Title. Benediction is the religious act of bestowing someone with a blessing. This is also a healing ability from Final Fantasy XI and XIV. Benediction fully restores one or more party member's health, saving them from the brink of death.
Gender. Lightning is transmasculine non-binary. No plans to transition. No pronoun preference. The details are in the first scene.

If you don't want to understand this perspective, there's nothing for you here.

If you want to understand, you already do, or you just don't know yet, then feel free to keep reading.

Canon divergence. Familiar events; more personal reasons. No l'Cie, Cie'th, Focuses. No time traveling or paradoxes in FFXIII-2. No time countdown in Lightning Returns. Locations and characters from Final Fantasy XIV (and other FFs) show up with context.
Disclaimer. I don't own anything from the Final Fantasy XIII games or the other Final Fantasy universes.


For the euphoria of finally finding the correct words and language as this blessing.

Benediction

By

Yoshiyuki Ly

I. Temperance

A sacred oratorio.

Prophecies of salvation.

Miracles of the Maker's redemptive life.

Indulging in the light from our messiah, praying to set our souls free. Ending the curse of our natural human chaos once and for all.

A quaint, reduced-size orchestra played this story for the local church in Bodhum. The low chorus singers stood cloaked at the fore before the hushed mass, soothing everyone through song. A story with no costumes, props, or fanfare. Only music. Only the small, swelling symphony from the string instruments playing in meaning. Somber strings and stringing winds, deeper, winding the chorus in unison deepest above all. All within the close, intimate acoustics of this church.

I stood near the back of the building, on guard as everyone sat over the wooden benches, listening.

Listening to the story, to the music. Listening to the nearby sounds of the sea brushing along the shore.

Posted here for work with the Guardian Corps, I stood guard over this late-night religious service. An irregular part of my duties as part of the Bodhum Security Regiment. Camouflaged in the dark in my all-black military uniform, two matching shoulder pauldrons lit with stripes of gold, marking me as an officer.

Major Lightning Farron with the Guardian Corps.

Major Farron, Executive Officer for GC-BSR's various task forces in my laid-back, coastal hometown.

A major, majorly grown from the days I'd spent as a sergeant, twisting and running and fighting in anger.

Majorly reformed in this uniform covering my body: armored jacket, pants, boots. No more of that skirt that had showed too much of my legs. Ten years of promotions since then. Ten long years of change.

This service of worship saw the residents of Bodhum paying their respects to one of our gods. Quiet tributes to Phoenix, the Sanctum fal'Cie that provided our world with daylight. Daylight and a general control of the weather, powering the entire cycle of life across our artificial planet. And I used to turn my nose up in disdain at this. The way these people in this church knelt at the altar for these unknowable gods powered by the Sanctum—our all-powerful, all-knowing government.

How they worshipped the fal'Cie as gods formed by otherworldly crystals: like Carbuncle, who gave Cocoon our endless supplies of food, and Leviathan, who gave us our endless supply of purified water, and Kujata, who gave Cocoon endless electrical power, powering the millions of other fal'Cie inside our utopia.

If anything, these churchgoers prayed to the Sanctum itself, thanking them for keeping the lights on and not unplugging the fal'Cie keeping us alive. So very benevolent of our overlords to keep Cocoon running, giving us this utopia to live in without a care in the universe. Aside from the constant threat of prowling monsters, and the government 'Purging' citizens who'd come into contact with anything from Gran Pulse—from the 'world below' they told us to hate so much—all to keep everyone obedient and afraid.

God-fearing, government-fearing. The same thing.

I had always gone against that, in my own ways. Wherever I could.

But it had still taken me this long to figure things out and accept myself—finally, at thirty-one years old.

Finally secure in my identity, my own skin. How I could exist as both, as one, as neither, as nothing. As everything at once, perfectly content with myself. The only pain these days came from other people. How they perceived me, only seeing me as a pretty woman with a deep voice, wearing men's clothes.

As if that was it. As if that was everything. All there was to know about me. Those surface-level things.

It had always felt like I lived life on such a hard difficulty level, and I couldn't explain the reasons why.

Misunderstood by everyone around me. Even the ones closest to me. Because I hadn't had the words.

Even worse with strangers. The people who smiled easily and turned a blind eye to someone like me, suffering in silence. They just thought I needed to smile more, and that would've miraculously fixed my problems. I'd resented their ignorance. I'd resented living such a difficult life and not knowing how to speak up about it. It'd gotten to the point where I didn't want to exist anymore if it would stop the pain.

Throwing myself into my work had helped. Easier to thrive over there instead of over here as myself.

This music from the oratorio, from the low chorus, soothed away the memories of that pain I'd felt.

That old, slow death I'd suffered before. Quietly, silently. The gradual death from the dysphoria, from the deadly, daily discomfort I'd felt in my own body. Even deadlier confusion I'd felt from not having any real desire to transition, to help alleviate the problem that way. I still felt my dysphoria today. But not like before:

Years-old pains I could never explain to anyone, let alone myself.

A slow death I had never understood in the past. I couldn't have—not without the right words, the right language.

Now that I knew the words, the language, and the diction of this benevolence, the truth felt liberating. Liberating as an eternal blessing bestowed to me.

There had never been a physical solution to my issues before. Nothing aside from changing the clothes I wore.

No transitional time, and no specific surgeries, and no hormonal hailing could've healed that old pain of mine.

I respected other people who needed to transition, going through the process. I had just never felt that way. And I didn't like the idea of someone using me as an example in bad faith—"She doesn't need to transition, or use different pronouns, so why do these other trans people need to do it?" I was different.

But because I'd never felt the need to transition, this process of mine had taken me longer to figure out. I'd never felt the need to specify how people spoke about me, either. Those pronouns. Because of the way I looked, I knew what had to be the natural default. I didn't mind. I didn't feel the need to correct it, to change it. I didn't mind this default as a remnant of the status quo. The rest, I did mind.

Stuck in between in a purgatory of not fitting in, of not understanding where I belonged.

Looking in the mirror had sometimes felt fine, sometimes not. Confusing people, with them not knowing if I was a man or a woman, always made me laugh. People perceiving me as only a woman? No, thanks. Changing some or all of my body so people would perceive me as a man? No, I didn't want that, either. The binary didn't fit me. But my life would've been a hell of a lot easier if I'd been born into the other side things. I could've worn men's clothes and called it a day, only feeling my discomfort from the inside, knowing I would never fit the binary anyway. Only on the inside instead of what I felt now, looking the way I did: feeling a still-incurable disconnect on the inside and the outside and from every single direction across society.

Only a psychological solution, an emotional solution could've healed me. Even if it couldn't heal everything. Nothing ever would. A seismic shift, a change in my outlook, my perspective still helped. It helped me the most.

Now I knew the truth. I could stand tall in my truth, even knowing how isolated this kept me today. So few people in this world understood, willing to understand. The rest enjoyed not understanding me.

I had found this healing from that old, agonizing pain. Restored and resuscitated by these gifts of words. Words to define me, undefinable and intangible. Words to relate to. Words to belong to after long last. Words as endless as the church bells ringing overhead, sounding out this long continuance, unceasing.

Centering calm. Serenity. Inner-harmony as harmonious as this music, this sacred oratorio soothing me.

A peaceful temperance no one could take from me. Even if it meant so few people could really be attracted to me in my identity. Even if it meant no one could ever love me in a relationship ever again.


Bodhum's annual beachside fireworks festival lit up the coastal paradise at night, a few nights later.

Present in my uniform again, alone in the middle of this lively crowd, I gazed up at the show. The tall, egg-shaped, see-through dome over the sea held the spectacle of fireworks safely inside. Massive, colorful bursts of light raised so high up beneath the stars. Streams of light bursting in the air, of reds and purples and greens and blues curling into those rounded shapes, cheering in a bright entertainment through the skies. That entertainment captivated everyone around me: these friends and families, and couples together. And it captivated the loners like me, looks of longing filling their eyes lighting in size.

Though I guessed I wasn't such a loner anymore. I waited for my younger sister Serah to show up with Snow, her husband. Her hard-headed, painfully optimistic husband I still couldn't stand. I could stand him long enough to stand here and wait for him and Serah to find me. All they had to do was look for my all-black uniform lighting up like this. Flashing bright before fading away. Even in black, even in the night.

A pleasant, dry heat filled the air for the first night of summer in Cocoon. Never too warm or too cold.

The perfect temperature regulated by Phoenix, keeping Bodhum as this ridiculously popular tourist destination, with more tourists than actual residents these days. Especially on a famous night like this.

Surrounded by these tourists, I noticed the way they saw me, watching me watch these fireworks. How they perceived me as beautiful, gorgeous. As gorgeous as these displays in the sky. How the men's eyes sparkled in the light when they saw my feminine face, the rose-pink of my hair—until they saw my ultra-masculine uniform, suddenly thinking twice about their attraction to me. I noticed the same from the women around, but they still liked my uniform. Mostly lesbians I'd seen around town. I avoided them.

I realized I'd never brought anyone to this festival with me. Not like that. Not for the romantic occasion.

I realized, too, that I was supposed to be married by this point in my life. Never in the cards.

Instead, my little sister had been happily married for almost a decade now. She didn't seem to judge me.

As I thought of her again, Serah soon found me in this crowd, standing by myself near the water. She looked nice in her all-white outfit, the delicateness of her blouse and skirt. She had Snow trotting along behind her in his wannabe biker look, his combat boots stomping loud enough to bother my inner-quiet. I did my best not to glare at him, not to look at him at all. To this day, years later, I still wasn't convinced about Snow. He wasn't good enough for my sister, still running around in that NORA gang with Gadot and Lebreau and the rest, killing weak monsters around Bodhum for their stupid glory.

The Guardian Corps turned a blind eye to what NORA got up to, even though I never would.

"Hey, there you are!" said Serah, hurrying to my side. Her eyes lit up more from seeing me again, instead of from the fireworks. "I'm so glad you could make it tonight! I really missed you, you know."

I glanced away from her, never quite knowing how to return Serah's sincerity. "…I missed you, too."

Giggling anyway, never minding my awkwardness, Serah gave me this hug. I hesitated the same as always. But I still returned her embrace, gradually easing my sister closer to me. Serah always felt so safe and protected in my arms. She would sigh a contented sound, spreading her smile over my shoulder. It was…nice. A nice feeling to give Serah this feeling, this special security only I could give her.

Snow noticed. And, just like every other time, I saw him looking away. He rubbed the back of his blond head beneath the black of his biker bandana. Suddenly jealous of me. He'd never come out and say it.

Instead he told me, "Uh, hey, Light… I-I mean, Lightning. Sorry. How's it goin'? You doing okay?"

"Fine, I guess," I replied, back to this baseline. "You seem like your same old regular self."

"Yeah, I am! The way you say it makes me sound so—boring. Like, dull. Is that what you mean?"

"You're predictable, Snow. I'll give you that much."

Snow laughed in his confusion, not knowing if that was a compliment or not. He didn't need to know.

As long as Serah said she was happy with him, and she looked happy with him, and I believed she was happy with him, I could deal with the rest. She was happily-married with Snow, focusing on her career as a history teacher for one of Bodhum's elementary schools. Serah had always loved working with kids, setting them on the path to become their best selves. She and Snow planned on having kids of their own soon, now that Serah had comfortably settled into her career. But maybe I couldn't deal with that part.

Serah stared at the fireworks in amazement. "I've always loved this festival," she reminisced. "Such an incredible night bringing our hometown together. I haven't made up my mind what I want to wish for."

"Me neither," said Snow, gazing at the same spot in the sky. "They say you're supposed to make a wish on the fireworks. Then it'll come true. I'll never forget the biggest wish I made years ago, hoping you'd say yes to marry me. Ever since then, I've been the happiest man alive." Serah gave him the same sugary look I remembered. I stopped from rolling my eyes. "Hey, Lightning, what are you gonna wish for?"

"Honestly, I can't think of any wishes for myself. Nothing in particular. If anything, I'd rather fulfill someone else's wish. Making their wish come true, if that's what they needed me to do for them."

My sister fawned over me. "Aww, that's so sweet of you, sis—" That word. This feeling. This dissonance drilling through me. "I can definitely see you doing that. Playing the hero for some lost soul out there."

My brother-in-law joked, "Maybe I should wish Lightning would let me call her sis without going ballistic on me!"

Just like every time, I wanted to shout at him—"I'm not your sister!"

Snow could never know exactly what I'd meant whenever I told him that.

I folded my arms, looking away from him. From Serah, too. Both of them.

They didn't know any better. But this dissonance kept piling up. This discord, this dysphoria from someone using the wrong words, the wrong honorifics with me. I knew I needed to come out to them.

Eventually.

I'd thought about sending one of my exes a letter about this, too.

The one woman I'd spent so long believing I would marry someday.

Jihl Nabaat, Lieutenant General with PSICOM. Highly-accomplished. Whip sharp. Professional. Gorgeous. And surprisingly easy to talk to. I had loved her past her ice cold walls, colder than mine.

The older woman who'd vowed to take care of me, protecting me from my troubles. So many troubles I could barely explain to myself back then, let alone to her. No amount of mothering from Jihl could've fixed my problem. My old, lifelong problem of seeing the broken pieces of my own face and body in the mirror on most days. Partly because Jihl had loved me as a woman, only attracted to women. I couldn't help feeling like I'd fooled her—and my other lesbian exes—living that lie, even if it was unintentional.

Sometimes I would imagine myself sending a letter to Jihl, explaining this to her, and apologizing for the past. Apologizing for not knowing. Apologizing for my detachments hurting her so much. But I knew it was too late for that. I didn't want to bring up any painful memories for her. Especially if she had already let me go. Better for her and for everyone else to forget all about me and move on with their lives.

"Lost in your thoughts again?" teased Serah, quiet as she stayed close to me. "You're such a dreamer."

"Maybe," I deflected. Snow had gotten distracted trying to figure out his wish. "What's on your mind?"

"Lots of things. Everything. I know we've both been busy with work. I still miss spending time with you. Spending the night at your place, eating ice cream and drinking wine. We'd have so much fun together."

"You actually miss me not having anything to say most of the time? Avoiding everyone around us?"

"Of course I do," she answered, meaning every word. "You're my big sister. You've always looked out for me, sacrificing so much to make sure I had what I needed. I'll never be able to repay you for raising me, taking care of me. Setting me on the best path in life. Even if it meant losing your path, losing your way."

So she'd at least noticed that much about me.

Serah looked at me in real concern. "I worry about you a lot. Pretty much every day. Whenever you're quiet, I know it doesn't necessarily mean something's wrong. You're way more peaceful than you used to be in the old days. But sometimes I can't help this feeling. This feeling that you're still not okay."

I couldn't lie to her about this.

I couldn't tell her the full truth yet.

"Then there is something," she figured out. "I'm listening if you want to tell me." Silence from me. Loudness from the fireworks still going off behind the dome, lighting these words unspoken over my face. "Lightning, please… I'm your sister. Why won't you open up to me?" When I still wouldn't say anything, she made this feeling worse, saying my—old name, my birth name. "Please, Claire. It hurts so much when you stay quiet like this. As if I wouldn't understand. I'm not a little kid anymore, you know."

Serah kept on, not knowing how much damage her words did to me. Because how could she know?

"I miss getting to talk to you. I miss seeing you for who you are, deep down. I miss having my sister around." Nails-on-chalkboard, screeching. Then she saw the annoyance on my face, taking it the wrong way. "You don't feel the same, then. Is that what you mean, Ċ̵͉̙̭̼͋͑͘͜ļ̸̛̘̝͍͐̉̕a̸̱̳͍̣͊͝í̴̻̜̓͝r̷̡̼̯̦̗̈́́̃͜e̷̤̙̭͒͒̇̂͝? Am I not important enough to you?"

"Serah, please don't guilt-trip me. This isn't about you. It has nothing to do with you."

"Then what is it about? Why can't you tell me anything? Why do you keep icing me out?!"

I didn't want to get into this.

I wished Serah would respect my privacy instead of taking this personally.

Serah and Snow went to the same religious services at another church in the city, thanking the fal'Cie machine gods for our continued existence. The Sanctum had plenty to say about people like me who didn't fit into the norm. The government accepted women loving women; they accepted men loving other men, legally allowing those marriages. But not fitting into gender binaries and stereotypes was a step too far. I only got away with as much as I did because I was in the military. Being myself in-uniform.

I gave my sister a hard, unreadable look.

This look from me settled Serah down. Settling her into a quiet meekness, obeying my authority over her.

I couldn't possibly convey the truth to her. How I'd never felt like her sis, her sister. How I'd never, ever felt like Claire—as yet another reason I'd had to get rid of that name, practically my deadname at this point, switching it for Lightning. I didn't feel like Serah's brother, either, but it would've been a hell of a lot easier on me. What was the word in between brother and sister? Sibling? Too distant, impersonal.

In the distance, somewhere in this crowd, I felt someone else's eyes on me. Someone staring at me.

I spotted the sight of hard-edged, hard-cut green eyes fixated on me through the mass of people. Such a deep green shaped in exquisite emotion, there between thick dark lashes I couldn't look away from. So much emotion in her expression—confusion, intrigue—sheared by waving falls of dark hair around her face.

I had no idea who this woman was. I'd never seen her around Bodhum before, or anywhere else. I barely saw the royal blue silk of a sari draping down her shoulder, cluing me in that she wasn't from here. But something told me she wasn't just a tourist here for the fireworks, either. Her presence spoke more than that. In between her emotions I could see, I sensed something else, something more. Hidden rage, hidden sorrows. A deeper meaning drowned through her eyes on me. Years and years of hardships I couldn't begin to imagine. Something way worse than the slow death I'd suffered across my own years.

Her unknowable depths dug through me—down my chest and straight to my heart, beating faster now.

I noticed the same across her eyes, sparking as flaming cinders in the night.

Those flames burned me in comfort, revealing me to her so completely.

With one heated look, she saw the entire spectrum of my being.

Just as I had seen hers in emotion. The memories there in her face. Her life hanging by a thread.

But then, she realized something. She remembered something. And then she sulked off, down and disheveled, disappearing into the crowd. I lost her right away. I couldn't track her, couldn't spot her anywhere else. Exactly as she wanted. She didn't want me to follow after her. She wanted to be gone.

I remembered the anger that flashed in her eyes seconds before she'd left. Unabashed, unrepressed, unhidden. Completely out there without caring to hide anything. Unapologetic in her raw, painful truth.

That fearless emotion of hers burned in my mind, searing this unforgettable memory.

I felt that mystery woman's emotions stronger than I felt my own. Radiating fury, loneliness, heartbreak.

That courage of feeling from her haunted me long after the fireworks festival ended.


As these next days passed, I kept an eye out for that stranger somewhere around Bodhum.

I didn't start an official search and rescue party. I didn't go around asking random people if they'd seen a nameless woman with dark hair and green eyes, wearing a revealing blue sari with black tights underneath. Instead, I kept this quiet, trying to be discreet. I felt my energies ever drawn to her, following her across the city. I looked for her during my patrols for work, resenting whenever I had to stay stuck in the office on Bodhum's military base, handling paperwork instead. In between that paperwork, I searched through our missing persons reports, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Nothing turned up.

So I checked in with Bodhum's airship agency, looking through their passenger records. They reported a stowaway with that woman's same description, having arrived to my hometown a few weeks ago. She hadn't taken an airship off the island yet. She was still around the city somewhere. I needed to find her.

I even caved and went to check NORA's popular beachside bar and café, Seventh Heaven, searching for any sign of her.

The soft sorbet of the sunset surrounded the beach as I walked along the sandy shore. I listened to the soothing sounds of the sea shaping over the shore, of my armored boots crushing my footsteps into the sand. Looking to the café nearby, I saw so many people inside. Countless people sitting at the bar, or at the tables on the platform raising the building above the sands. Everyone enjoyed those tropical cocktails and martinis with the bar's islander paradise ambiance. Must've been happy hour after work.

Serah had begged me so many times to meet her here for drinks.

I'd always turned her down, not wanting to deal with the awkwardness of socializing in public. People had a habit of staring at me whenever I went. Staring at me, putting me into a box, trying to figure me out from a distance. It exhausted me. It exhausted me now, as I felt these customers in the bar doing the same thing, as usual. They watched me a little too closely as I went up to the bartender.

The dark-haired bartender, one of Snow's fellow NORA members, lit up once she saw me.

Lebreau didn't bother keeping her voice down. "Lightning, hey! Is that really you?!"

"Yeah, it's me," I grumbled, sitting over this barstool. "You don't have to announce it to everyone."

"Sorry, sorry!" she said, quieter this time. "It's just—I don't think I've ever seen you stop by before. How long have we known each other? Ten years? And I haven't treated you to the Paradise Pitaya Special!"

"Then I'll try the special drink now. If you wouldn't mind."

"Great! One extra sweet acai and dragon fruit cocktail coming right up!"

As Lebreau mixed my drink for me, happily humming to herself, I glanced around the area. Yet again, I saw so many people staring. I could at least hide behind the sharp shears of hair curtained over my eyes, of these rose-colored fringes: the same haircut I'd had for pretty much my entire life. Maybe I should've grown out of it by now, but I couldn't ignore the convenience of getting to hide whenever I needed to.

I didn't see her anywhere.

If she'd been in Bodhum over the past few weeks, then she must've at least heard of this place. I might not have approved of NORA, what they got up to as a 'gang,' but I had to hand it to Lebreau. She'd made this café a household name around the city, and even around the rest of Cocoon, with tourists flocking here every single day. Especially around this time of the year, just after the annual fireworks festival.

Lebreau slid me a chic-looking cocktail glass mixed with sunset-colored alcohol.

"Give it a try, Lightning. Hope you like it!"

"Thanks…"

So eager in her anticipation, she watched me sip this drink. I definitely sipped on it. Slowly. Like my tongue and my mouth didn't know what to do with all this flavor at once. Overpowering, of the berry acai and dragon fruit liquor, together as one burst of flavorful sweetness. I already felt my head spinning a little bit, slightly tipsy. Lebreau couldn't help laughing, knowing I wasn't much of a drinker. Drinking alcohol tended to be such a social thing. And seeing as how I rarely socialized…

Lebreau took pity on me. "We're gonna have to break you in, soldier girl. This won't do at all."

I should've eaten something before I came by. Drinking on an empty stomach…not a good idea.

She gave me a glass of water and a sweet roll. "Here, you look like you need these. It's on the house."

"Appreciate it," I muttered, sipping the water first. "I can't remember the last time I drank alcohol."

"It's okay, Light. A lot of it is peer pressure. Some of the guys here keep knocking them back when they should really take a break. I've learned how to spot it and turn off the tap. You sure are a lightweight. I guess temperance is your virtue, isn't it?"

"I haven't had time to drink. Not since my last promotion. I work long hours, then I go home and sleep."

"Right, right, Major Farron! Snow was so excited when he told me. He's proud of how you've climbed up the ranks over the years. I'd say he's a little jealous, too. NORA's got nothing on the Guardian Corps."

"You can say that again…"

Lebreau laughed, not taking it personally. "Hey, we do our part where we can. You guys and g̵̡̡͖̔͛̅́̕ͅà̷͉̩͖͍̻͎̾l̶̞̐͊̀̈́ͅs̶̖̲̲̐͆̈́̽̇̔ may be the professionals, but you can't do everything on your own. We're all keeping Bodhum safe together."

"Uh-huh. Sure, Lebreau. Whatever you say."

Snacking on this sweet roll, I felt myself sobering up enough. The heated haze from my tipsiness had stopped spinning through my head. Or at least not as fast. That out-of-control feeling had scared me.

Then I heard someone's loud, brash voice crashing through the café.

"Hey-hey, Lebreau! Who's that with you at the bar? A new customer?"

Snow's best friend and right-hand man, and one of NORA's original founders. Gadot, a huge guy with steroid-like muscles and a flaming red Mohawk over his head. Total macho man with his heavy tattoos—and his heavy hand he'd clapped over my shoulder plate in his friendliness, unsettling me in my seat.

"I'll be damned! Lightning?! You're seriously here hanging out at our little place today?"

I scowled at his hand over my shoulder. "You can let go of me, Gadot. I'm not going anywhere. Not yet."

"Oh, shit! Sorry. Forgot you're not the touchy-feely type. Gotta remind me, man. When's the last time we saw you around town?"

Lebreau smiled in remembrance. "I'm pretty sure it was a few months ago. Lightning and her squad were clearing out some monsters near the train station. We kinda got in their way. She wasn't happy."

"That's right! You're their captain, huh? That squad of yours ain't too bad. Bet you've been whippin' 'em into shape. They're gonna turn out just like you, just as strong as you are. Respect, man. Mad respect."

I didn't know whether to thank him or not.

And not for the compliments. But for the words he used with me.

Gadot didn't know. He knew nothing about me. He talked to everyone like this. His kind of friendliness.

Then he took the seat next to me, a little down all of a sudden. "So, Lebreau…you seen her around yet?"

"Not today," murmured Lebreau, just as somber. "It's only been a couple of days, Gadot. Give her time."

"I know, but… Damn, man. Never seen anyone like her before. I knew I should've kept my mouth shut."

Lebreau started mixing a hard drink for him. "Can't stop thinking about her?"

"Nope," said Gadot, trying to put on a brave face. "She was so hot, you know? Really fucking fine. Those green eyes of hers—they were like, hypnotizing, almost." He couldn't mean… "Like, literally the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. No offense to the company I'm keeping now! It's—different with her."

"Oh, please, Gadot. You already know Lightning's gay. She's not into men. I'd never go for you, anyway."

"Yeah, thanks for the reminder!" He laughed a bit before settling back down to his gloom. "Nah, but it's like… I could tell she had a lot going on. She's seen some shit. That look in her eyes still haunts me. Like she's lost something or someone real important to her, you know? Almost like she's lost all hope, too."

"I think you're right," agreed Lebreau. "I've seen a lot of customers over the years. There really was something about her. She was so sad. Sad and angry at the world. I didn't have the heart to say anything about her credit card declining. I'm pretty sure that card was stolen. She must be at her wit's end…"

"Welp, that's what I get for trying to hit on her. She wasn't in the mood for it. It's probably my fault she's not showing up at the café anymore. I turned her off—I know I did. At this point, I'm more worried about her than anything. Like forget trying to sleep with her. We should find her, get her some help."

"For sure! I'll tell Snow, Maqui, and Yuj to keep an eye out. Don't worry, Gadot. We'll find her soon."


Some of the urgency of my search fell away, knowing that NORA was on the case, too.

I could rest a little easier over these next few days. I hadn't slept much since the fireworks festival. I didn't like that feeling, either. Disturbing my peace. Actually getting worked up about something for the first time in a long time. I honestly felt kind of weird about it. I didn't even know this woman, and I'd lost sleep trying to find her somewhere around Bodhum. But apparently, I wasn't the only one she'd gripped and captivated with her raw emotions. Part of me wished she hadn't. I wished I hadn't noticed her at all.

It would've been so much simpler to go back to my routine.

My mind-numbing routine of work and sleep, and sleep and work. Avoiding any kind of socializing. Ignoring my sister whenever she started complaining about my distance. Shutting Snow down whenever he dared intervening between us, trying to play the mediator with Serah and me. That had been my life.

Serah had found out about my excursion to Seventh Heaven, to NORA's café the other day.

Even now, as I made my way out to the field for work, she wouldn't stop blowing up my wireless. Texting, calling. I'd silenced everything from her, not wanting the distraction from her notifications. I knew how she felt. Offended. Pissed off at me for going to the café on my own without telling her. Especially after I'd turned down her invitations over the years, usually without a real explanation why.

Yet the louder she screamed, the more I wanted to stay quiet.

The more she acted out, the less I wanted to react to her.

Serah knew this about me. She still insisted on the drama anyway, entitled to it as my little sister.

As far as I knew, she never acted this way with Snow. Whenever he would be out for 'work,' she didn't make a big deal. I couldn't remember the last time they'd gotten into an argument, if ever. Their marriage seemed so—perfect. A little too perfect. No tension, no suspense, no excitement.

Late that afternoon, I took a military ship from Bodhum to the Vile Peaks, past Lake Bresha. This old abandoned place near the rim, of a junk heap filled with ancient Pulsian machines still programmed to fight anything in Cocoon. I could smell that vile stench from inside my ship, of a rotting smell from the abandoned Peaks across Cocoon's lowlands. Rotting blood and corpses from the unlucky civilians that had stumbled on this place. Rotting, rusted machines and scrap metal stained by oils contaminated by heaps of garbage. A total dump of forgotten junk and relics. One man's trash, another man's treasure.

And a rare sight of rain across the Vile Peaks, with Phoenix blessing them with a much-needed cleaning.

The rain could never wash away this stench. Dirt, decay, and death. Only a little more tolerable today.

Once I landed, I searched for my squad out on patrol across the peaks.

My squad of junior officers, most of them freshly-promoted after serving time as enlisted grunts. As their field officer and commander, I had to show them the ropes, making sure they could hold their own in places like this. Once they passed my checks, they would get assigned to their own command. This revolving door kept me from getting too attached to any of my squad. So I preferred staying out on the field with them more than anything. Better than handling paperwork back on Bodhum's military base.

Just as temporary as my squad's places on the team, this assignment for me was only temporary, too.

Another officer would eventually fill in for me, keeping this revolving door spinning from the top. However temporary, I'd chosen to dedicate myself to this task.

I rendezvoused with my team, finding them in good spirits on their patrol. They looked surrounded by destroyed machines. Mechanical enemies they'd dispatched before I got here. Quite a lot of enemies.

Eager as always, Lieutenant Hope Estheim saluted me at the front of the group.

"Major Farron, Ma'am! Good to see you again!"

Staying professional, I didn't let anyone see my reactions, my violent inner-world. "Report, Lieutenant."

"We took out these enemies a little while ago. The watchdrones and pulsework soldiers didn't put up much of a fight. We scavenged some materials to send back to Bodhum. Not much to find in this rain."

"Good work taking out these enemies, Estheim. Looks like you had your work cut out for you."

Estheim admitted, "Err, not really, Ma'am… We didn't struggle as much as we're used to. Not nearly as much as the last time we were here. It's almost like someone came in before us and took out most of the machines earlier. Whoever the person is, they're really strong. Looks like we're on their trail now."

Taking a better look, my squad let me see the damage, the evidence right in front of us.

I saw this trail of broken machines piled on the ground. Endless piles. Not just from the everyday watchdrones and pulsework soldiers, those grunts. I even spotted a few massive dreadnoughts collapsed over a nearby junk heap, after someone had turned them into even more junk, destroyed.

And only one set of human footprints showed in the rainy mud, leading farther down into the valley.

Really strong couldn't begin to describe this mystery warrior, this mystery person.

They shouldn't have been able to survive on their own like this.

Not unless they had a death wish.

I decided, "Then we'll follow the trail, see what we can find. Estheim, you take point. We'll stay behind you."

"Aye, aye, M̷̧͔̬̗̺̆̑̆å̵̧͔̲̱̎̋̿̍'̴̳͋͂͆a̸̞͔͉̩̽̈́͑͛̾m̵̛̞̋̀!"

Keeping my Blazefire Saber holstered behind me for now, I followed after my squad, shoring up the rear.

I kept an eye on our surroundings, listening out for any changes past the pelleting rain.

For the time being, I only heard my squad's footsteps in the mud, through the makeshift metallic tunnels we passed through. In these tunnels, the glow of fluorescent lights shined brightest over Estheim's head of silver hair, helping me keep an eye on him at the front of the group. When I'd first met him a few months ago, his background had taken me by surprise. I knew he'd moved here from Palumpolum, having grown up and lived in the big city on Cocoon's main continent. But he hadn't brought any of his family or friends with him. He'd moved to Bodhum alone, all on his own as a young man straight out of high school, enlisting with our Security Regiment right away. He'd moved up the ranks pretty quickly.

Even though Lieutenant Estheim did good work, I could tell he had more to his story.

From how hard he worked, it seemed like he was running away from something. Something back home in the big city. Something with his past. I knew, because he reminded me too much of myself back in the day. Back when I'd had every reason to throw myself into my work, running away from my own past.

I knew not to ask him any personal questions. He was my subordinate, after all. I couldn't.

I at least appreciated the lieutenant's hard work. Even though I could've done a better job at saying it.

All the way down in this valley overseeing a steep drop, Estheim stopped, short of breath.

My squad stopped right behind him, the rest of them just as frightened, just as terrified.

I stopped, too, getting a better look at what had spooked my team so much:

There at the edge of the cliff, I saw someone standing over those heights, staring at the drop below. The drop leading way down to the base of the Vile Peaks. A massive drop no one could ever come back from, man or machine. The warrior there stared down at the drop. She lusted after the drop, gripping her long weapon at her side. A powerful mammoth of a black and blood-red spear, with twinned blades spiraling up.

The wild style of her dark hair soaked down her head in the rain. Soaking in the rain, bleeding red from her wounds in the rain. Tinges of red curled through her hair, but I couldn't tell if those were highlights or more blood from the wounds running over her body, her olive skin and lean muscles. Wounds from fighting so many enemy machines in her way. The royal blue silk of her sari looked torn up, down to the black of her tights underneath, those shorts and the torn covering over her torso and chest. Tears and slashes ran across the length of her tall sandals running up her long legs. Torn and slashed and bleeding from injuries she'd sustained over these past days. Injuries from those machines, and from actual people—from getting into fights she'd probably had no business getting into, or worse than that.

Missing beads from the delicate, handmade necklace around her neck. Not at all jeweled and bedazzled in metals like a regular necklace I'd seen anywhere in Cocoon. Except maybe in Radz-at-Han in the East.

And that equally wild tattoo running down the length of her arm: the hazard of that grinning dragon, menacing as a monster.

Without a doubt, this had to be the same warrior that had killed those countless enemies in her wake.

Without a shadow of doubt—the same mystery woman who'd caught my eye at the fireworks festival.

At her wit's end, she seriously looked close to jumping any second now.

Without waiting for my order, Lieutenant Estheim shouted out to her, "Wait! Don't do it, please!"

The lone warrior stopped staring down at the drop.

Slowly, she turned her head over her shoulder. Turning her gaze to look at the lieutenant over here. Then she saw me, fully turning around to face us. She limped away from the cliff's edge, but not in response to Estheim. She hunched over, digging her lance into the earth as a walking cane. A standing cane, keeping her standing in place as she stared me down. The same mix of confusion, intrigue, and rage emblazoned her eyes in the rain. The depths of her eyes, so profound. I had to look away from her.

The lieutenant took tentative steps over to her, pleading in the rain, "Listen, I don't know who you are… It doesn't matter. I really hope you'll reconsider this. If you're hurt, if you're angry, then I understand. I… I've been there myself. I'm still here. I'm still fighting. This isn't the solution. There's no coming back."

More mangled confusion in her eyes.

Did she not understand a word he'd said to her?

Did she not speak the language, without an in-ear translation program to help?

She at least felt the lieutenant's emotion, his heartfelt plea. That much kept her rooted in place, kept her from jumping off that cliff paces behind her.

Estheim whispered to me, "Major, maybe you should step in? The two of you seem more like equals. She probably thinks I'm a kid compared to her. I doubt she still wants to jump, but… Please help her."

"Fine. The rest of you stay back. I'll handle the rest."

Even as I said the words, I had no idea how to handle this at all.

After she'd sustained so many wounds, bleeding out like this, we needed to get her to a hospital ASAP.

I worried all this talking wouldn't do her any good. Especially if she couldn't understand us, anyway.

Not knowing what else to do, I took these first steps toward her. Down this muddy hill to her location.

She watched me come closer. She studied me, no doubt recognizing me from all those nights ago. She took special note of my gunblade, the silver of my weapon holstered behind me, the hanging leather of my holster swinging with my every step, my every movement. She couldn't possibly see me drawing these blanks in my head. Blank after blank on how I needed to handle this situation. I didn't know how.

I remembered the fog of that life-ending pain. The mist in my head, closing off all other solutions. The smog, the miasma corrupting me toward ending everything as the one solution, the only solution left.

That old slow death of mine had accelerated the fog. Any shocks I'd suffered had made my haze worse.

But I had never had anyone talk me down from this brink.

I had wrestled myself away from the brink on my own. Slowly. Gradually. Painfully. Always alone.

And now, all I could do was stand here before this stranger, those painful memories fresh in my eyes.

On even ground with each other, she saw her pain reflecting through me. Even if it wasn't the same. Even if not at the same intensity, wounds bleeding for different reasons. She still saw herself in me.

With her life hanging by a thread, I did the only thing I could.

I reached out to her. I held my hand out to her, hoping she would accept this off-ramp. This solution.

Paranoid, mistrustful, or stubborn—or worse—she didn't see my gesture that way.

She mistook my movement toward her as something hostile.

Enraged, she grabbed her spear, bearing her weapon down on me.

At the last possible second, I grabbed my Blazefire, deflecting her spear's pointed stabs against me.

Her strength…!

If I hadn't known what to expect from her slaughter earlier, I would've faltered. I would've failed, fallen to my knees by now. I forced my gunblade to hold on. I pushed back against her pushing, against her searching stabs, defending myself. Clashing my blade against the rips and tears from her spear. Holding my own against her impossible power. All as I kept yelling at my squad to stay the hell back. They kept trying to come over, trying to intervene. I didn't need their help right now. They'd only get in my way!

Constant downpour from the rain; this warrior's enraged yelling in a foreign language my in-ear translation programs couldn't pick up on; my erratic arousal at the sight of her, making me hold back.

The jeweled bangles over her wrist chimed with her every thrust and every swipe. Those sounds clued me in on her movements ahead of time. I learned to listen, matching her strikes. She didn't notice, getting more and more pissed off. Losing her cool—if she'd had any in the first place. Reckless. Stubborn. Hotheaded!

That emotion in her face. The pain there, the devastation. She'd given up on life, and my squad had interrupted her before she could end it all. Now she wouldn't stop attacking me, thinking I was out to get her for some reason. Conspiratorial to the last, even on her would-be deathbed in the Vile Peaks.

So emotional, she'd completely lost her sense in attacking me like this, over and over.

And I should've been able to fight back harder than this.

I should've attacked her right back, ending this pointless game between us once and for all.

I should've just fucking killed her if that was what she wanted from me.

She saw this restraint in my eyes. She saw the decision I'd made in only choosing to defend myself.

Temperance of tempering myself for her.

She saw this even-match between us, and she stopped fighting. She stopped trying against me.

She gave up.

Standing still, she finally stopped attacking me.

She stopped with the razor's edge of my gunblade against the vulnerability of her neck. A twisted pleasure warmed her face, but only for a moment.

This darker moment between us extended on and on beneath the pouring rain.

The wounds over her body bled out more and more. The crimson trailed down her body, down the grime over her skin, down beneath her torn sari and tights underneath. Her dark hair had plastered over the sides of her face. Thick lashes of her eyes weighed down by the rain. Her stare, so raw and real. Silently asking me to end it all. Begging me from the depths of her despair. Wordlessly pleading for me to put her out of her misery. Because she didn't have the strength to do it herself.

So I did the one thing I wished someone would've done for me in this situation. Even if I'd resisted it.

I holstered my gunblade.

I dropped all pretenses, conceding this battle to her.

She looked at me in total confusion this time. She'd seen my anger earlier. She'd expected me to kill her.

Instead, I made this shift for her.

Paradigm shift—role change from commando to medic.

I would never let myself show emotion freely. Not to a stranger. Not even someone begging for my help.

"It's not your time yet," I said, knowing she couldn't understand me. "I won't let you die like this."

I gave her my care and emotion through the magical movements of my hands. I shared these spells with her, sustaining her bleeding wounds for a while longer. Casting these heals: cure, cura. Glows of a soft, healing blue-green light surrounded her torn body beneath the rain. I cured her health to keep her holding on. Healing the damage I had done in my silence, my anger. Giving her this hope again, as much as I could.

I gave her this benediction, bringing her back to life, back from that brink.

She felt my intentions. She felt the meaning behind my every spell, my every decision. She gasped in disbelief, not quite letting herself cry. She instead dropped her spear, that massive weapon clanging to the soaking wet ground. Conceding to me this time, she dropped to her knees, not knowing what else to do. She'd lost the strength to keep standing. My healing couldn't close her bleeding wounds forever.

Kneeling down with her, I brought her in my arms, shielding her from the rain.

Seconds later, I felt her pass out from exhaustion. She kept breathing. She would survive this.

Holding her upright, I gave the order for my squad to help me. They picked up her weapon, helping me get her back to our military ship. We needed to transport her to the nearest hospital. Only the hospital on Bodhum's military base would do. With all her cuts and bruises, she needed more specialized care than a civilian hospital could provide for her. Carrying her through the Vile Peaks, we brought her aboard this transport, flying her back to my hometown immediately. And during the flight, during the transfer to the hospital, I had to remember myself. I couldn't let myself panic, knowing her life kept on hanging by this thread. She fought in unconsciousness to stay alive. She'd found this reason to hold on.

Reasons and resolve restored—through me.