to let you know that she sees to your mother's cottage saying in good condition. She says it's beautiful. I hope to see it some day.

But Vernon, he was really interested in you. I don't know why, but when I showed him that picture we took together, there was something in his eyes. I pressed him on it, but he said nothing. Vernon's always been like that. A quiet, kind of secretive guy. Boyce usually ignores him, which is weird, you know? Vernon's, like, this master gunsmith, not to mention he's in charge of the browns. The browns, so you know, are sort of the common people. The suppliers, the builders, the maintainers. A lot of them live, pretty permanently, at Haven. I miss it there. Can't help it, we went to Trabia rather than Haven. Anyway, I wonder why Vernon was so interested.

Boyce... Was pretty insistent upon the whole business of the prophecy. I almost worry that he's losing a bit of himself with his age. Too much focus on where we 'should' be rather than where we are. Someday I'll end up taking over from him, and I think when I do I'll try my hardest to be different from him. Maybe then I'll take you to see them. I'll reveal our people to the world, take our place in recognition. Maybe not keep pursuing the prophecy, but who knows. Maybe it is our fate not to usher in this power for ourselves, but for the whole world. Wouldn't that be nice? Power to make everyone's lives easier. Could we use powers like the Sorceresses? Would we learn to make the land more fertile without damaging it? We could do away with war, famine, disease. Wouldn't that be nice?

REPORT ID: 1099313247

REPORTING PERSONNEL NUMBER: 37-98342-1247

REPORTING PERSONNEL NAME: Lieutenant General Nida Nomura, United Ally Air Forces, SeeD Rank A

LOCATION: Ragnarok II, Location Point 3423.991.52

REASON FOR REPORT: Daily Status Report

REPORT SUMMARY: All Normal

REPORT DETAILS: REDACTED

PERSONAL COMMENTS: Forgive me for the seemingly dramatic flare, but are you even reading these Squall? Every day I send you, what, five of these things? Always properly formatted, properly written, well suited to a loyal little soldier. But it's been three days since I've heard anything from the command structure. Dammit Squall, what do you think I'm doing out here? It's not like I haven't heard what's going on. I know about the attempted attack on Deling City. I heard that Zell and Seifer turned the attack nicely, but were forced to almost annihilate the forces. Word had gotten back to me about the fact that Selphie and Quistis failed to reach the White SeeD ship in time, and only had a chance to save those survivors of that attack. I know about the troops amassing in northern Centra, aiming a thrust towards Fisherman's Harbor and Balamb beyond that. Do you think I'm dense? Do you think I can't see all of this from the skies you have me fly?

Or is it that you're trying to keep me out of trouble? News flash, Leonhart, that isn't going to work. I'm already here, already at risk, even if I'm less desirable of a target now that Irvine's out there. There is still a force of Galbadian fighters out there, some place we don't know, waiting to face me. Because Hyne knows they aren't outfitted for air to ground combat, beyond bombing runs. Why am I not out there hunting the things down? Why am I not ordering my fliers into laying down suppressive fire to support the naval movements? What are we even doing up here other than twiddling our fucking thumbs? Tell me that.

A voice asks if he's ready, and he nods an affirmative. Together they throw themselves over the railing, ropes through their harnesses, descenders clutched frantically in their hands as they slowly lower themselves purposefully into the dark. Weird, he could have sworn there was no one else here, and yet there he is, beside him, a shadow that doesn't make him feel nervous, but comforted. Okay, that isn't entirely true. Neither of you should be here, you both know that. But you were compelled. This is where you were supposed to be at this point in time, at this moment, performing these actions. He knows it, he's dreamed it, is dreaming it, will dream it, he isn't even sure anymore. Three levels down, he tells himself, slowly moving his grip apart and then together, apart then together, apart then together, lowering himself foot by painful foot.

Odd, really, how he's always kept his head when it came to heights, but here and now he was less sure. Here and now, his feet dangling over an abyss of black, he's nervous. His heart is beating in his throat, in his ears, in his mouth. If he falls now it's all over. Everything they fought for, everything they are fighting for, it's over. Not just his life, but the whole point of this mission.

No, don't think of it. Think of what is important. Think about the fact that it's going to end here, soon. The question is only who was going to get to deal the final blow.