The Necklace

by bladecatcher86

Cid reflects on the highs and lows of his relationship with the woman he wanted to save - from barbarians, from mad kings, and in the end, even from herself. [Rated M for profanity; violence; some adult situations; and mentions, descriptions, and/or implications of past abuse. Also on AO3.]

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Final Fantasy XVI, its setting, or its characters, all of which are the intellectual property of Square Enix. I also claim no ownership of any other works that may be referenced herein.

The following is rated M for profanity; violence; some adult situations; and mentions, descriptions, and/or implications of abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: "Don't pity me. I'm not worth it. Or maybe you think you can save me? Will you love me? Take care of me? Heal all my pain? … That's what I thought."

---

the necklace

---

1 golden lacquer

---

Long before our falling-out, I gave you a necklace.

Can't remember where exactly I was when I first bought it. Hadn't even set out looking for anything like it that day. But it caught my eye regardless, and I thought the name the jeweler had given the piece felt appropriate: "Wings of Promise." It was a silver pendant on a silver chain, depicting a powerful griffin posed in front of a green shield, standing atop two crossed swords. Old Man Thunder might not have any wings of his own, but I appreciated the craftsmanship and symbolism regardless.

I wore it myself for years after that. Came to see it as a reminder of what I've devoted my life to fighting for. What I was "promising" the people for whom I was fighting. Freedom. Equality. Justice. The right for a human being to die on their own terms, after a life spent doing what those atop the social hierarchy told them to do.

Then I met you, and it came to mean something different.

I was on a personal mission (that is, something I did for myself, and not as Lord Commander of the kingdom of Waloed) to rescue a group of Bearers – natural magic users instead of crystal users – from the guaranteed nightmare of forced servitude among the denizens of the Iron Kingdom. Theirs is a violent, endlessly hostile society where the strong prey upon the weak, and then upon each other when they run out of weak people. They call themselves the Ironblood; the rest of Valisthea calls them "fucking barbarians." And that's when we feel like being nice.

I had just pulled my sword out from the guts of one such bastard when suddenly I felt a powerful gust of wind at my back. I turned to see where the breeze had come from and I could not believe what I saw: a giant cyclone suddenly materializing out of seemingly nothing, with no prior weather conditions indicating that such a storm was on its way.

In most other worlds, I imagine this would be cause for some sort of scientific concern. In Valisthea, we witness a storm like that and start listening for harpy shrieks. And sure enough, my comrades and I could hear exactly that.

Garuda. The Warden of Wind.

No one had seen or even heard her in years. I recalled hearing that her previous Dominant – the person born with the power to transform into these powerful beings, which we call Eikons – had been slain in battle back then. This, then, was a new Dominant awakening.

And I knew how the Ironblood treated Dominants: with the same cruelty with which they treated everyone else, if not worse. They don't call these people Dominants; they call them Abominations. Then they either execute the Dominant or force them to spend every waking moment waging war as their ultimate weapon. Heads, they win. Tails, you lose.

I told my friends to stay put and help the Bearers we'd just rescued and made my way through the woods to the eye of the storm. Any other man does that, and his friends will think he's gone mad. For Old Man Thunder, this is manageable.

As I got closer and closer, I could get a better look at the Eikon. I had never seen Garuda in person before, and on the rare occasions where I could see through the clouds, I caught glimpses of her feral feathers and razor-sharp talons. Even got a look at her maniacal toothy grin. I was hoping I wouldn't have to, but I had a feeling using my own power might soon be necessary to settle her down.

Fortunately, it wasn't. By the time I reached my destination, Garuda's power had subsided. The storm passed, and she had transformed back into her Dominant. The last living thing left in the entire ruined village. I surveyed the damage myself when I got there. The whole bloody place had been leveled. Piles of rubble where once stood houses and barns. Fallen trees that had stood tall and proud for centuries, shattered and splintered in seconds. Human and animal corpses scattered across the turf in unnatural positions, as if they'd been tossed about like rag dolls.

And in the center of it all, I found you.

You were on your knees in the dirt, not far from two Ironblood bodies. You were barefoot and clad only in filthy tattered rags, the uniform of a slave throughout the world. Your blonde hair, which came down just below your chin, was disheveled and unwashed, and you stank like a farm animal. And you were clutching your arm, shaken by the sight of the horrible mess Garuda had just made. I'll never forget the way you instinctively recoiled at my touch, silently pulling your hands away from a man who meant you no harm because you had no reason to believe that yet.

"It's all right," I said. "They can't hurt you anymore. Come on, let's go home."

I offered my hand, and you looked up at me for the first time with pretty hazel eyes as you took it.

"Where is home?" you asked.

"As far away from here as I can take you," I said. "I promise."

I led you back the way I had come, insisting that you not look back at the village you were now leaving behind. You remained silent all the way through the woods, until the village could no longer be seen. Off in the distance I could spot the ship my friends and I had arrived on, waiting for me to rejoin the crew.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked. "What do you want with me?"

"Only to protect you," I said softly.

"Just you? Will that be enough to hold off the hordes of Ironblood? Any minute now, they will arrive in search of the newest Abomination."

"Here's a better question," I said, letting go of your hand for the moment. "Will they have enough to hold off me?"

With that, I called upon the power lurking within me. My body began to emit a bright purple glow, and bolts of electricity materialized all around me, surrounding me like a force field. This is what's called "semi-prime," a phase that is not pure human and not pure Eikon, but somewhere in between, granting the user more potent magical power and physical strength.

"You're a Dominant too," you said, awestruck by the spectacle. "You're… you're the Warden of Thunder."

"My friends call me Ramuh," I said. "Well… only in Eikon form."

Having sufficiently impressed you, I shifted back to human form. Wound up giving myself a cough, though not nearly as bad as it would get in later years. No blood spewing from my mouth just yet. Arm still wasn't yet affected by the Crystals' Curse either. It's a condition where those who overuse their magical power slowly turn to stone. As if life wasn't difficult enough for Bearers in Valisthea.

"The rest of the time, they call me Cidolfus, or Cid for short," I said, offering my hand again. "What's your name, miss?"

"Benedikta," you said, and you shook it. Your hand looked softer and more delicate than it felt, the fingers and palms tough and callused over from whatever work you'd been forced to do.

"Nice name. One I won't soon forget."

I turned back toward the ship and started walking, indicating for you to follow. You were quick to heed this request, and soon we were walking side by side. I noticed you wincing from stepping on the pebbles scattered across the path, and I slowed down to match your pace. I had no spare footwear to offer you and mine wouldn't have fit your feet. I asked if you needed me to carry you, but you shook your head.

"Are you sure you're all right?" I asked.

"That must be the first time someone's asked me my name in years," you said. "Everyone here called me Woman, or Brandless Girl. Or sometimes just… You."

It was then that I truly noticed for the first time that your cheek lacked a brand, the telltale symbol that separated Bearers from non-Bearers. The mark of a magic-using slave.

"But their favorite name for me," you continued with a disgusted scowl, "was the Doll."

"Would that have anything to do with why you lack a brand?" I asked.

You nodded in response to that. "They said they didn't want to tarnish my pretty face," you said, and you sniffled a bit. "That I looked like a perfect and pristine porcelain doll." You paused there, trying to stifle a sob. "I just wish… I wish something could've stopped them… from tarnishing the rest of me…"

You started crying, and your knees buckled beneath you. I came over and caught you before you could collapse to the ground, and I took you into a tight hug.

"No one's going to hurt you where we're going, all right?" I whispered in your ear. "Here's what we will do. We're going to let you have a bath, as long as you want. Get you all cleaned up. Then we'll pick out some new clothes and get you a fresh-cooked meal. And then, when the day's over, you'll have a nice warm bed, all to yourself. Does that sound good?"

You said nothing. Just nodded your head against my shoulder as you cried into it.

"All right then," I said. "Our ride's not far now. Let's get you aboard."

You spent most of the voyage back to the hideaway either asleep in a small cabin or keeping to yourself, only emerging from your quarters to ask for food or water or something to read. A literate slave girl. Must've been a late magical bloomer, one whose powers waited long enough for your family to get you some schooling before they disowned you. It's rare, but it's been known to happen; I've heard stories of people whose powers were dormant until well into their teens. I used to debate myself over which ones had it worse: the ones like you, or the ones born with active powers who are abandoned or even killed as infants. The latter group would never at all understand what it meant to be loved. Then again, the late bloomers were born and raised with the false hope of a happy life, long enough to form bonds that turned out to be all too easily severed.

Eventually the answer I settled on was this: who fucking cares? It's not a competition. There's no trophy awarded to whoever suffers the most. They all just suffer. And they all deserve to be taken seriously.

---

The hideaway was a project I started with my good friend Otto some years before I met you. It was intended as a sanctuary for freed Bearers where they could pursue whatever interests they pleased, carefully kept out of sight of those who would force them back into servitude. It was a dream Otto's own child had been denied; the boy's powers awakened when he was a year old and his relatives had him killed for the unforgivable crime of existing. I was there to listen to Otto when no one else would as he wept for his child, lamented that the boy would never know how much his father loved him and fought like hell to save him. That story is why I do what I do.

We figured the best way to stay hidden was to establish ourselves somewhere decimated by the Blight, a plague that was slowly eating away at the realm and rendering more and more of it uninhabitable. But thanks to some good old-fashioned human ingenuity, we made a home in Blighted land anyway. A happy paradox, that.

In those early days of the hideaway, when our ranks were much fewer, I would provide the bulk of the funding myself – money I'd received as pay for my hard work serving as Lord Commander of Waloed, a job I didn't even want, but got anyway thanks to my other gig as the Warden of Thunder. King Barnabas, Dominant of the dark warden Odin, was obsessed with our powers. Always going on about something called Mythos, about how it was soon to arrive and how we Dominants must all join forces in preparation for it. Thought it was a load of rubbish myself, at least at the time.

But because I had yet to quit this post, I had seen fit to attempt my first hideaway in a large old house a few miles from the royal capital of Stonhyrr. The house had once served as an inn, and now it stood somewhat in disrepair in a village abandoned due to the encroaching Blight. Had a host desk where Otto maintained the ledgers, a dining area, a small lounge in the lobby, an office where I slept and handled all my business, and two upper stories for living quarters, some of which were reserved for Tarja's patients in the infirmary.

It was there that I brought you after getting you out of the Iron Kingdom.

"Welcome back, Cid," Otto said, looking up from the ledgers. "Another job well done, I see."

"We did what we could, as always," I replied. "Anyone using the bath?"

"Not even gonna stop for a drink first? Who are you and what have you done with Cid?"

"Of course I am, you old sod," I said with a chuckle, giving him a nudge. "It's for the young lady here."

"Well, it beats the hell out of me," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Think Tarja was the last one to use it. I forget how long ago. Should be done by now though. Just knock on the door if it ain't open. I'll see if we've got enough open beds to accommodate the newcomers."

I brought you upstairs and drew you a bath, as promised. Then I left you to your privacy and went downstairs in search of Hortense, our resident seamstress, to see about finding something you could wear, at least for the time being until you had a chance to pick your own outfits. You spent nearly an hour in the bath, though it took you much less time to scrub away the filth and grime. Mostly you basked in the warmth of the water, the light fruity scent of the soap, and the view from the nearby window. Once you were finished, you promptly informed the entire hideaway of something rather important.

"Cid, can you hear me?" you called down to me. "I can't find a towel!"

Knew there was something I forgot among all the hustle and bustle.

Once you were dried and dressed in a form-fitting and flattering forest green ensemble, I brought you straight to the kitchen, noticing a few heads turning in your direction as you passed by. I must admit, mine turned a few times as well. You sure knew how to clean up nicely, and you carried yourself with a little more confidence. I couldn't help noticing how much brighter and softer your hair seemed to be now. A microcosm of the rest of you, really.

Your first dinner at the hideaway consisted of some of our cook's favorites: grilled wild chocobo breast with a side of potatoes, a large bowl of beef stew with carrots and onions, a couple slabs of fresh-baked bread, and a mug of ale. You looked over at me as if you couldn't believe all this food was really for you, and only after I said to go ahead and eat did you dig in. You ate with a ravenous appetite at first, disregarding the utensils as you bit into the bird and tore into the bread. Not unexpected from someone who'd spent years being forced to root through rubbish bins and troughs in search of something edible, as you informed me with a full mouth that night.

"Slow down there," I said, laughing softly. "Don't want you choking to death your first night here."

As your stomach settled you slowed down, learning to savor the flavor of every morsel and swishing the ale around in your mouth to acquire the taste. It was a hefty meal, but you cleaned your plate, emptied your bowl, and drained your mug. Then you leaned back in your chair and punctuated your feast with a loud and satisfied belch. And then you immediately glanced over at me with embarrassment and a hand covering your mouth.

"Oi, Kenneth!" I called over to the cook. "The lady sends her compliments!"

You laughed at that, and for the first time I noticed how truly radiant your smile could be.

By the gods, the little things you remember about someone. Ask most people these days what they recall about Benedikta Harman and they'll tell tales of a cocky, ill-tempered ice queen, a siren luring men to certain doom with a sultry voice and a soft touch. Ask me and I'll tell stories about a woman who smelled faintly of strawberries and cream, who loved long baths and beef stew, who looked fantastic in green, and who wished to smile without feeling the need to fake it.

Guess which version people will meet in the fucking history books.

"So, Benedikta," I said to you sometime later, "now that you've been here a while, gotten used to how this place works, learned the lay of the land and all that… what are your thoughts? Will you be sticking around, or moving on to the next chapter of your life?"

We were meeting alone in my quarters, which once served as the innkeeper's office. I sat behind a large mahogany desk with a world map and all sorts of papers of varying importance scattered atop it. You were in a smaller chair on the opposite side, unaffected by all that cigarette smoke coming out of my mouth. Must've thought I resembled a human chimney or something.

I always did like that desk. Very sturdy, very spacious. Can't deny the ego boost I got from sitting behind it. The sort of desk that shouted, "I am the boss" and all that. Alas, it was too big to move when we packed up and moved to the next hideaway in a cave in central Storm a few years later. Think the biggest thing we took with us was Midadol's orchestrion. No way in hell was I parting with that.

"Where else could I possibly go?" you asked. "I feel safe here. Like I did when I was little."

"Glad to hear that."

"I never thought something as simple as a bed could give me peace of mind like this," you said. "The slavers wouldn't let me sleep indoors unless they had… plans for me. Most nights they made me sleep outside with the animals. When they didn't treat me like an animal, I was their punching bag. And sometimes… on rare occasions…"

You trailed off and crossed your legs tightly, and suddenly I started thinking Garuda had let those bastards off easy.

"Every time I tried to run away," you continued, "I never made it past the village watch. You can imagine what they did after they caught me. So, given the choice between staying here or leaving and risking being captured and enslaved again, staying here is the easiest choice I've ever made."

"All right then," I answered, choosing not to address the slavers' "plans" until you were good and ready. "Now comes the question I have to ask everyone who joins our little community." I leaned back, put my feet up on the desk, and took a puff of my cigarette. "What do you want to do here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone here plays a part in keeping the place running like clockwork," I explained. "Otto maintains the ledgers, Kenneth runs the kitchen, Tarja's in charge of the infirmary, Charon provides the provisions – you get the idea. I'm simply asking which gear you'd like to be."

You remained silent, simply raising a slightly suspicious eyebrow.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's reacted like that," I said. "Rest assured: I don't want you or anyone else here thinking you've all traded one master for another. That's the whole point. You get to choose your role." I paused for a moment to let it sink in. "So what'll it be?"

"I don't know," you murmured. "I haven't given it much thought."

"Well, what sort of things are you good at?"

"I've spent the past eight years tending to animals and crops, whether I wanted to or not," you said. "I suppose that, by default, will have to be your answer. But the land is Blighted and the only animals here are the chocobos in your stable, and you've no shortage of helping hands there."

"Anything else come to mind?" I asked. "Perhaps if not something you've done before, then something you always wanted to do but never had the opportunity?"

You sighed at that question, tilting your head and running your fingers through that sandy blonde hair of yours. "There is one thing," you said, "and it will likely sound absurd, so promise me you won't laugh."

"I promise."

You rose from your seat and wandered toward the window, leaning on it slightly and staring out into space, as far as I could tell. The sunlight made your hair shine a little brighter and cast a long shadow across the floor.

"When I was a child," you said, your lovely smile growing a little more with each word, "I dreamed of being an actress. There was this book of classic stage plays that I would always take from the shelf in the house where I once was raised. I read it cover to cover countless times. I would cast myself as my favorite characters and read their lines aloud with all the theatrical flair I could muster. And I would fantasize about a packed theater cheering for me, tossing flowers on the stage after every performance."

It was here that your smile began turning upside down, and you paused to collect yourself as you looked back at me, preparing yourself to reveal the rest of the memory.

"My birth givers found it cute when I was little," you continued. "As I grew older, they grew increasingly frustrated by it. Said I needed to stop all the childish playing pretend."

My ears perked up at the unusual way you referred to your mother and father, but I decided this would not be an opportune moment to shift the focus of our chat. The cigarette in my mouth had nearly burned all the way out, so I pulled a case from my pocket and struck a match to light another. Out in these Blighted areas, there was no aether with which I might have conjured a bit of magic to do the job.

"Do you recall their names, by any chance?"

"How could I forget?" you said, and you gave them to me. I considered asking Gav to see whether he or any of his fellow scouts could dig something up about them.

"So anyway, when you were taken by those Ironblood—"

"I was sold to them!" you interrupted with a bitter scowl, storming over to my desk and gripping the edge. "All was well until one day when the curse of magic awakened within me! And when my so-called family discovered it, they reported me and had me enslaved. Suddenly I was no longer their daughter, not even a damned human being. They said, 'Here it is. Take it away.' I must've cried myself to sleep for weeks over losing their fraudulent love."

It was strange, really. Yours was not the first story like this that I had ever heard. Not even close. Every Bearer I'd ever brought to the hideaway before you had something similar to tell, and every Bearer after you did as well. Yet every time someone shared their version of it with me, it still stirred up the same swirling anger and sorrow that I'd felt the first time I'd heard it. It was a potent reminder of what we were really up against, how much of the world was mired in such cruelty. How much would need to be changed before anything improved. How little of it would actually change that we'd be alive to see.

"I'm sorry," I said, reaching across the desk and resting a hand on yours. "Sorry all of that happened to you. And sorry that this might not be the best venue to pursue that dream. Harpocrates has a rather comprehensive collection of the classics, if ever you wish to revisit them. A good amount of modern stuff too. Seems even old Tomes needs a break from research once in a while."

"It's fine," you said, removing your hands from the desk and somberly crossing your arms. "By the time you found me, it was more of a coping mechanism anyway. I would daydream about it from time to time, thinking how wonderful it would be to be anything else but a slave. To be anybody else but me." You squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your teeth for this next bit. "Then the Ironblood would catch me slacking and… punish me for it. At least on those occasions they would give themselves an excuse to attack me; they usually didn't bother. Now I only wish I knew how to defend myself."

With that, you slumped back down into your seat. And I rose from mine, walked around the desk, and dropped to one knee before you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"Perhaps that can be your role here," I said. "We can teach you how to fight, how to defend yourself. How to help us find people like you and set them free. Does that sound appealing?"

"It does," you murmured. "And then some days all I want is to find my birth givers and confront them over what they did. But mostly I think my greatest wish is just to run from Valisthea, as far as I can possibly go, and be free. Free of it all."

"Well, that'll be up to you to decide when the time comes," I said, making a mental note to pass those names along to Gav. "But for now? We'll get started on your training tomorrow. Your wind, my thunder. We could make one hell of a storm."

You looked down at me with a nod and a small smile, and I gave you a pat on the shoulder and stood. Then I leaned toward you and lowered my voice as I spoke.

"And just between you and me?" I murmured. "Sometimes I want to get the hell out of this realm too."

---

After your first few weeks of training, we decided you were ready to tag along for your first job. Didn't want to do anything too dangerous, so I brought you on a simple fetch quest. You seemed a bit disappointed that we weren't likely to test your growing set of skills very much, but you didn't complain too much about it. I explained that I merely wanted to ease you into the type of work we typically did, have you start with something basic and work your way up. So one day I brought you to Sorrowise, a marshland just west of Martha's Rest, a Rosarian town named after a good friend of mine who ran the local inn and supported our cause. We had some company on this little trip as well: Gav from the scout team, who was also handy with a blade (and wearing a mask so he wouldn't spread an illness he'd recently recovered from); Charon, the crotchety elder merchant who supplied the hideaway with our necessary provisions; and Goetz, Charon's big and burly assistant who did all her heavy lifting.

"So what are we here to fetch?" you asked as we crossed the bridge on our way to the town.

"A couple cans of motor oil and a few adamantoise shells," I said. "The oil should be easy enough to acquire; some merchant in town ought to have some. The shells will be a bit tougher. We'll have to take those from their current owners, who won't exactly be eager to grant permission."

"Another favor for little Midadol, eh?" Charon asked with a chuckle. "Ought to teach that girl how to fight one of these days so she can do some of her own treasure hunting."

"You know I don't mind, Charon," I said.

"Oi, Nan," said Goetz, "you reckon we have enough gil to cover Tarja's list too?"

"You've got the coin purse, you big galoot," she answered. "You count it up."

"You get the oil and we'll set off to get those shells," I said. "We'll meet you at the inn when we've got enough. Been meaning to check in with Martha anyway, see if she's got any more jobs for us."

With that, we parted ways. The inn was at the center of Martha's Rest, surrounded by homes behind and to the east and by the markets to the west. An easy landmark to remember. Charon and Goetz made their way to the markets and the rest of us set off for Sorrowise. There was a lift at the western end of town that lowered passengers to the marshland below, free of charge for all travelers. We boarded it, shut the door, and rode it down.

"It'll be nice to get this bloody mask off for a bit," Gav said once we left the lift, tugging the mask from his face. "It'd be even nicer if I didn't need the fuckin' thing at all."

"You worried the fibers from the cloth will start clogging your lungs?" you asked.

"No, I spilled ale all over this one a few days ago," he answered. "It's making me crave a drink something fierce."

"Good thing we're waiting until the job's done to visit Martha then," I said. "Last thing we need is for you to get too drunk to swing a sword around."

"Speaking of the job," you said, "who is this Midadol you're doing this for?"

"Oh, Cid didn't tell you?" Gav said. "Mid's his daughter!"

Your eyes went wide with surprise and I shot a little glare at Gav. Love the lad, but sometimes he really needs to learn how to read a situation and hold off on blurting stuff out.

"Thank you, Gav," I said, "but I believe that question was for me."

"You have a daughter?"

"I do," I said. "She's not currently staying at the hideaway though. I'll be taking her there once her semester is over."

"She's away at school," Gav added. "Got quite the brain on her, that one. A fuckin' prodigy."

"What does she need motor oil and giant turtle shells for?" you asked.

"A science project," I said. "She's studying engineering in Kanver, so she's always tinkering with all sorts of gizmos and gadgets, taking them apart and putting them back together to see what everything does. And then sometimes, in her spare time, she likes to build her own prototypes. We are collecting components for one of those."

"She can thank Cid for that," said Gav. "He's not so bad with gadgets himself. He's the one who got her hooked on this stuff."

"Aye, but she's got more talent for it than I ever did."

"What does her mother think of all that?"

There was a pause in our conversation as I tried to find the best way to answer your question. I stood with my hands on my hips, staring off into space as the memories returned. Remembering the sight of a crying toddler sitting among the wreckage of what was once her home in the aftermath of a military siege in her hometown, years before the man who ordered it promoted me to Lord Commander. Picking her up in hopes of giving her comfort long enough to find her parents. Realizing whose bodies I could see buried beneath the rubble, and knowing at once what I had to do to set a few souls at ease – my own included.

"I have no idea what her mother would think."

"Are you estranged from her?"

"Midadol is adopted," I answered. "Her real parents died a long time ago. She doesn't remember much about them, if anything at all."

"Lucky girl."

That remark left Gav visibly startled, though he didn't have anything to say about it just yet. It wasn't that he couldn't understand what your parents had done to you, or why you held a grudge against them for it. I suppose he didn't think you'd be so blunt about it. He's always been a very family-oriented fellow. Makes what happened to his own family all the more upsetting.

"Unfortunate name, though," you teased. "Midadol sounds more like the name of a drug."

"Like something Tarja might give you when you've got a fever," Gav chimed in with a chuckle, grateful for the sudden change in the conversation's tone.

"Side effects of Midadol may include nausea, headaches, diarrhea, and vomiting," you said.

I rolled my eyes at that and pulled out a cigarette. "That would explain why you take so long using the toilet, then," I said.

Gav burst out laughing, and now it was your turn to roll your eyes, though you did it with a little snickering.

"Come on, you walked right into that," I said, taking a puff of my cigarette. "In my experience the side effects of Midadol involve going halfway across the realm to fetch materials for her latest project. Let's get going."

You and Gav nodded at that and set off ahead of me – or at least you did. Gav was about to, but I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"What's the matter, Cid?" he said. "You know we were just kidding, don't you?"

"It's not about that," I murmured. "It's about her. I've got a couple names I'd like you to look into, when you've got the chance."

We found the adamantoises not long after that. My thunder spells did the bulk of the damage, but your wind magic proved highly effective at staggering the giant tortoises and knocking them off balance. An impressive debut performance for the hideaway's newest Dominant. And then there was Gav, chipping in with sword slashes whenever he could, despite what little damage he did.

"You know," he said after the fight was over, "despite all the headaches and heartache magic gets blamed for in this world… magic is pretty fuckin' amazing sometimes, isn't it? Sure would make my life a bit easier, if not for all the shite that would make it more difficult."

---

Much time passed, and you became a valuable member of the Cursebreakers, the team consisting of the hideaway's best fighters. You had learned how to handle the blade surprisingly well for someone with no prior combat experience, and you spent much of your time outside with a wooden sparring sword practicing your moves, rain or shine. Sometimes I'd go out and train with you myself, on the days when duty wasn't calling in the Lord Commander's office; if anyone else had been king, I would've been sacked years before.

I can vividly remember catching glimpses of you outside in a downpour, still swinging that sword around. The way you'd come sauntering inside once you were through with training, dripping wet from the rain, your boots and pant legs stained with grime. Or that time early on when you slipped and toppled face-first into the mud, joking when you came back inside all caked with the stuff: "Let's be honest: this is still not the shabbiest state you lot have seen me in."

Then you'd have a bath and curl up by the fire with whichever book of plays you'd most recently borrowed from Tomes and lose yourself in it until you were ready to retire for the evening. I knew better than to interrupt your reading sessions. Figured I didn't have to ask about it. I could always tell whether you were reading a comedy or a tragedy from the look on your face. You'd get so invested in those stories. You wouldn't read it aloud, but I would wonder whether you still imagined yourself reciting that dialogue onstage.

You said the weather wouldn't always be cooperative in a real fight, which was fair enough. This logic didn't score you too many points with Tarja, who'd always have to rummage through her medicine cabinets for your usual dosage after you inevitably gave yourself a cold.

"Just once," the poor physicker would often lament, "I wish someone in this place would actually listen to my advice."

Your greatest gift, however, was your knack for gathering information. Made Gav wonder if perhaps you had missed your calling helping the Cursebreakers instead of him and his scouts. There was just something about you that made people willing to talk to you. Perhaps they might've found a pretty girl like you less threatening than a gruff tough guy like me. One day you volunteered for interrogation duties, and we soon learned that whenever we needed to loosen a man's tongue, all we had to do was point you in his general direction. You'd pretend to flirt with him for a bit, and once he was invested in your little chat, you'd casually slip in a mention of whatever we wanted to know. Suddenly your mark would be an open book, gushing about his secrets in the hopes you'd be impressed enough to reward him with a bit of the old in-and-out. Then you'd tease him with the possibility of meeting him later and would never cross his path again.

"Benna," I'd say afterward, using a nickname I'd given you which you seemed to like, "you truly were born to perform."

There was one thing you were a bit reluctant to address though: the power of your Eikon. It was something I noticed the more I brought you on jobs with me. Comfortable as you eventually became using wind magic in combat, Garuda herself intimidated you. There were some advanced magical techniques that came with being her Dominant, but even those would be shunned in favor of swordplay and simpler spells. The Warden of Wind had not been seen since the day I found you in the Iron Kingdom.

Then one day we had gone out on what we thought would be a simple quest to help a merchant whose cart had broken down on his way through Kritten Hollow in central Waloed. We ended up stumbling across a pair of bloody coeurls, because apparently we'd had too long a run of good fortune lately and fate felt like telling us to go fuck ourselves. The handful of poor sods who'd accompanied us on this ill-fated adventure didn't last long against those beasts, and each time one of our companions fell, your already aggressive style became even angrier. Borderline unhinged, even. Charging in like a bull, ready to hurt whatever was unfortunate enough to cross paths with your sword.

Whole thing was a fucking disaster. If I hadn't already called upon Ramuh for a high-level mark hunt two days before, I might've been ready to use him again. Which meant that if any Eikons were to help us that day, it would've had to be yours.

And it was.

You had taken a blow from one of the coeurls that left a nasty gash on your arm. Pissed you off something fierce. I could hear your screams even over the roars and snarls of the beasts. Straw that broke the chocobo's back and all that. I glanced over at you after dodging another attack. Saw your body give off a bright green glow. Saw your hazel eyes turn yellow. And mine went wide.

These were the telltale signs of a Dominant about to let their powerful friend take over.

The wind whipped up a furious storm, just as it did the day I found you. And in the middle of that storm, there she was. Garuda. She had four wings – I could've sworn she only had two. Had a couple feathery features extending from atop her head that looked like a demon's horns. And that smile – that wide, psychotic grin that gave me the bloody creeps. She looked excited to be there, to finally have another chance to unleash her lunacy upon an unsuspecting world. Built strangely like a woman – two arms, two legs, head attached to a feminine torso, and that smiling face – despite being dressed like a bird, all feathers and talons.

It haunted me to realize how much of you I could still see in her. Not that I ever would have told you that.

Garuda swooped down from the sky and launched a relentless, feral assault on the beasts. Picked one up in a deadly embrace, squeezed it in her fist, and slammed it repeatedly against the ground. Conjured a small tornado to lift the other off the ground and started slashing and gouging at it. Saw the first one was still alive and fired off magical orbs at it to finish the job. All in all, these coeurls lasted about as long against her as our comrades had against them. She looked around, noticing there was nothing moving to kill, nothing else to destroy – until she spotted me.

"Oh, fucking hell," I muttered as the Warden of Wind reared up to take a swing at me. Fun fact about Eikons: if you ever find yourself in a fight with one, you'd better pray you can become one yourself. Otherwise it'll be a very short fight. And I'll spare you the suspense – you're gonna lose.

Despite the wind blowing in my face, I managed to dodge Garuda's first swipe at me. Landed a bit awkwardly on my ankle, but overall none the worse for wear. Tried to make a run for the nearest patch of trees, and then she took a swing at them and knocked them all down. I could not evade her the next time she came after me. She scooped me up like a toy, squeezing me in her fist. The smile grew wider – how the fuck could it get any wider? – and the yellow eyes narrowed as she savored my pain.

And why wouldn't she? Garuda didn't know who I was. But maybe you still did.

"The fight's over, Benedikta!" I shouted with all the might my voice could muster, which is difficult when you're snug in the clutches of a harpy goddess the size of a castle tower. "Stop! Please just fucking stop!"

The Eikon responded with a terrible scream, right in my face.

"Benna, it's me! It's Cid! I'm not your enemy, remember? You must take control! Stop this madness!"

Garuda's eyes widened again, her face showing distinct confusion. Then she furrowed her brow again, snarled, and cast me aside like I was nothing. I hit the ground hard enough to hear something crack, and I tumbled through the grass to a complete stop. From my landing spot I looked back at the Eikon, and I could hear her mad shrieking as she grabbed at her head, violently shaking it back and forth, her fists taking swings at nothing. And her eyes turned from yellow to blue.

Then, suddenly, a cyclone engulfed her, and she was gone. And when it dissipated, there you were, falling on all fours in the turf and having a coughing fit. I gave a long sigh of relief at that sight. When you saw me, you called my name and came running, clutching your bloody arm.

"Cid, are you all right?" you asked through nervous panting when you arrived. "What happened?"

"Think I might've broken my left arm," I said through gritted teeth. "Good thing I'm right-handed, eh?"

I laughed, but you didn't find this very funny.

"I did this," you whispered. "I did this to you… didn't I?"

"Don't worry about it," I said as I sat up. "All the more important bits are still intact. I'll live."

"Damn it, Cid, that's not the fucking point!" You sat beside me and hid your face in your hands. "I could have killed you. You! The last person in this world that I should ever want to kill."

"Well, you didn't," I said. "I'll take that as a win." With that, I gave you a potion to pour on your injured arm and started fumbling around in search of my cigarette case.

"This is why I don't call her," you said, shaking. "She terrifies me, Cid. Feels like she only wants to bring out the worst in me."

"What do you mean? If it weren't for Garuda, we'd both be dead. Better off crazy than dead."

"It's just like the day she awakened in me," you went on. "Those monsters came after me again and again, always wanting to play with their Doll, and I bottled it up for years. I was afraid of what else they'd do. Afraid of what I might do. And then that day, I stopped caring, and I finally snapped. Her voice was in my head, and I listened to it."

You lowered your hands from your face and looked over at me with increasingly watering eyes.

"Garuda came to me that day for the same reason she did today," you said with a slight crack in your voice. "Because I wanted them all to die. No, not just that – I wanted to kill them all myself. And I got my wish." You sniffed, and a couple tears started streaming down. "This is why people hate us, isn't it? Why they want to oppress anyone who can use magic. Why the Ironblood call us Abominations. Even Valisthea itself hates us – why else would we turn to stone, if not as punishment for using this power we never even asked for in the first place? Maybe that's what I deserve. Maybe I really am a monster..."

I gave up my futile search for my cigarette case for a moment and put my healthy arm around your shoulder.

"These powers are still new to you, Benna," I said. "You don't know how to control them yet. But you can learn. That's why we're called Dominants, after all – we're in charge of them, not the other way around. And once you do learn, Garuda can be whatever you want her to be."

I gave you a reassuring pat on the back and resumed my fumbling for a cigarette.

"What are you doing?" you asked.

"Times like these, I find that a nice smoke helps settle my nerves," I said. "You're welcome to try if you want, though your results may vary."

"Here," you said, noticing me struggling. "Let me get that for you."

You reached across my waist and slipped your hand into my left front pocket, ignoring the sudden increased tension of my body at your touch as you gently pulled the cigarette case out and opened it. I took one out, placed it in my mouth, and lit it with a bit of magic.

Then I pulled one out for you. You hesitated for a few seconds, and then you took it and held it in your mouth. But you just sat there with the cigarette between your lips and didn't light it. After what you had just done, the last thing you wanted was anything to do with magic.

"Let me help you with that," I said. "Hold it steady."

I leaned over with the lit cigarette in my mouth, and you leaned to meet me. I touched the tip of it to the tip of yours and held it there until yours went alight. Then you took your first puff and started coughing again.

"How do you do this all the time?" you asked when the coughing subsided.

"You get used to it."

And that's how you got started smoking. Let it not be said that I've always been a positive influence on you.

---

Tarja gave your wounded arm a proper stitching once we returned to the hideaway after that run-in with the couerls, and she gave you her usual orders: take some time to rest and let it heal properly. And for once, you actually followed those orders. It pleased her to know that you were finally listening to her, but she and I both knew this was also proof that something was wrong. She was noticeably less than pleased about the new habit you'd picked up from me though.

"It's bad enough that you already smoke like a chimney," Tarja told me. "Now that you've got her doing it, we'll be putting out smoke signals that Barnabas can spot from his throne room."

You didn't go out for another job for nearly two weeks. Spent most of that time letting your injury heal, which was reasonable. But even after Tarja gave you the go-ahead to return to action, you were still reluctant about it. Said you needed a little time to retrain your arm, get it used to the weight of a sword in your hand again, but we all knew that was nonsense; I was the one who would need to do something like that, having suffered a fracture in my forearm when Garuda tossed me. Had to wear a sling for a few weeks while the bone healed. There was some speculation around the hideaway regarding your sudden leave of absence from the Cursebreakers, but as the only other one who knew what happened, I told anyone who asked me about it that you still had wounds they couldn't see.

I don't think even I knew at the time how right I was.

I was working late in the office one night reviewing some information from Gav about a potential Bearer uprising somewhere near Northreach. Probably that village you'd pass on your way to or from the imperial capital. Moore, it was called. Been there a couple times to do some favors for Isabelle, better known as the Dame, who ran a brothel called the Veil in Northreach and doubled as an unimpeachable pillar of the community. Beautiful woman, inside and out. We met when she was still a courtesan there. Bonded over lost loves, and she offered me comfort in her arms for a while, just as the Veil had offered her in her own time of need. Our paths were too different for it to go beyond that, but we wanted to stay friends. She became one of the hideaway's most generous donors, and I have offered the gang's assistance – especially mine – with anything she needs.

About the only good thing I can say about Moore is that the view of the sea is as beautiful as the populace is ugly. Miserable bigoted bastards, the whole fucking lot of them. No surprise that some pissed off Bearers might want to revolt there. According to Gav's report they needed some funding. I was impressed they'd managed to last this long without being silenced or turned to stone by the Crystal's Curse, the way so many prior rebellions had ended throughout history. I'd have to meet with Otto in the morning, see how we could fit this into the ledger.

I was on my way out of the office to find myself a drink when I spotted you in the lobby. You had snuck out of your bed and down the stairs to a couch by the window, gazing at the moon in solitude and silence.

"Hope you've got room for one more," I said with a grin as I approached the couch.

"You're still awake too, Cidolfus?"

"Afraid so. Not sure why. It was nothing that couldn't wait until tomorrow."

I joined you on the couch, noticing that you had turned your attention back to the moon and a certain bright red celestial neighbor to which, per folk tradition, people would offer their wishes in hopes of having them granted.

"What brings you down here?" I asked. "Saying a prayer to Metia?"

You gave a derisive snort at that. "I can't believe anyone still buys that nonsense," you muttered. "It's like asking a mule to recite lines from The Saint and the Sectary. It'll do you just as much good."

"I've never been all that spiritually inclined myself," I said. "Some people here are, and I won't begrudge them something that helps them make sense of things or brings them peace in difficult times. As far as I'm concerned, though, there aren't any answers waiting up there that can't be found down here."

"I guess people don't want to hear that no one is looking out for us."

"No," I said, hoping I could find some way to ease the sadness in your voice. "I guess not."

"I used to say prayers when I was younger," you said, turning to look me in the eyes. "Usually it was for something the birth givers were going to provide anyway." You paused for a deep breath before this next bit. "After they sold me off, I prayed to Metia every fucking night, wishing for someone to come save me. Months went by, and no one came… so I gave up. Haven't said a single prayer since."

"Well, if you want to get technical about it," I pointed out, "someone did come for you eventually."

"Eight years after the fact. Thanks for the timely response, Metia."

I chuckled a bit at your dry sarcasm, but you didn't seem to be in much of a mood for joking, so that stopped quickly.

"You know, Benna," I said, "this is probably the most we've spoken since that day in Kritten Hollow. A shame, really. I enjoy our little chats. And I like having your company on jobs and hunts. Why keep your distance?"

"The same reason your arm is in that damned sling," you said. "Because I hurt you."

"Garuda hurt me. Not you."

"What's the difference?"

"She's merely a part of you," I answered. "She doesn't tell the whole story of who you are. If tomorrow someone snapped their fingers and made her go away, you'd still be yourself. And still welcome here, whether you think so or not."

"You're not kicking me out?"

I shook my head. "You'd have to fuck up a lot worse for me to do that."

The little charm around my neck caught a beam of moonlight, temporarily diverting my attention from my lovely companion on the couch.

"I would prefer that you stay," I continued, meeting your eyes again. "That decision, as always, is entirely up to you. But just in case we should ever be separated, for any reason…"

I reached for the Wings of Promise necklace with my one good arm. Removed it from around my neck. Then I balled up the chain as best as I could with one hand and held it out to you.

"I want you to have this."

"The Wings of Promise?" you asked, eyes widening with shock. "Cid… are you sure you want me to have it? I don't think I've seen you take it off the whole time I've known you. I can't accept this."

"Sure you can."

I spread the chain open as much as one hand would allow and reached toward you with it. Then I gently fit your head through the opening and lowered it to your shoulders, letting my hand linger there once I was done. You shut your eyes while I did this, as if savoring my touch.

"It looks better on you anyway," I said, admiring the charm resting comfortably a few inches beneath your neckline. "And I thought it looked pretty fucking great on me."

You laughed softly at that, looking down at the necklace and taking the charm in your hand to study its design.

"No matter what you choose, or where you go from here," I continued, "I want you to have it. And whenever you feel alone in the world, I want you to look at this necklace and remember that there is someone out there who's looking out for you."

You looked as though you were restraining yourself from doing whatever you wanted to do next, trembling a little and clenching your teeth, still holding the Wings of Promise charm in your hand.

"You've always been so kind to me, Cid," you murmured. "And I still don't understand why."

I carefully moved my hand across your shoulder to your neck, and you shut your eyes and tilted your head a bit to that side as if wanting to rest it in my palm.

"Because it's about time someone was," I said.

Your eyes opened again as you breathed through your slightly open mouth, and they stared straight into mine as you let the charm fall back to your breast. And then your emotions finally overcame you.

In one swift motion, you threw your arms around me and closed what little gap remained between us with a passionate kiss.

I was startled at first, I admit. But that feeling was quick to fade, and I held you at the nape of your neck, your soft blonde hair draped over the back of my hand, and I returned your affection eagerly. Every kiss was soon followed by another, each one filled with tenderness and desire. You ran your fingers through my hair, mussing it and gripping it, and you grazed the stubble on my cheeks with your fingertips. Our tongues soon intertwined, and not long after that I was on my back on that couch with you on top of me, staying clothed but maintaining that intense contact. I could feel pangs of pain in my broken left arm, but I soldiered on. I could worry about my arm later. All my attention was focused on the beautiful woman holding me in hers.

This was something I had wanted for quite some time, but I had never acted upon it. Didn't think it would be right. Not after what the Ironblood had done to you. Didn't want you thinking I was taking my turn playing with the Doll. If anything was ever to happen between us, it had to happen like this.

I wonder how long you had wanted it too.

We fell asleep in each other's arms on that couch that night, your head resting on my shoulder, my good arm around your waist with my hand on the small of your back. In the morning Otto was the first to find us and he gave me a little shake, though he was careful not to disturb you.

"Awfully fond of this one, aren't you Cid?" he asked.

"What tipped you off?"

"The lipstick stains were a dead giveaway," Otto said with a smirk. "Just, uh… watch your step with her, all right? She is Garuda, after all."

---

It took a few more weeks for my arm to properly heal, and I spent that time fighting off the urge to lose my mind, having made multiple trips back and forth between Stonhyrr and the hideaway. The king and his assistant were confused by the sudden appearance of a sling around my left arm, but I couldn't give them all the details. I simply told them I had taken a great fall, which was technically the truth, or at least close enough to it to get Barnabas off my case about it.

In the meantime, I had been sending some gil and spare supplies to a few different attempted Bearer uprisings throughout the realm, though none of them lasted long enough to make much of a difference. The one I held out the greatest hope for was the one at the imperial village of Moore, which had held out the longest and – from the sound of things – had the best-trained combatants. But then one day, not long after my arm was finally free of the damned sling, we received word from Northreach that things had taken a turn for the worse. It wasn't quite so dire that it was no longer worth sending them aid, but it seemed that they needed some more supplies and possibly some extra manpower to get them through the next wave.

So, figuring I could use a little action after weeks of nursing my arm, I decided to pay the rebels a visit myself. Also figured I might as well check in with the Dame to see if she needed any favors. You immediately volunteered to join me on this trip but were less enthused about the idea of bringing a couple Cursebreakers. I agreed to let you tag along as long as you agreed not to stir up too much trouble; the way you explained it I figured we might be better off in fewer numbers so we wouldn't be mistaken for potential attackers by either side. We came up with the alibi of being middlemen, delivery workers from a shop in Lostwing meeting a customer from Oriflamme halfway between. Didn't want to risk outing myself as the mysterious benefactor.

There were no incidents like that night on the couch in the hideaway lobby, though I did catch you rolling your eyes when the Dame addressed me with her usual sultry purr and flirtatious demeanor.

After taking some time to rest, we set off for Moore, passing through the scenic Royal Meadows. Were we not here for business, it seemed like the sort of place one might stroll through for leisure, as long as one stuck to the roads and beaches. Once you left Northreach you could turn left and venture out through a rocky path to a watchtower and a landmark called the Hand of Mimas. Or you could turn right and head toward Moore and the Penitent's Gate, with a chapel tucked away in a small nook. Once you were through the gate you'd be on your way to the capital. And all of it came with a breathtaking view of the sea – and of Oriflamme itself with its giant white Mothercrystal.

"Strange that you've been dreading coming out here," you said as we followed the path from Northreach to Moore. "It seems rather nice so far."

"We haven't been in town yet," I pointed out.

"Fair enough, I suppose."

"I cannot stress this enough, Benna," I said, keeping my voice low. "Do not, under any circumstances, let these people know about your power."

"I know, I know," you said. "We're just here to make a deliv— wait, what are they doing up there?"

As we approached the end of the road, I followed your pointed finger to a group of people just outside of Moore. They were hauling something out of town and down a hill to an open field. Once they reached wherever they were going, they tossed whatever they were carrying and started walking back. We looked toward the town and saw other pairs of people doing the same thing.

At first I had thought they were only carrying sacks. But as we got closer to town, I realized that the sacks they carried had what appeared to be limbs sticking out of both ends. The realization shook me to my very core, sending a chill down my spine as my guts felt like they were tying themselves in knots.

"Dear gods," I muttered, "I think we're too late."

Bodies. The villagers were carrying human bodies. And once we could get a better view of what was down that hill nearby, we were treated to the sight of another body being unceremoniously chucked into a mass grave.

"What the hell happened here?" you whispered.

We stepped into town and took a look around, pretending we were searching for our imaginary contact. But there was no ignoring what the villagers had done in the Moore town square. There were several cold stone corpses of several Bearers who had fallen victim to the Crystals' Curse, their faces contorted in the agony of the curse's final phase. The dead Bearers were arranged like decorative statues, and as I looked closely I could see stains from bird droppings and human urine, left uncleaned as posthumous insults. They were placed in a circle around hastily assembled gallows from which three corpses were hanging, presumably the leaders of the rebellion we had come to aid. Their heads were covered in dark shrouds and the words BEARER LOVER had been carved into each of their chests, with dried blood from those wounds leaving lengthy red streaks down their bodies and staining the wooden platform below.

"I see you've noticed the square, stranger," a villager said, approaching me with a friend of his. "Fuckin' bastards tried to turn our Bearers against us. Damn near succeeded too. But we gave them what was coming to them in the end, we did!"

"Is that so?" I asked.

"Sure it is," the second man answered. "Shame you had to see Moore like this. We've been cleanin' up their mess for the past couple days now." He paused and spat in the general direction of the gallows. "So what brings you to this neck of the woods, eh?"

"We were supposed to meet a business partner here," I said. "Fellow by the name of… Barney Halstone. A bit shorter than me, usually wears a loose black shirt with tight gray trousers."

"Name doesn't ring a bell, and no one here looks like that."

Well, of course not. Barney Halstone hailed from Stonhyrr and was half of King Barnabas, half of his assistant Sleipnir Halberd, and entirely my own creation.

"See?" you chimed in, your acting skills expertly masking your contempt for this place. "I thought I told you. Mr. Halstone wanted to meet us west of Northreach, not east."

"All right, you win this round," I said. "We should probably get going."

The villagers laughed at that. "Oh boy," said the first, "of all the times to end up here when you get lost!"

"At least he got lost here today and not two days ago," said the second. "Oi buddy, you wouldn't want to stick around and help us clean up a bit, would you?"

"And deny you the fun of doing it yourself?" I replied. "I would never."

The villagers laughed again and set off to a nearby tavern in search of a drink to celebrate their crimes against humanity, trading quips about my navigation skills and how your ass looked like a ripened peach they wanted to eat. I never saw them again after that. I like to think the bastards both choked on their first drop of ale that day. Would've served them right.

"I have to get out of this place," you whispered once they were gone, "before I do something I won't regret."

I nodded and led you back to the path leading to Northreach. Pretty soon the town was out of sight again and our muscles ached from all the walking we'd been doing that day, yet you kept stomping ahead as if you weren't exhausted at all. It was amazing sometimes the way emotion could so potently fuel the human body.

"Oi Benedikta," I said, "why don't take a break? We've been on our bloody feet for hours."

"We can take a break once we're as far away from that nightmare of a village as possible."

"Come on," I said. "We're out of sight and out of earshot. Let's just rest over there for a bit, shall we?"

You thought it over for a moment and nodded your head but said nothing more, and you simply followed me to the beach. Then you dropped to the sand, watching the waves crashing nearby and sometimes redirecting your gaze to the view of Oriflamme, where Drake's Head towered over the imperial capital in all its glimmering ivory glory.

"It's nice here, isn't it?" I said as I sat beside you in the sand, hoping the sounds of the sea might soothe you as they so often had done for me. "And very peaceful."

"It is," you answered. "Makes me hate it even more, really. It's so deceptive. Such a beautiful place, hiding the ugliness of its true colors."

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

"You don't need to be so protective of me, Cid," you said. "I survived eight years of Ironblood abuse. I've witnessed more than my fair share of human evil. I'm not so naïve as to think these people are anything more than the same breed of barbarians in fancier clothing, with more refined manners. Not that it makes this any easier to witness." You sighed and squeezed a handful of sand, letting the grains trickle between your clenched fingers. "If not for our Eikons, that could've been us hanging from those nooses."

I rubbed around my neck then as a memory I considered best left forgotten returned to me. One that I chose not to share there on that beach. Didn't want to make this about me. Not after what we'd just seen in Moore.

"I know," I replied.

"Places like this shouldn't exist," you went on. "People like this shouldn't exist. All those Bearers wanted was a better life. Why the hell is that too much to ask?"

"They're afraid of magic, Benna," I said. "This sort of hatred is always rooted in a fear of some inexplicable other. They see we are different, but they don't understand why, so they decide we must be abnormal. Then they conclude that this abnormality must be punished. And then they pass that belief on to their children."

"Or maybe some people are just awful by nature."

"Some of them are, sure," I said. "But I think bigotry is something people are taught, not something they're born with. If things are ever going to get better, we need to change that curriculum."

"Or we could just wipe out places like that," you snarled through gritted teeth, nodding your head toward Moore and then glancing over at me. "We could do that, you know. You and me. Right now. We have the power. What chance would they stand against two Dominants? It would probably only take a few seconds."

"And then once word reaches Sylvestre Lesage over there," I countered, pointing toward Oriflamme, "the emperor will want to know why the Lord Commander of Waloed just obliterated a village on his soil, within walking distance of his capital. Five hundred gil says he'd take it as an act of war." I reached into my pocket for a cigarette. "If there's one thing I've learned from all this outlaw business, it's that you have to know how to pick your battles. And that is not a fight we want right now."

You sighed as you rose to your feet again. "Sometimes I hate it when you're right," you said.

"So do I," I said, standing up again myself. "But there is one other thing I've learned over the years: every little bit helps. It may not seem like we've accomplished much, but tiny changes to the world are still better than nothing."

"If you say so."

"Shall we go, then?"

"Not yet," you said softly, brushing the sand from your ass and the back of your legs. "I've never been to a beach before. Who knows when I'll get another chance? Might as well try to enjoy it while I can."

As I lit a cigarette and took my first few puffs, you walked over to the wet sand and bent over to wash your hands in the oncoming tide. You complained briefly of the cold water and stood up straight again, shaking your hands dry and quietly basking in the gentle sea breeze as its light salty scent tickled your nose. Gazing out at the horizon toward some possibly imaginary other realm where the cruelty that plagued Valisthea didn't exist. I walked over and placed my arm around your back. You jolted a bit at the touch, but soon settled once you looked up and realized it was only me. Then you laid your head to rest on my shoulder, and I tightened my hold on you.

The waves rushed around our feet, soaking our boots. They were likely to be cold and waterlogged for at least the return trip to Northreach. But there were far worse things that could happen to two magic users in Moore.

---

We made our morose return to the hideaway by nightfall the next day. You had taken the rebellion's failure rather hard, speaking tersely and infrequently during our trip back. Once we were safely indoors you hurried upstairs to leave your gear in your room without a word to anyone else.

"Well, Benedikta seems to be in a great mood," Otto said. "What happened? Trouble in paradise, or is this just nature calling?"

"Nothing like that, no."

"I take it things went all belly-up in Moore?"

"The rebels had already been defeated by the time we got there," I said. "It wasn't a pretty sight. Think I'd rather spare you the details."

"In that case, I appreciate your concern for my good night's sleep," he said with a yawn. "Got some more good news for you, as if there's ever any other kind: we found a shipment of Bearers passing through the Mother's Mines. We fought like hell, but we could only save two of them."

"How many were supposed to be there?"

"At least a dozen. Fuckin' slavers started killing the poor sods they were trying to sell once they realized they were outmatched and would never make their money." He paused to take a long swig from a mug of ale that he'd brought with him from the bar. "What the hell is wrong with this world, Cid? Half the people are evil and proud of it, and the other half are wolves in sheep's clothing. Can't fuckin' decide which is worse."

"Which one do you suppose we are?" I asked.

"As far as I can tell? We might as well be aliens."

It was then that you came back down from your room and, still in silence, walked over to the bar and pulled up a chair next to Tarja, who was taking advantage of a rare opportunity to relax.

"Give me the strongest ale you've got," you said, "and fill your tallest mug to the brim with it."

The strongest ale we had at the time was not actually very strong at all and all our mugs measured roughly the same pint, not that you cared much at that moment.

"Are you all right?" Tarja asked. "It sounds as though things didn't go well in Sanbreque."

"Have you ever been to Moore, Tarja?"

"Can't say I've had the pleasure," she answered between sips from her own mug, "but I've heard nothing good about it."

"You won't hear anything good about it from me either," you said. "If you saw what I saw there yesterday, you'd want to drink yourself stupid too."

Your drink was delivered then, and you immediately raised it to your lips and started guzzling it down in loud gulps as the foam trickled down your cheeks. The physicker was startled from watching your chugging – you didn't typically drink like that – and her eyes grew wide with concern. She spotted me over by the front desk and, once she made sure you weren't looking, nervously waved me over. Otto gave me a nod as if to say we could continue our chat later and I walked toward the bar. Tarja finished the rest of her drink, said good night and told you to be careful, and came over to me.

"Don't let her get drunk tonight, Cid," she whispered. "Please… take care of her. Drowning your sorrows never works."

"It's worked for me," I whispered.

"Speaking as your friend and your physicker: no, it really doesn't."

She left before I had a chance to retort, but I knew she was right. She usually was. Figured this time I should probably listen to her advice for a change. I walked to the bar and took a seat next to you.

"Might want to ease up on the alcohol, Benedikta," I said.

"I can't," you said. "Not after that. Bartender? Another, please."

"One for me as well," I said, putting some gil on the bar. "But I think after this we should all retire for the evening. It's been a long couple of days."

"How are you not fazed by what we saw?" you asked.

"It still bothers me," I admitted. "But I'm afraid I've gotten used to such horrors over the years. I've seen far worse than that, frankly. Welcome to Valisthea."

You gave an angry snort and downed another few mouthfuls of ale once your refill arrived.

"Of all the realms I could possibly have called home," you muttered, "why the hell did I have to be cursed to live in this one?"

"Because none of us have any say in the matter."

"What are we even doing, Cid?" you asked. "Why do we keep going to all this effort, all this trouble, to fix a world run by madmen and populated with monsters? A world that constantly breaks its own people? A world that is itself so utterly broken beyond repair?"

"Because it's not," I answered. "As long as there's still even a scrap of beauty or goodness left in Valisthea, that scrap is worth saving. It's proof that even a world this fucked up might still be mended."

You didn't seem satisfied with that answer. Just took a few more gulps of that ale.

I drank from my own mug as I pondered how to further answer your question. The ale was light in alcohol but tasted somewhat bitter, with a small hint of citrus somewhere in the background. We usually had better stuff for sale; I didn't regret my choice to let this drinking session be one-and-done. I glanced around the lobby and spotted the entrance to Harpocrates's library, where the scholar was no doubt curled up on his cot and dreaming of adding even more books to his collection.

And a memory came to me that seemed right to share with you.

"Let me tell you a little story, Benna," I said. "The other day I was visiting old Tomes in the shelves, and I accidentally knocked over a ceramic mug he kept on his reading table. Said it was a gift from the Crown Prince of Sanbreque himself. He used to be the prince's favorite teacher before he wound up here. He's kept that mug for years, and in just a few seconds it was in pieces on the floor. I felt terrible about breaking it, this thing that clearly held sentimental value, but he wasn't bothered. He said there's no damage that's ever truly irreparable. Then he told me about something called kintsugi. Have you heard of it?"

You said nothing, simply shaking your head.

"Not very common in this realm, or so Harpocrates tells me," I said. "It's apparently popular in the southern continent. The idea is that the artist deliberately breaks something, like a mug or a flowerpot, and then painstakingly puts the thing back together, using lacquer mixed with gold or silver as the mortar filling the cracks. Once everything dries, you're left with a reconstruction that's no less beautiful than what the object was before. And sometimes even more so."

You took a few sips of your ale and leaned back in your chair with a sigh.

"Why would anyone ever want to do that?" you asked. "All you're doing is drawing people's attention to where and how something has been broken. You're not undoing the damage; you're just making it impossible to ignore."

As you spoke, I noticed you folding your arms across your breasts and tightly crossing your legs.

"The damage of the past cannot be changed," I answered, "and ignoring it won't make it go away. But it's not just about the damage that's been done. It's about recovery and newfound strength. That's what makes it worth the effort, Benna. That's what makes it beautiful."

"Good old Harpocrates," you murmured. "Who needs books when you can simply ask that man a few questions?"

Having finished my thoughts, I had moved on to finishing my mug of ale and letting you mull everything over for a bit. You seemed to feel a little better, your body language appearing less tense than it had just been and your lips briefly forming a small smile.

"There's one other thing I wanted to talk about, Cid," you said. "Maybe this isn't the best time, but… it's something that I think might best be discussed in private."

I tilted my head and stroked my chin as I contemplated what this could possibly be. Something about your Cursebreaker work? Maybe you wanted to switch to scouting? Or maybe there was some personal mission you needed help with and didn't know who else to ask.

You couldn't have been thinking about leaving the hideaway, could you?

"All right," I said. "We can talk about it in my quarters."

I led you to my room and started heading over to my desk when I noticed your footsteps had stopped. I turned around and saw you standing by the window, gently brushing the curtain aside and gazing up at the moon. Good night for it. Not a single cloud in the sky. Every star, every planet, every heavenly body a man might want to observe was scattered across the vast dark expanse. Outside I could hear a breeze blowing. One downside of this room was that it could get a little drafty. Nights like that, I figured I might have to put an extra blanket on the bed.

"So what did you want to talk about?" I asked, joining you at the window.

You took a deep breath to settle yourself and leaned against the chilly glass.

"It's about the other night," you murmured. "Out there, on the couch."

"Oh. Time to, uh… address that elephant in the room, eh?"

"Yes, I think so."

You removed yourself from the window, stood up straight. Folded your arms across your chest again. Breathing tense and shallow now. Eyes darted around the room, from the floor to the desk to the bed to the window again. Everywhere except at the man in front of you.

"Look," you finally said, "what happened that night… it's not something I normally do. I think I just have lingering issues with being touched. You know why." You shut your eyes, still trying to settle your nerves and racing heartbeat. "I'm not used to people treating me the way you do. I think I've settled in well enough here, started fitting in with the rest of your crew. Tarja's been teaching me some basic first aid skills. Gav keeps pestering me about joining the scouts. Even Charon seems to be warming up to me, in her own strange and surly way." You paused again, and this time you finally looked my way. "But it's different with you. It feels different. And that night I got all swept up in that feeling, and…"

You went silent for a moment, seeming to have run out of words, shutting your eyes again and gently shaking your head as if searching for the right way to finish your thoughts.

"I understand," I said. "I suppose I was swept up in it too. So if you want that to be a one-time thing to move on from and not talk about… it's all right."

"It's not all right!" you said, pounding a fist against the window and looking down at the floor. "That's not what I want at all!"

"What do you want, then?"

You lowered your arm back to your side and looked up at me again. Bit your lip hard enough that I thought you might draw a little blood.

"I want to keep getting swept up like that," you said.

By the gods, how I was hoping that was what you would say. Yet I hesitated to respond, processing the words in my brain, convincing myself that yes, you really did just say what I thought you did. Besides, it seemed as though there was more to come.

"After that night on the couch, I thought things would change between us," you continued. "Yet here we are, all this time later, carrying on with business as usual like it never happened. I've started to worry that you thought we'd made a mistake." You folded your arms again. "But is that how you feel?"

"No, Benna," I said. "I don't consider it a mistake at all."

You smiled for a moment, excited by this admission, but then the confusion took over again.

"Then why haven't you done anything?"

I released a nervous sigh and reached out to you, putting my hands on your shoulders.

"I will not take anything from you that you're not ready and willing to give," I said.

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"Very well, then. Why don't we start with this?"

You slowly stepped toward me, eyes locked on mine as if nothing else in the world existed, and gently wrapped your arms around me, resting your head on my chest. I responded with one arm around your waist and my other hand gently stroking your hair, letting it flow between my fingers.

"All right," you whispered. "And what about this?"

You placed a hand at the nape of my neck, then pulled yourself over to give me a kiss on the cheek. Once again, I gave you the same. Then our lips met as they had that night on the couch, and I returned your tenderness and excitement with my own – and noticed the sound of something coming undone.

"Just one more thing," you whispered against my mouth, and I could hear your boots thumping against the floor as you kicked them off.

You broke our embrace and took a few steps backwards, and I noticed you gripping that tight green top of yours. Then you pulled it up over your head, removed your arms from the sleeves, and let it fall to the floor. And before I had a chance to react, you unfastened your pants and tugged them down, undergarments included, and tossed them aside with your foot. The only thing you didn't remove was the Wings of Promise necklace.

You stood stark naked before me, shivering a bit from the draft with the moonlight shining through the window and sneaking through the curtain, lending your bare skin a gentle glow and your hair some extra luster. I looked you over top to bottom, quietly admiring your natural beauty and the courage it took to share it with me. I could see some of the nicks and scrapes you'd acquired recently, and when I looked closer I could see faded scarring from wounds inflicted before we'd met.

The damage was visible, but so was the recovery. Healing and strengthening. Creating something no less beautiful than what had been there before. Maybe even more so.

I tried to speak, to tell you this may have been the most stunning sight ever to grace my eyes. But before I could, you walked over and placed a finger on my mouth to shush me. Then you took my hand and placed it on your chest, directly over your pounding heart.

"This is what I'm willing to give, Cidolfus," you said. "Will you have it?"

I maintained my gaze into your eyes for a bit. Then, with my free hand, I reached for your free hand and guided it under the unbuttoned top half of my shirt, placing it over my own heart, letting you feel my skin as you'd let me feel yours.

"I will, Benedikta."

Your smile then was perhaps the biggest and brightest I've ever seen you make. I think back on it now and I curse this cruel world for denying you reasons or opportunities to show it for so long.

We kissed again, this time with more hunger and desire than even that night on the couch. You broke it off to lift yourself off the ground and wrap your legs around my waist, and you laughed in my ear as my hands cupped your ass for support. Then we picked up where we left off as I carried you to the bed. My outfit joined yours on the floor soon after.

I can still remember the sounds you made as I took your nipple into my mouth and my fingers found just the right spot to massage. The way you held your hand against the back of my head as my hands gripped your smooth, toned thighs and I tasted you between them. Your light green fingernails digging into my back with every thrust as deep inside of you as I could go. Your warm breath in my ear as you whispered how good it all made you feel. And then we flipped over and I laid on the mattress, letting you take control, gripping your hips and feeling the seamless flow of your muscles.

"I love you, Benna," I whispered during a brief pause in the action.

You gasped at that and looked down at me, your eyes wide and starting to water.

"Say that again," you whispered back. "Please… say that again."

"I love you. And I will repeat that as often as you wish."

"I love you too," you said. You leaned down for another kiss, and I could taste the salt of your joyful tears as they trickled down into our mouths.

The next morning I awakened to the sight of you sitting naked on the edge of the bed, stretching your arms overhead in the soft morning sunlight and bending forward to stretch your back. You heard my rustling as my muscles started functioning again and looked back with another smile, an image I wish there was a way I could've preserved. And then you came crawling over and we did it again, just in case the night before had been naught but a beautiful dream.

Your wind. My thunder. We made one hell of a storm, didn't we?

---

As the next few weeks went by, you and I became more and more affectionate with each other, though we tried to keep this private. Didn't think everyone else needed to be an audience for all our snogging and whatnot. We enjoyed each other's company in bed much more often after that first night, usually in my room because the one time I came to your room I had to improvise an alibi the next morning and realized it was far easier to explain why you might be visiting my room at such early hours, instead of the other way around. There was something oddly thrilling about the secrecy of it all. We were like two teenagers who kept sneaking out of their parents' homes for a midnight rendezvous.

Otto seemed to be the only one who understood how our relationship had progressed, presumably because he was the one who found us on the couch that one morning. However, we soon discovered that this was not the case.

"What d'you think you're accomplishing by playing all coy about it?" Charon asked one day. "We know the two of you are sweet on each other. So much so I can practically feel my teeth rottin' from bein' around you."

"You really thought no one would notice how Benedikta's possessions keep migrating from her room to yours?" asked Otto.

Within a couple days of that conversation, you and I decided we would share my room on the ground floor. Enough of your things were already there anyway.

"So that's why I keep seeing you coming out of Cid's office right after sunrise," Gav teased, flashing a cheeky grin.

"Just try to keep it down a bit, would you?" Tarja asked. "I don't think you realize how distracting it is when I'm burning the midnight oil, searching for a remedy for one ailment or another, and then suddenly hearing Benedikta's cries of passion from downstairs."

"Is it really that loud?" you wondered.

"Oi," said Gav, "any chance you might be looking to give Mid a little brother or sister?"

You would tell me later that you had no interest in bearing children of your own. Caring for an adopted child or a stepchild was fine. But you didn't see the point in birthing a child into a slowly dying world that constantly seemed on the brink of war and chaos. Sounded reasonable enough to me; Midadol was already enough of a handful. But you wanted to let Gav down easy. He always had a soft spot for children, having spent his youth yearning for the chance to be a big brother. I often found myself hoping he'd have the chance to raise his own kids one day. Seemed like he'd be the most doting father a child could ever want.

"For now," you said instead, "I'm mostly worried whether Midadol might see me as a wicked stepmother."

"Well, in case you change your mind," Tarja added, "please make sure you keep me in the loop. I've never delivered a child before. Might have to study up on it."

"Take it easy, you lot," I said. "We've only recently begun these… dalliances."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" said Gav.

After the secret was officially out, we started being more open with our mutual affection. Nothing that would make anyone uncomfortable – a peck on my cheek from you, a smack on your ass from me, holding hands, giving hugs, that sort of thing. You liked to sit on my lap when all the seats at the bar were taken and wouldn't get up if any became available because, as you'd put it with a little smirk: "I'm not giving up the best seat in the house."

You also started inviting me to share your bath, and then we would find ourselves too busy with each other to get much washing done. You liked to signal that you were ready to take things elsewhere by climbing out of the bath and sauntering around the room in the buff, pretending you couldn't find a towel and knowing full well I was watching your every move. By the end of the night the two of us would be sweating enough – and smelling enough like each other – that we might've needed another bath.

We had to appreciate those moments where we could get them. Life outside the hideaway kept making us busier and busier. Bearers to liberate, traders to punish, potential international affairs to navigate. Monster hunts in between to keep the hideaway's coffers flush with the reward money. Running errands to collect supplies or settle scores on behalf of our friends. And all the while the threat of Barnabas loomed, much like a dark cloud promising heavy rainfall, as I wondered when he might wish to call upon his Lord Commander for the latest reports. Gav and his scouts kept me well-informed enough that I could still sound reasonably intelligent in my meetings with the king.

Then one day it all became too much for my body to handle and I collapsed on the floor in exhaustion. Otto was the first to witness it and immediately rushed me to Tarja's infirmary, and it didn't take long for her to figure out why I wound up there.

"You push yourself too hard, Cid," she said, brushing strands of red hair from her eyes. "I know you don't want to hear it, but I really do think you need a day off to get some rest. At least one." She spotted a cigarette in my hand and swatted it away before it could reach my mouth. "And don't even think about smoking. Believe it or not, all this self-inflicted lung damage you're doing isn't helping."

"Come on, Tarja," I retorted, "I've been carrying on like this for a couple years now, and this is the first time anything like this has happened."

"Well, now that it's happened, I think we need to worry about it happening again, don't we?"

"Not if I can cut out a bit of my recent excessive physical activity, such as—"

"If this is leading to a joke about shagging Benedikta twice a week instead of three or four nights," the physicker interrupted, raising her hand to shush me, "can it wait until I've left the room?"

"Why would you think that's the activity I'd want to cut back on?"

She groaned at that and rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest in frustration as she so often did with the more stubborn patients populating the hideaway.

"You can't keep this double life up forever, Cid," said Otto. "It ain't good for you. Or anyone else, really. Waloed needs a Lord Commander. The hideaway needs a leader. I think we both know they can't be the same person. I do what I can to fill your shoes when you're away, but I ain't you."

"Otto, you know the hideaway's ledgers better than anyone," I said. "Have we got enough gil coming in that we can afford my resignation?"

Before Otto had a chance to answer, Gav came bounding into the infirmary. He had a habit of doing this from time to time; somehow, he just kept barging in right in the middle of an important conversation. Tarja had made him promise some time ago to hold off unless whatever he had to say was of utmost importance. The problem with that was that Gav usually treated most of the information he gathered with the utmost importance. In his defense, though… it usually was rather important.

"Oi, Cid," Gav said, approaching the infirmary bed, "you might want to get your ass back to Stonhyrr real soon. Word on the street is the Mad King might soon start wondering what became of his Lord Commander." He paused to catch his breath, exhausted as he was from all the running and sneaking around that he was always getting up to. "It's bizarre, the leeway that man gives you with that position, knowing full well you're always fucking off to do your own thing. Then again, I guess he is too, ain't he?"

"He doesn't give a damn about Waloed," I replied. "Everything he ever says or does is about Mythos this, consciousness that. No one even knows what the fuck he's talking about half the time. Or at least I damn well don't." I started reaching for my cigarette case, only for Tarja to smack my hand away from it. "The only reason I haven't been sacked is because Barnabas wants to babysit Ramuh. And if it didn't pay well enough to keep this roof over our heads, I would've quit eons ago." I tapped him on the chest with the back of my hand. "Thanks for the heads-up, Gav. I'll leave for Stonhyrr tomorrow, see what Barney wants."

"Suppose one day of rest beats nothing," Tarja muttered.

"Aye," the scout said. "Oh, and I've got one more thing for you, Cid. It's about that… other project you asked me to work on a long time ago."

"What other project?"

He leaned in close and lowered his voice. "I think I've finally found Benedikta's parents, Cid."

"Is that so?" I said. "Well done, Gav. Almost forgot about that little odd job. Glad you didn't."

"Think maybe we should wait to tell her until you come back from Stonhyrr?" Gav asked.

"Why would that be a good idea?" you asked suddenly.

We all turned and saw you standing in the infirmary doorway, having come to check on me after learning about my little health scare and overhearing what Gav was up to.

"Well, if my information is accurate," Gav said, "you ain't gonna like where they are."

---

Only three people know this anecdote. Otto heard the story not long after it happened. The Dame learned of it several months later when we first met in her bed at the Veil, where she gave me the comfort and companionship I still desperately needed at the time. You were the third.

Many years ago, long before you and I met, there was another woman who took hold of my heart like you did, though the two of you had little in common. She had been staying in a small village somewhere in Sanbreque. I had met her during a war between the kingdom and the empire, having been badly injured during a recent battle. She was a traveling nurse who didn't care which country's colors I wore, only that I needed medical attention. I was drawn to that compassion, and soon I became rather infatuated with her. We grew closer as she treated my wounds and promised we would stay in touch after I was healed. We kept that promise, writing back and forth and stealing away to visit each other for just over a year.

I would always warn her when trouble was about to come her way and guide her somewhere safe, and though she would sometimes protest, in the end she would follow my advice. And then trouble would find her anyway not long after, usually in the form of the royalist army. Never could figure out why. Chalked it up to bad luck at the time. Nowadays I wonder whether some higher power was deliberately trying to sever that bond between us. Keeping me isolated from others. Keeping me controllable.

One day I discovered the king was plotting to attack her latest hometown and ransack it for supplies. When the time came to carry out the operation, I volunteered to join the scouting party but was denied; judging from how closely I was watched afterward, I wonder if they suspected that I might warn the locals. The day the attack happened, I found her in her clinic. I pulled her aside and begged her to escape and she listened, reluctantly as ever. We got out of there just after nightfall and I put her on a ship bound for neutral ground in Twinside. She promised she would wait for me there until my business with Barnabas was settled.

She's still waiting for me now. Waiting forevermore at the bottom of the sea. I figure that's what happens when I try too hard to protect people.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE

There's something about a new Final Fantasy that always seems to get my creative writing juices flowing again…

I've taken some creative liberties for the sake of the story, which hopefully you won't mind. I used the idea of Cid living a double life to give him additional inner conflict, though it contradicts what we learn from the end of the "Payback" quest. I also liked the idea of a Dominant's magic awakening separately from their Eikon, even though the Eikon power is always there. I made up all the stuff about how Dominants learn to control their Eikons.

I also don't know what's in the Ultimania book, which came out when I was… maybe three-fourths of the way through writing this, so any ideas you read here about character backstories and whatnot is something I just made up. Hey, it's fanfic, right? Technically speaking, I guess it's all AU.

The author's note quote at the beginning comes from the scene in Silent Hill 2 in which Angela goes up a burning staircase. She is never seen or heard from again.