Chapter 2

Children Parted By Fate

Thalassa Dincht walked among the incomplete market stalls, some of the vendors calling or gesturing, hopeful to get an early bird even before their products and price lists were ready. She treated them the same way she would a beggar, pretending they did not exist, not stopping in her stride.

Thalassa was a proud member of White SeeD but was absent the iconic uniform. To wear it while alone in Esthar occupied territory would be nothing short of suicide. Instead, she was wearing a navy waterproof jacket, beige combat trousers and comfortable walking shoes, so as not to be impeded if she had to defend herself.

A gunblade wielder, Thalassa had regrettably left her gunblade, Kotetsu, on the trawler she had infiltrated FH with. However, she did have a sheath fastened to the inside of her jacket containing her curved dagger. Like her father, she was a competent martial artist. Her shins were as hard as iron, and her fingerless gloves were inlaid with metal.

The daughter of the Armageddon Fist was petite, though well-toned with little body fat. Her sun-streaked, naturally blonde hair was tied into pigtails, her determined eyes the colour of the ocean. She had a slight nose and a small mouth. More than a decade at sea had resulted in a near permanent golden-brown tan.

She reached the steps on the far side of the square and descended to the rendezvous point, observing the wide yard below. Her eyes moved from a gaunt woman who was staring vacantly, to an old alcoholic snoring at the bottom of the steps. Another rough sleeper lay on his side against the railroad bridge's pile, a black trench coat pulled over his head.

Ignoring a hissing cat, Thalassa crossed to the corner of the yard and waited. After some time, another woman came down the steps, this one wearing an Esthari officer's uniform characterised by the green and black armour. Thalassa knew this was her contact even before the woman removed her headgear and lowered her hood. She recognised the gait.

Tyris Almasy looked at her for a few seconds, saying nothing, her expression unreadable. Her shoulder length hair was a dark brown with blonde highlights, a few bangs covering the left side of her face. She had inherited her mother's profound brown eyes as well as her father's prominent jaw, which gave her face a broadness that was by no means masculine. Tyris was just as striking as her mother.

There was a choker with a lightning blue crystal at her throat, containing her subjugated GF, Ramuh.

The guilt welled up in Thalassa, as it always did whenever she saw Tyris. No matter how much she tried to convince herself that things could not have happened any differently on that fateful night twelve years ago. They had been children. Yet it always seemed as though Tyris' unapproachable demeanour was her way of punishing Thalassa for her more fortunate fate.

'It's good to see you, Tyris.'

Tyris did not respond. Instead, she unclipped her cuirass to reveal some documents on the inside. She unfolded them, offering them to Thalassa.

Then she spoke, her voice low and matter of fact as she clipped her light armour back on. She sounded like an Esthari now, but with a western twang, the regal tone befitting her position. 'We will be invading northern Trabia in the coming days. The plans are all there. It will be all human units; obviously, the mechanised ones and most of the Lunar beasts cannot function in the sub-zero temperatures.

'Reina believes she has discovered Selphie's location. She will strike at her with Memnon and the Praetorians. Once she has defeated her, she will be using one of her diadems to bend Selphie to her will, with Irvine likely used as leverage if he is not killed. Following this, she plans to blockade Winter Island and put the shumi under siege.

'As for the western continent, I know the invasion of Galbadia is imminent, and will likely go ahead as soon as Selphie is enslaved. The current plan is in there.' Tyris inclined her head towards the documents. 'A two-pronged land assault from the Monterosa Plateau and the Winhill region, accompanied by an amphibious assault from the north.'

'How imminent?' Thalassa asked.

'Very.' The sharp, monosyllabic reply made Thalassa think of Fujin.

Tyris turned to leave, which made Thalassa impulsively start after her. The meeting had gone too quickly. She got to see her childhood friend so rarely, even though she knew that Tyris had died along with Matron and Cid twelve years before. That Tyris had had no choice but to die, in what she had believed to be the only course for survival. And they had ended up on opposing sides in a world war.

'Tyris!' Thalassa cried out. Tyris did not stop, and only gave the smallest glance over her shoulder before she pulled the hood of her bodysuit tightly over her hair. 'Just come back to Galbadia with me! Please!'

Tyris ignored her. She donned her headgear and ascended.

Esthar had been devastated by the last Lunar Cry, twenty years before. Although its larger cities and military bases had been successful in repelling the hordes of monsters called down from the moon, many of its smaller towns and rural areas were overrun. Many Esthari grew angry with President Laguna Loire for cowering behind his high walls while millions of his people had died. He began to be viewed as weak and indecisive and was quickly scapegoated.

A previously unknown Sorceress – Reina, the hidden successor to Adel – emerged from obscurity to deliver the Esthari from impending doom. The blonde-haired Sorceress had already united the Kakashbaldi and Grandidi tribes, including the barbaric Zebalga clan, rapidly gaining a large following. She led a successful coup d'état in which most of Loire's cabinet was publicly executed, including Kiros Seagill and Ward Zabac. Laguna himself was able to escape to FH and effectively became a president in exile. He now resided in Galbadia, serving as an advisor to the Caraway administration.

Once in power, Reina rode a wave of renewed nationalism, beginning a program of expansion for more hospitable land. Her first imperial moves were to invade southern Trabia and colonise the north-eastern sub-continent within Centra. Nearly two decades later, FH, Balamb, Dollet and Timber had all been annexed by Esthar. Balamb Garden was no more, defeated thirteen years ago. SeeDs had been declared enemies of the Empire and scattered to every corner of the world. The only regions not under Reina's dominion were Galbadia and northern Trabia.

It was inevitable that Galbadia would be the theatre for the decisive battle of the Third Sorceress War. But that it would be upon them so imminently filled Thalassa with a sense of foreboding. As a White SeeD, she was destined to be a part of that battle.

Gerra watched the female officer leave the yard through the slit in his jacket. The shorter woman in the outdoor clothing did not follow, but her sudden raised voice had made the stupefied alcoholic stir. She watched him for a few moments before following the Esthari officer up the steps.

Before this, Gerra's early morning had been uneventful. He had decided it had been best to dirty his face and clothes to better blend in with his new neighbours. With the raise in temperature, he had decided to try and get some sleep. He had always been a light sleeper, so did not expect to drift off immediately, and his eyes opened as soon as he heard the shorter woman descend into the yard.

Gerra was not particularly interested in what he had just witnessed. Being from the future, he knew that meeting, although significant, made no difference in the grand scheme of things.

Although he wondered if the woman could get him to Galbadia any faster than he had intended to travel there. She must have high contacts in the forces allied against Esthar and could be a SeeD. Gerra needed to meet with either the current Galbadian president, Fury Caraway; his daughter, Sorceress Rinoa; or her Knight, Squall Leonhart. Nothing else mattered.

His mind was too wired now. He knew he would not be able to sleep. His attention moved to the drunkard, who had noticed him and was attempting to get to his feet, one hand nursing what was no doubt was a splitting hangover.

Gerra rose and headed for the steps, but the homeless man moved to cut him off. He gave off a stench even before Gerra got close, his body odour competing with his whiskey-stained overcoat. 'Hey! Dickhead! Who the hell are ya?' He slurred in what must have been the common fisherman's accent, all flat vowels, missing consonants, and lazily shortened words. 'This is my pitch!'

Gerra shifted his weight to his left foot about a yard away and drove the heel of his right into the man's groin. The drunkard's face immediately contorted with agony as he doubled over. Walking around him, Gerra reached the steps. As he ascended, he heard the man vomiting up his mainly liquid diet of the night before. It was not a great start to the day.

When he reached the square, he saw they were now fully set up for the morning's trading. It was beginning to get busy, and his stomach growled as he smelled some fried bacon from a nearby catering stand. He had only just remembered how hungry he was and had no way of buying anything. The caterers had probably learned quickly not to provide free samples of their food, with so many beggars around.

Gerra looked for the petite woman and saw she was queuing at a stand. He stopped and pretended to be interested in a fishmonger's display of cod, flounder, and sea bass.

The vendor looked at Gerra's dirty face, then went back to scanning passer-by's, shouting out about the same special offers every ten seconds or so. The vendor looked back at him and seemed about to speak, but when Gerra saw the woman had her breakfast in a brown paper bag and was moving, he turned to follow.

She stopped at another stand, this one a bookkeeper. Scanning a magazine rack, she briefly glanced at the cover of one and exchanged some words with the seller, handing over some gil and accepting some change. Gerra waited in front of a florist but could not tell one set of flowers from another, ignoring the elderly lady behind the stall as he resumed his pursuit.

The woman stopped a third time, at a video stall, but only scanned briefly before moving again. If she was a SeeD, Gerra knew it was likely she was putting in some counter surveillance. But that was okay. He would have to speak with her eventually.

He was hoping to find out where she was staying, whether it be a hostel or a boat. He did not know where Leo was and would rather not spend any more time roaming the streets than was necessary.

The woman finally left the market and walked up a curving slope that led up to the railroad bridge. When she reached the top, she turned right, heading for the main commercial district.

When Gerra got to the top, he saw FH's harbour for the first time, on the other side of the bridge. He had never seen such a bustling port in his own time. Despite the Esthari occupation, there were masts and moving vessels everywhere he looked. Fishing trawlers, private leisure yachts, speed boats and giant merchant vessels interspersed the grey water. Further out, there were Esthari patrol boats at regular intervals, confronting all traffic in and out of the harbour.

When Gerra looked left, he was taken aback by a giant structure that had to be a naval base or ship building facility. A giant eye sore that looked relatively new and nothing like the rest of the buildings in the area. Gerra surmised it was likely built after the pacifist FH fell to Esthar, and the only consolation he could think of was it must have brought much employment to the region.

He increased his pace a little to catch up with the woman, who was walking briskly down the tracks along the harbour. She kept looking forward, confident in her stride, showing no interest in the happenings of the harbour or the commercial shacks on her right.

After a few more minutes of pursuit, Gerra was suddenly distracted by the raised voices of two disagreeing trawlermen on his left. As soon as the older, bearded fishermen stormed off towards a structure on the beginning of a jetty, Gerra looked back down the tracks and saw the woman was gone.

He almost stopped, scanning the retail units to his right. The first was an antique shop, next to an alley, on the opposite side of which was a hotel. Deciding this must be where the woman was staying, Gerra began walking diagonally towards it.

Passing the near side of the alley, he was aware of movement to his right. A waterproofed shoe and leg headed straight for his face. Gerra instinctively planted his rear foot and brought both arms up, his elbows tucked in to deflect the high roundhouse. The woman's shin was very hardened, and if he did not have the underneath of his burly forearms facing forward, she could have broken both of his arms. The strike was still enough to deaden them.

Gerra too was a master of hand-to-hand, having been forced to spar for hours every day as a teenage gladiator, with weapons and without. The woman followed with a sidekick from her other leg, but Gerra simply flexed his upper body out of line, and it struck the air in front of him.

Her reaction time was good. She instantly retracted her leg, her balance perfect as she darted a couple of steps back into the alley. The woman adopted an orthodox fighting stance. If she was alarmed by his reflexes, she did not show it.

'Who are you?' she demanded.

Gerra raised his pained arms up, his palms outward in an attempt at a peace gesture. 'Sorry. I mean you no harm.'

'You were in the yard! Why are you following me?' she accused.

Gerra hesitated, rapidly deciding on a cover story. Things were happening too fast.

'I escaped from one of Esthar's prison camps some time ago. I saw you with that officer earlier and was hoping you're a SeeD. I just want to get out of occupied territory.'

The woman hesitated. Ever so briefly, Gerra thought he saw an emerald-green hue pass over her eyes and knew what that meant. She had a GF. He did not know what it communicated to her, but she remained in stance.

'Open up your coat,' she instructed.

Gerra obliged, gripping both ends of his trench coat and opening them wide, revealing the hilt of the dagger behind his back and the shielding device on his belt, which he had turned off to save charge. He knew she would know what the device was, but be unfamiliar with the design, as the model had not been invented in this era yet.

He saw the misty emerald-green come to her eyes briefly again, but the woman did not speak for a few seconds. 'Carbuncle tells me you're lying, but he can see your aura and knows you mean me no harm.' She slowly lowered her stance, then reached into her pocket, producing a fifty gil note. 'Go into the hotel and order a room with twin beds, for yourself and Thalassa Debonair. Just one night, no room service. I need to speak with Carbuncle a moment. Get yourself cleaned up if you want.'

Gerra nodded, accepting the gil gratefully. 'Thank you.'