Villain in Your Story

by Lord Tabata-sama-sensei-kun

The borders were restored. The stars returned to the sky. The hearts freed from their dark prison. But somewhere along the way, the shadows claimed one final victim. Aerith rushes to rescue her friends, but what awaits her at journey's end might be more than she bargained for. Formerly known as "Save me".

14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

---

A/N: If you like my cover art, thanks! I made it using AI. You can make it using AI, too. You don't need to buy any art from anyone advertising on this site. There are plenty of completely free AI art generators on the internet.

I changed my cover art and made this note to warn you about all of the scammers that are now on this site looking to sell you "art". Maybe they sent you a PM or maybe they reviewed your story. One way or the other, they're trying to steal money from you. They're not real artists. They use free AI generators and sell you that. So if you want new cover art—or any kind of fan art of your favorite characters at all—just take a trip to google. There's no need to pay anybody for AI art.

---

"The way that you were back then." — Part 1

A splash of ice cold water drenched Squall from head-to-toe, awakening him with a choked gasp. His head was in a daze and searching his perforated memory gave him a brief recollection of the guards beating him with batons inside the Guard-Captain's office. Lifting his chin, he tried to move his hands to wipe the water that kept trickling into his bloodshot eyes. But they wouldn't budge. They were shackled to the wall and his feet levitated over the ground. The entire weight of his body was supported by his wrists, which bled from the metal cuffs that dug into his skin.

Where the hell am I…?

"Welcome back, Sergeant." Guard-Captain Wen Kinoc stalked out of the shadows, his pasty, soulless face illuminated by torchlight. He was a rotund man, bald and old. Hardly the model of a fit soldier. Yet it was he who oversaw all the Guard's operations. He was made Guard-Captain only when the next successor, Auron, died before his promotion was officiated. Many whispered of his inability to command respect and his inexperience at leadership, but the loudest of the gossipers all met mysterious ends. Now none dared question his authority.

Kinoc stood before Squall in full uniform, flanked by the Squad-Captain of Squall's division and several other flunkies. His sausage-like fingers caressed the butt of the rifle harnessed to his large belt. "I do hope your new accommodations will make you more amenable to our discussion," he said in a sickeningly calm voice while tugging at the sturdy chains keeping his subordinate attached to the wall.

"I've got nothing to say to you," Squall seethed. It hurt to breathe. He didn't realize how many large black and blue splotches covered his bare torso. His teeth started chattering from the cold. Even situated between two large braziers, the fire took its time warming him.

"Don't be like that," Kinoc said with mock sadness. "After all, I'm a dear, old friend of your guardian's. Auron and I grew up together. We were thick as thieves—just like brothers—before his untimely and unfortunate accident. Because of that familial bond, I view you as one of my own. You're like a son to me, Squall. I only want to help you. But I can't do that if you don't help me first."

You sicken me. Uncle Auron was nothing like you. Even hearing you say his name is a dishonor to his memory.

Kinoc leaned in close and took his monogramed, silk handkerchief to a spot of blood that trailed down the side of Squall's head. "It would be a shame to ruin your handsome face any further. You've really grown into a fine looking man. I bet you can't keep the ladies away. So what's say you tell me what I need to know and I'll let you go back to some kind of normalcy, hmm?"

Even through his veiled humility, Squall could hear the envy oozing off of Kinoc's tongue. They were never friends, and they never would be. Instead of answering the Guard-Captain, Squall chose to spit in his face.

"Auron would be so disappointed in you," Kinoc foamed, his composure cracking into a grimace as he wiped the mucous from his cheek. He took two measured steps back and nodded to one of his subordinates, who slipped on a pair of brass knuckles and swiftly punched Squall in the gut.

Squall grunted in pain. His insides were on fire and the strong urge to vomit overpowered him. He spewed up stomach acid that splashed right onto Kinoc's shiny, full-grain leather boots.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Sergeant," Kinoc said, frustrated. He snapped his fingers and one of his lackeys immediately started cleaning the soiled boots. "I know you had help sabotaging the Caldera Facility. Tell me who your accomplice was or I'll start snapping body parts."

"G-go…t-to…H-Hell…" Squall stuttered, trying hard not to whimper.

Kinoc held his hands in mock prayer as he looked up to the ceiling. "Forgive me, Auron, but your misguided ward is a criminal deserving of punishment. I hope you're watching in Heaven and blessing him with the wisdom to cooperate."

You rotten sack of spite. If Uncle Auron were here, he'd break your neck.

The Guard-Captain signaled to a different guard, who approached Squall with a pair of pliers. "We're going to start at the bottom and work our way up," Kinoc stated as if he were giving a course lecture. "Hopefully you'll get chatty before we reach your teeth. It gets harder to understand people past that stage."

When the guard received the go-ahead, he eagerly fell like a hungry predator on Squall. He viewed the prisoner's half-naked body like a canvas and artistically went straight to work on the toes.

Squall held out as long as he could, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of his reaction. But there was only so much he could take. At some point, the entire chamber reverberated with his tortured screams.

As he started losing consciousness, he flooded his mind with thoughts of Aerith, picturing himself sitting in her church with her loving hands wrapped around him.

---

"Would ya just slow down for a sec?" Cid was standing in the bedroom doorway making elaborate, panicked hand gestures while Aerith tossed together some kind of disguise that would let her pass into the Guard Academy. When she came home from the church, her uncle was in the kitchen cooking up lunch and immediately noticed her anxiety. After some poking and prodding, he managed to wheedle the truth out of her—about Squall's arrest and her plan to rescue him.

"I'm going and that's final!" she declared, zipping up a red leather jacket and wondering if it made her look commanding enough.

"I ain't tellin' ya not to. But ya gotta think this through a bit more! It's dangerous out there!"

"I have magic."

"So do they! Just cuz ya never met a Mage General before don't mean they ain't ready to strike you down with their own bolts of lightning."

Aerith turned away from the full-length mirror and shot her uncle a frustrated frown. "Well then what do you expect me to do?"

Cid nervously rubbed the back of his head, trying to figure out the best way to phrase things without making his niece any angrier. "That's the lion's den, girl—where everyone disappears. We don't rightfully know what goes on in there, but it ain't good. They won't let just any ol' lady waltz in from off the street, especially not someone on their watch list."

"I'm not hearing any solutions—just bellyaching."

Aerith never took such a snippy tone with Cid, and it worried him unlike anything else. She was determined to save the man she loved and wouldn't back down. It was either support her or get out of her way, and he chose the former despite wanting to hide her in the basement for her own safety. "Simmer down, sweet pea! I'm on yer side here! We just gotta have more of a plan than storm the keep and wing it til we find the fella, all right?"

"I'm still not hearing a solution," Aerith said, swapping around sunglasses. She settled on the most menacing pair she could find. "So unless you have an actual idea, I'm going to do exactly that."

Cid thought for a moment, trying not to panic. "Well, uh, let's see… I've done a couple'a things for the Guard here n' there. What if…I make up some kinda cock n' bull story 'bout upgrading one of their systems? I could pass ya off as my assistant or something."

Aerith paused in her hat selection to weigh the idea. "But if we get caught, won't that jeopardize your mission? They'll know who you are—that you're a traitor. It's the whole reason why you didn't want to save Mayor Kisaragi."

"Heh." Cid flicked his nose and shot her a cunning grin. "Then we just won't get caught. We'll blindside 'em and break everyone out!"

"Uncle Cid…" The fire raging in Aerith's gut flickered for a moment. She balked at the idea of risking her uncle. Swapping the life of one loved one for the other didn't sit well with her. "I don't think you should come."

"Well you sure as hell ain't goin' without me. That's the deal, sweet pea. I won't stop ya, but I'm comin' with and that's that."

"I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt."

Cid let out a boisterous laugh. "No kidding! Welcome to my world!" He was about to turn to go grab some supplies when Aerith suddenly hugged him.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Cid just smiled and wrapped his arms around her.

"Oh my, and to what do we owe this heartfelt display?"

Aerith and Cid pulled away and cast a shocked glance towards the hall where Merlin was standing.

"Oh, uh, hey there!" Cid sputtered, trying and failing to not look guilty of plotting a crazy, life-threatening scheme. "We was just, uh, cyclin' through some new duds! Don't Aerith look pretty?"

"Hmm, pretty sneaky if you ask me," remarked the cunning wizard with a stroke of his beard. "Attempting a rescue, are we?"

While Cid hung his head like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar, Aerith glared at her mentor with defiance. "I'm not going to abandon Squall."

"You realize of course that when—not if, but when—you are discovered, they will execute you both."

"Then help me," she implored, taking off her black sunglasses to stare the wizard pleadingly in the eyes.

"My dear, you know that I'm sworn to never meddle in worldly affairs."

"Merlin!"

The anguish in her voice almost made the old wizard wince, but he maintained a calm facade. "Now, now—cheer up. Have I said no? While I'm unable to offer direct assistance, at the very least I can offer some advice. For instance, if I were to go into magical combat, I would perhaps be inclined to bring some restoratives with me."

"I gave the last of my potions to Tifa and haven't been able to brew any new ones…"

"How fortunate, then, that I just so happen to have brought some supplies for today's lesson." Merlin held up a leather case that he had been hiding behind his back, the vials within jiggled and clanked together.

Relieved and hopeful, Aerith rushed over to embrace Merlin.

"Come now, enough dawdling!" said the bashful wizard, clearing this throat. "Put on your apron and meet me in kitchen."

Aerith followed her mentor's instruction, and soon, the two of them were huddled around a large cauldron magically fitted over Cid's stove. With a tap of his wand, Merlin summoned his beakers, distillers, and various other glass and copper alchemic kit to dance out of the leather case and install themselves across the countertop.

"I trust you remember the basics of potion brewing," Merlin said while sifting through several bottled solutions. "So today I'm going to teach you how to synthesize ether in a bottle."

"Ether?"

"To be specific: quintessence, the fifth element of the celestial cosmos and carrier of light. When imbibed, it will quicken your recovery from magical exhaustion."

"So you're saying if I drink one I can push past my limit?"

"To an extent, yes. When you feel your body withdrawing into its replenishing slumber, imbibing ether will trigger a brief rejuvenation process. But be forewarned: consuming too much within a day will cause irreversible damage, and in an extreme case, could result in death. Therefore, we will only make enough for three doses."

Aerith didn't protest that point, but as she jotted down notes for the recipe, she already knew that she would brew a fourth vial of ether the moment Merlin left. The two spent the remainder of the afternoon carefully measuring ingredients, controlling the flames, and stirring the cauldron at a variety of speeds and patterns until the clear liquid reached the correct viscosity for pouring. It was almost syrupy, with no distinct smell. Aerith dabbed a little on her tongue and was surprised that it lacked a definitive flavor. Considering all the ingredients that went into it, she thought that at least one would impart a taste. The moment her body absorbed it, however, was a different story. She could feel the energy tingling at the back of her throat and spreading like fire through her blood. If one drop could do that, she wondered what downing the whole bottle would feel like.

"Remember, Aerith," Merlin said while enchanting his kit back into its carrying case, "only use ether in the most dire of circumstances. At the end of the day, it's preferable to not need it at all." The wizard strapped the case shut and started to leave when Aerith surprised him with a tight hug.

"Thank you," she said, and the old man smiled while reciprocating.

"Do take care, my dear." They pulled away and Merlin gave her a wave. "Until next time—good day!"

After he left, Cid wandered back into his kitchen hoping to resume making a half decent meal before their trip to the Guard Academy. But Aerith shooed him away. She had brewing to do. At least the engineer managed to snag a sandwich from the fridge first.

"I don't mean to be a Nosy Nelly, but didn't he tell you only to drink three of those?" Cid questioned between bites of baloney.

"I failed to heal Squall once," Aerith replied while stirring ingredients into her uncle's largest pot. "I'm not letting him walk away with anymore scars."

"Can't ya just work your magic on 'em after?"

"Scars are technically healed wounds. The body just patches the skin a little different. If I'm quick enough, I can usually minimize it. But once scar tissue forms past a certain point, I can't make it go away."

"But it ain't normal, right? And magic fixes not-normal stuff, don't it?"

"I read a tome once about some mages that are able to use powerful cure spells that can reforge the skin, but…" Distracted by her shortcomings, Aerith almost stopped stirring. Luckily, she caught herself. "I don't have that kind of power. At least, not yet. Maybe one day with more training. For now, I just want to make sure Squall will be okay."

Cid hummed in accordance as he chewed the last of his sandwich. "That boy'll be just fine, I promise you," he said while licking his fingers. "So're we gonna go with my plan or what? I think it's our best bet."

"How will you stay safe?"

"They'll key us in under my name, but when we get inside, we can put on some disguises. I got the blueprint of the place in my head and I know where they keep their spare uniforms."

"That could work," Aerith hummed as she started cooling the mixture and adjusting the pH balance. When it reached the proper temperature and neutrality, she took the pot to a funneled vial and slowly poured in the concoction.

Cid watched her with awe. "I'm surprised you're not darin' for a fifth."

"You'd stop me."

"Damn right!"

Aerith capped the vial and added it to the utility belt she had strapped around her waist. Now she carried two bottles on either side.

"You gonna make any potions?"

"I'm out of vermilion."

"Where do they sell that? I'll go 'n get ya some."

Aerith shook her head. "It needs to be alchemically distilled. Merlin brought some with him, but I used the last of it to make this ether."

"So ya chose to keep yer magic pumpin' rather than have a quick healin' fix? Wouldn't've been better to give the boy a potion?"

"Potions are good for small things like minor cuts and bruises. If…if Squall's really hurt…" Aerith didn't want to think about it, and Cid could tell.

"Never ya mind. Forget I asked." The engineer shot up from his seat and clapped his hands together. "Okay, then! Go stick on some shades and a hat, and let's get a move on!" While his niece ducked back into the bedroom, Cid went to grab his ID badge from the desk drawer inside his garage. He also took out a pad of visitor passes and filled one out.

"Maycomb Blume?" Aerith questioned, looking at her new pass.

"Well, a fake ID needs a fake name," Cid explained, grabbing the pass from her hands and clipping it to her lapel. "Don't ya like it?"

"I think it's cute," Aerith chuckled. "Real tongue-in-cheek."

"Heh, thought I'd get a laugh outta ya!" Cid gave his niece a hearty pat then picked up a nearby toolbox and led the way out the door. "Remember now: our cover is I'm there to upgrade the alarm system and you're my plucky, young assistant."

"Are you actually going to work on it?"

"Yeah, gonna have some fun 'whoopsie' moments with the cameras before we sneak off to pilfer their laundry."

As they walked towards the fountain square, someone suddenly called out Cid's name. They stopped to see a frantic young man barreling towards them. "Mr. Highwind!" he yelped, sliding to a halt in front of Cid while gasping for air. "I'm so glad I caught you, sir!"

"Johnny?" Cid said, confused. "The hell're ya doin' here? I told ya this is my week off!""

Johnny ran a hand through his red pompadour and flashed the engineer a sheepish grin. "Well, uh, it's just so awful at the workshop without you! I was wondering if…you didn't maybe need some help around your garage…?"

Cid narrowed his eyes. "I'm all for eager beavers, but you ain't never been one. So what gives?"

With a nervous laugh, Johnny darted his eyes from side to side, looking for either a person or an excuse—maybe both. That's when he spied Aerith, but with her face obscured by a high collar, baseball cap, and sunglasses he didn't recognize her. "Tifa, is that you?!" he exclaimed, his wide eyes glistening with hope. Everyone knew Johnny had a massive crush on Tifa—everyone, to his dismay, except for the brawler herself.

"No, Johnny—it's me," Aerith whispered.

"Whoa! Aerith?" Johnny just about squawked at the top of his lungs from the shock, and Cid almost blew a gasket when some neighbors started to stare.

"Not so loud, ya pinhead!" shouted the engineer, drawing even more attention from passers-by. He grabbed Johnny by the arm and tugged him back towards the garage, slamming the door behind him.

Cid's garage was deceptively larger on the inside after Merlin enchanted it to house everything the engineer would need to build their escape vessel. Rows upon rows of gummi blocks littered the floors and shelves, as well as between a variety of different vehicles and gear. Somewhere in the back, his snowmobile rested at a different angle than he remembered it, but he didn't have the time to inspect it with all the latest events siphoning his attention. The frame of his latest gummi ship design sat square in the center with dozens of cables attached it to at various places snaking all over the floor and hooking up to some large machines that ran diagnostic tests, flight simulations, and variety of other metrics.

Johnny stared at everything wide-eyed. He hadn't been to the garage in a long time and all the changes mystified him. "Whoa, really digging the new pad, Mr. H!"

"Dammit, Johnny! Why couldn't ya just stick to the plan?"

"I know you told me to just act normal and stuff, but how could I when Tifa's missing?!"

Cid opened his mouth to say something, but Aerith cut him off.

"What do you mean she's missing?" she said, pulling off her shades so she could see Johnny better.

"Well, uh, you two are besties, right? Have you seen her all week?"

"No, but I've been kind of busy myself. Are you really sure she's gone?"

"Totally sure! I scoped her place out a few times—to see if she needed anything, y'know?—casually strolled by that water tower she likes, and even stopped by that section of the lab she's always loitering around. But I haven't seen her at all! Not anywhere!"

"Wait, go back a second—what was that about a lab?"

"You know how Tifa's always checking out that weird guy's lab? The one with the greasy hair and the sharp teeth like a wolf's. I always see her trying to get a sneak peek through the keyhole and one time dressing up like a lab assistant just to get a tour of the place."

"Sounds like that Mojo guy," Cid hummed, rubbing his chin.

"Hojo," Aerith corrected.

"Yeah, that's him!" Johnny nodded. "Tifa was always going on and on and on about that guy! I was starting to get worried. I mean, he's definitely not her type. Guy's a creep!"

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"When I just said—the day she stole some guy's lab coat, specks, and ID badge just to get into the lab. I never saw her come out, though I did fall asleep a couple of times."

"Geez, no wonder ya never get any work done!" Cid scoffed. "You're barely ever in the workshop!"

Johnny let out a nervous chuckle. "It was my lunch break…" he contended.

"Careful now, or else I'll have ya eatin' lunch out of a straw!"

"Boys, just settle down!" Aerith instructed with a clap of her hands. "We have more important things to worry about. Tifa might've been taken like the others."

"Well, if that's the case, we'll find her soon," Cid said with a flick of his nose. "Listen, Johnny—Aerith and I are headin' past enemy lines. You hold the fort down til we get back."

Johnny jumped. "Whoa, wait! If you guys're going to rescue Tifa, I wanna come with!"

"No can do. I'm gonna have a hell of a time just gettin' the two of us past the guards. Three's pushin' it way too far."

"Then I'll just find my own way!" Before anyone could react, Johnny bolted out the door shouting all the way down the road. "I'll save you, Tifa!"

"There's somethin' wrong with that boy…" Cid muttered, massaging the back of his neck.

"I hope he doesn't get arrested—or worse," Aerith fretted.

"Well, if he does, we'll be in the neighborhood. C'mon!" They left the garage and headed for the Guard Academy. Uninterrupted this time.

At the front gate, the two guards standing at attention eyed the newcomers with suspicion and disdain. "No trespassers!" barked one. Unprompted, he reached for his weapon just as a show of force.

"Hey now, there's no need for that," Cid said, calmly holding up his ID badge. Aerith stood close behind him, her head down and face obstructed by the brim of her hat. "I'm with maintenance. Gotta check your security systems."

The two guards looked at each other. "We weren't informed of any maintenance, were we?" whispered one.

The other shrugged. "You think this has to do with the you-know ?"

"Oooh. Maybe." The one guard loudly cleared his throat and reached his grabby hand towards Cid. "Lemme see your ID again." With a straight face, the engineer handed the badge over. "And who's she?" the guard asked, nodding to Aerith.

"My assistant—here's her badge."

The guard took extra long reading it. "Maycomb Blume?" he said incredulously, looking up at her with his wild, bulging eyes.

"That's me!" Aerith replied with pep.

"I don't believe it."

Cid and Aerith held their breath. Was that silly, little joke going to be their downfall?

"My name's Mancomb!" he loudly guffawed. "We're just a letter off! What're the odds?"

"Wow, what a small world, huh?" Aerith chuckled, taking back her badge and clipping it to her lapel.

"So, uh, what're you doing after this? Maybe we can go grab a coffee? They've got a new one down at the canteen that swirls in some grog for extra fun." He shot her a wide, suggestive smile showing off half his rotten teeth.

"As an engineer, I'm pretty busy all day, so we'll see. But thanks for the offer." Aerith gave him a warm smile—anything to get her foot in the door without arousing suspicion.

"Heh, yeah." Mancomb ran his hand through his messy hair, thinking himself hot stuff. "Alright, you guys are cleared to go." He and his partner stepped aside to let the engineers pass.

"Smooth, girl," Cid snickered when they were out of earshot.

The path leading from the gate coiled up a hill where the grass had been dug out to form trenches across the front lawn. Spiked barricades and barbed wire dotted the field with large, wooden towers resembling the ones around the castle had been erected just in front of the building.

"Is this what Squall would see whenever he came back?" Aerith wondered as she took steps that she imagined mirrored his. "Or is all of this new?"

When they passed through the large double doors leading inside the Academy, she was shocked to find that the interior lacked the same menacing facade. The weathered, tiled halls reminded her of the castle back in the days when she would visit her father at his lab as a little girl—before all the changes. It filled her with a strange sense of nostalgia. Portraits of famous captains and nondescript battle scenes promoting fraternity hung across the old, oak walls. The castle had similar paintings of historical rulers and momentous historical events, perhaps created by the same artist. Just as Aerith wondered if Squall had a favorite painting, she came across one of a forest clearing where the light broke through the branches of the tree line. A towering mountain rested just beyond it, scaled by a team of mountaineers assisting each other. If he did have a favorite, she knew she found it.

The further they went into the building, the busier it grew. Guards of all ranks either patrolled the halls or marched from one room to the next. They passed cadet classrooms buzzing with violent lessons about the best ways to cripple "evil traitors" to sparring sessions ending in near fatalities.

"So uh, how long didjya say yer fella worked here…?" Cid asked, trying not to shudder when he saw one guard smash the face of his opponent into a brick wall, breaking his nose and chin with a sickening howl of pain.

"He's not like this," Aerith stated, rushing past everything. "There's no comparison." Even when holding a weapon, she knew Squall's loving, gentle hands would never maim or brutalize someone like that.

"Guessing Merlin was right then, huh? Doubt there's another good egg in this place."

"Let's just hurry and find him please." She didn't want to leave Squall at their mercy for even an extra second.

After wandering around for a bit, Cid stopped near a maintenance room. It was about the size of a small closet with multiple panels along the walls controlling the utilities. "You're on lookout," he instructed, handing her a clipboard before ducking into the room.

While Cid fiddled around with the circuit breaker, Aerith tried to act casual. She wanted nothing more than to clasp her hands and pray for Squall's safety, but every so often someone would march by scrutinizing her. So instead, she took the pen attached to the the clipboard and started doodling some flowers. Adding a few mountain peaks, a sun in the sky, and a handful of goats for fun, she soon sketched out a nice little scene combining her and Squall's favorite natural wonders.

"Nowhere near as talented as you, but it's the thought that counts, right?" she thought while admiring what her work represented.

"Okay, we're good!" said Cid as he came out of the room. "I knocked out some systems so our arrival won't look suspicious. Let's go!"

Aerith slipped the clipboard under her arm and followed her uncle down the hall past a group of cadets marching to their next class until they reached the security office. Inside were a slew of guards with their eyes fixed on a wall filled with multiple security displays. Another few officers sat grumbling in front of terminals that had stopped working. While Cid did the introductions, Aerith's eyes covertly wandered from screen-to-screen, her actives masked by her dark sunglasses. Her heart almost stopped when she landed on one display. There, chained to a wall and covered in bloodied bruises, was Squall. A guard armed with a curvy knife tossed his head back cackling while running the blade across the length of Squall's chest. She swallowed a panicked scream and averted her eyes to quell her rising rage. The guards really were monsters.

"…so that's why I need you boys to clear out for a tick, aight?" Cid finished explaining. To his satisfaction, they all bought his story.

"I gotta take a leak anyway," mumbled one guard as he grabbed his super sized coffee and waddled out of the room.

"It's near lunch, so works for me," said another.

"Damn near punched the screen out trying to fix it," grumbled one of the surly ones.

The rest all followed out until only Cid and Aerith remained.

"Okay, take my toolbox and pretend to do some stuff by that panel over there," he said dropping the tools and gesturing towards the back wall. "I gotta loop these camera feeds before they mosey on back." Cid slid into a chair at the nearest computer and started frantically typing but stopped when he noticed his niece trembling. "What're ya doin', girl? Time's a'wastin'!" She didn't reply. "Sweet pea?"

"You're right," she said, taking a deep breath and clasping her hands in the safety of an empty room. "It'll all be okay. We're here and we're going to save him."

"Yeah, 'course!" Cid grinned. "Now hop to it!" While Aerith wandered towards the back panel, the engineer hacked into the security cameras and linked them remotely to a datapad he kept concealed inside his winter coat. As he rigged the footage to repeat every so often, he scanned all the active feeds and realized why Aerith had clammed up. "That must be him…" he mumbled under his breath along with a string of expletives. That one was going to be hard to doctor without making it suspicious. After toying around with it a bit, he managed to make the recording look like the torturers left the room. With that done, he focused on the other cameras and that's when he saw the other prisoners. "Well, I found Tifa," he announced, shaking Aerith free from her prayers. "She's in a cell and, uh, not as bad as…well, she looks unharmed."

"I'm relieved," Aerith, letting out a deep breath she had been holding.

"Looks like they got a bunch of folks locked up somewhere underground. I don't remember ever seein' that much rock in this place. I'll see if I can dig up an updated floor plan." Cid went to one of the malfunctioning terminals and remotely turned the power back on, then started checking through building schematics.

The door suddenly opened and in walked a guard. Cid hastily fumbled around pretending to look at the root terminal while the guard glanced around. "You two almost done?" he asked, sipping from a jumbo latte.

"We're workin' as fast as we can," said Cid. "I don't suppose you can get me a cup of joe? Caffeine'll turbo charge me."

"Get your own," the cantankerous guard snapped, taking a seat next to the engineer and setting his keen eyes on the monitor. "What are you still doing here, anyway? It's back on. Your job's done."

"Yeah, but the system crash messed up the software. I gotta reinstall some stuff, but don't you worry none 'bout that. Go treat yerself to some downtime while I finish up."

The guard slurped extra loud from his latte. "Nah, I'd rather watch you so I know what to do next time."

"I ain't no teacher, boy! And I don't usually work to audiences!"

"Well tough. You've got one now so get used to it." The guard and Cid glared at each other in a silent battle for dominance. "So what's this screen you're on now and how'd you get there?"

Cid tried hard not to scowl, but he was still visibly fuming. He almost called the guard a pinhead but got cut off at the sound of a sudden, loud crash. Both Cid and the guard turned around to where Aerith stood in front of a pile of tools upended from their box.

"Oops! Clumsy me!" Aerith turned to the guard without her sunglasses and used her most convincing damsel-in-distress pout. "Do you think a big, strong guard like yourself could help a gal out?" she asked, batting her eyes at him. "This is my first onsite job and I'm just so uncoordinated!" She giggled a bit and he turned to putty.

"Eh-heh, allow me," replied the enthralled guard. He took another sip of latte before getting up off his chair and strutting over towards the tools.

"You're so chivalrous!" Aerith beamed, patting him on the back. While she served as a distraction, Cid didn't waste a second pulling up the blueprints for the basement. He sent everything to his datapad trying hard not to laugh as Aerith continued flattering the guy. When he finished, he signaled Aerith and headed for the door.

"All set!" declared the engineer.

"Great!" Aerith grabbed her toolbox from the beguiled guard. "Thank you so much for your help!" she said, putting her sunglasses back on and giving him a little wave. "Take care!" As she skipped over to her uncle, the guard stopped them.

"Hold on a minute!" he exclaimed, making the two freeze with an imperceptible fright. Was the jig up? "You, me, and a coffee after my shift's over. The canteen makes a mean cappuccino."

"My schedule's kind of packed today, so how about I take a raincheck?" He didn't like that answer, so she flashed him a smile and he instantly became more amenable.

"Of course," he capitulated, squinting at her badge. Maycomb Blume—he'd remember that. "Tomorrow, then."

"We'll see! Bye, now!"

Before the guard could get another word in edgewise, the engineers left the room.

"Damn, girl! You're two for two!" Cid tried hard not to guffaw but couldn't help himself. "If you get a third coffee date, I'll switch my daily mint with a frappuccino just to join in!"

"I'd rather not run into anymore of them," Aerith sullenly sighed. The only date she wanted was with Squall at the church drinking cocoa until they fell asleep leaning against each other.

They made their way towards the barracks where the laundry and locker rooms were housed. With all the cadets still caught up in classes, there was no one to interrupt the two intruders as they rifled through the fresh wash and pilfered two uniforms.

"Huh, wouldya look at that…" Cid tugged on a pair of dark grey slacks and shuffled over to the far wall next to the last row of dryers where a large rack was erected. Every shelf held a shiny knight's helmet shaped like giant pistachio shells. "I don't remember these ever being standard. Does your fella wear one?"

Aerith shook her head. "I've never seen those, either."

"And is it just my imagination, or…" Cid slung his arms through an accompanying soldier's gambeson and patted down the thick fabric, "…are these lookin' a little different than the duds they're wearing outside? Almost like they're expectin' armor to go on it."

"Armor like that?" Aerith asked, pointing to the storage inside a closet she just opened. Inside were shelves of breast plates, hobnail boots, and gauntlets. No one had ever seen the guards wearing those types of things before. Everyone patrolling town always donned a thick, buttoned coat with large, white cloves and shiny black boots.

"Damn, this ain't just a laundry room—it's a full-blown depot!"

"Well, it works to our advantage," Aerith said pragmatically, sticking a large, beaked helmet over her head. It fit snugly, but the visor wouldn't shut with her sunglasses on so she took them off.

Cid whistled in awe. "Well wouldjya look at that! Ya just need a feathered plume stickin' outta yer noggin' and you'll be a knight in shinin' armor out rescuing the damsel!"

"That's exactly what I am," she replied, her voice muffled through the metal. It painfully echoed in her ears, but she was too worried about Squall to care. "Now hurry up and help me strap these other bits on."

Cid's smile unhinged as he got to work fastening the various belts and clasps of the breastplate into place. After fixing on the rest of the ensemble, he tossed on his own gear and gave the thumbs up. "Follow me," he said before closing his visor. Grabbing a nearby duffle bag, he stuffed their normal clothes inside along with his toolbox, then slung it over his shoulder and marched out into the hall. Their clanking armor echoed down the passage as they walked past the dormitories. Some cadets on their way back from class stopped to stare and whisper. Were they impressed? Envious? Intimidated? Suspicious? It was hard to tell. With both a limited field of view and impaired hearing, it was all the two intruders could do to maintain a straight, forward march without veering into a wall or crashing into anyone.

Without realizing it, Aerith's eye started drifting to the nameplates on the doors that they passed. She squinted to see them, determined to read every single one. Almasy, Dincht, Kinneas, Leonhart. Aerith froze and her heart skipped a beat. With a trembling, wanting hand, she raised her gauntlet to the nameplate and ran her fingers across the embossed letters. The small amount of pressure nudged the door open with a creak. She flipped up her visor. That's when she noticed that someone had rammed the door in, breaking through the deadbolt. Inside, the dimly lit room was in disarray. The mattress overturned onto the floor, papers scattered everywhere, and drawers ripped open with their items tossed aside.

Aerith's feet seemed to move by themselves, guiding her inside where she felt both the familiar comfort of Squall's aura and a creeping sense of dread from the violent violation of his personal space. She knew there was no time to waste in saving him, but something caught her eye. Next to his ransacked bed was a small box rustically crafted from obsidian with its lid ajar. Creased papers littered both the inside and outside of the box, and Aerith immediately recognized the stationary. They were the letters she had written to him over the long course of their correspondence since they first met. Like her, he had kept them in a keepsake holder, too. Of course he did. Forcing away the tears, she grabbed all the letters and tucked them back where they belonged.

"Psst! Hey!" Cid called from the door in a hushed, panicked tone. "What gives? They're gonna catch us!"

"Here, stick this in your bag," Aerith said, holding up the newly sealed box.

Cid shot her a questioning look but ultimately stuffed it away as fast as he could. "There, happy? Let's go!" He flipped down his niece's visor and went back to marching.

"I won't be happy until he's back in my arms," Aerith thought as she followed suit.

They eventually made it to the newly installed basement access elevator where two armored guards awaited. "You with interrogation?" one asked right off the bat, using their uniforms as identification.

"Yep," answered Cid with a salute.

"I'm surprised they sent only two of you after what happened to the last bunch."

"What happened?"

"Wow, they didn't tell you?" the guard asked, shocked. "Guess they don't want to frighten anyone. Word is the feisty chick they've got down there literally cracked three skulls. You know they needed a whole enforcer squad just to lock her up?"

"Damn, boy!" Cid exclaimed. "No wonder they called us in! We've got some special tools to use on the little miss." He patted his duffle bag suggestively, letting the two sentries draw all the wrong conclusions.

"Heh, juicy," cackled the guard. "Can't wait to hear those screams. Make sure they echo up the shaft, eh?"

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be a show for the ages," nodded Cid. "It'll really bring the house down."

"Well hurry up and get down there, then!" The bloodthirsty sentries summoned the elevator and parted a path when the door opened.

Calm, poised, and drawing absolutely no attention to herself, Aerith maintained a zen-like mentality as she entered the elevator. In her mind, she pictured Squall standing next to her, his hand in hers and a serene smile gracing his elegant face. "Everything is going to be okay," she kept reminding herself. "I'm going to save you and everything is going to be okay."

When they reached the bottom, Aerith and Cid walked out into cavernous passage somewhere deep underground. The temperature hit them before anything else. It was a lot hotter and easy to forget they were still in the middle of winter.

"Damn, what'd they do—dig to the earth's core?" Cid groused, feeling the sweat build up under his snug gambeson.

Aerith didn't waste time on such trivial things. Without any sentries present, she was free to hurry on ahead in search of her love. Even if she didn't know the way.

Cid did a light jog to catch up with her, his armor's clanking echoing across the seemingly endless rocky tunnel. "Hey now, we should follow the map," he said, pulling out his datapad while keeping up with Aerith's brisk pace. "Looks like they have a bunch'a rooms down here. I s'pose yer fella could be in one of these big areas. They're the right size for holdin' prisoners."

"Then let's split up," Aerith said, glancing at the floor plan. She had a hunch that Squall was isolated from the others. They charged him with treason, ransacked his room, and were interrogating him. It wasn't hard for her to put all the pieces together. "I'll go to this one." She tapped the small room in the back—the one that looked the perfect place to isolate a troublemaker. As a healer, Aerith understood the frailties of the human body, as well as the weaker points of the psyche. A small, claustrophobia-inducing room would break just about anyone. Squall, with his love of the outdoors and wide, open spaces, would suffocate on the stale air alone. She didn't want to imagine how he felt surrounded by closed walls while fending off brutal physical abuse.

"That's kinda far. Maybe we should go together…?"

"No. I can handle it. Trust me."

Cid let out an long, audible sigh that reverberated throughout his metal helmet. "I get'cha. This is high stakes and we don't have the time." They reached a fork in the road and he gave his niece a quick pat on the shoulder with an accompanying thumbs-up. "You got this, sweet pea. One of us is sure to find 'im."

"I will," Aerith affirmed with determination before dashing off down the torchlit tunnel until she disappeared into the distant darkness.

---

A cool breeze brushed against Squall's face, nudging him awake. As he opened his eyes, he realized that his cheek was pressed down against a polished, marble table. The pain that once shot across his tormented torso disappeared into a distant memory, and as he lifted his head, his liberated limbs moved with him.

"Curious."

Startled, Squall almost gasped at the sight of an old man sitting across from him under the shade of a towering tree. Strands from his long, messy beard whisked around his face as the wind picked up. With wise, tired eyes, he peered into the soldier's soul and tightened the grip around the long sickle that he had planted into the grassy ground beside him.

"What is?" Squall asked, confused by everything. Who freed him from his prison, and where was Kinoc? He glanced around for a moment, noting the clear blue sky, ivory mountains peaked along the horizon, and a vibrant array of flowers surrounding the most green grass he had ever seen.

"The slumbering guardian—the one who grieves."

Squall frowned. Was he hallucinating? "What do you mean?"

"It will pour new sand into your glass, but each grain costs it dearly."

It almost sounded like the old man was speaking a foreign language. "Am I supposed to understand any of that?"

The old man ignored Squall's query, instead reaching his free hand across the table as if to grab the soldier. But the second his fingers came close to grazing his chest, a bright light shot out and rebuffed him, flinging his hand up and away with enough force to almost knock the old man off of his seat.

"What was that?" Squall asked, shocked. He patted his bare chest as if he could somehow find the source of that light, but his hands only bumped against his lion pendant. It was then that he realized he was completely naked save for his necklace. I must be dreaming. This is so surreal. All of it.

"Do you see now? It is ending, but also beginning. As are you."

"No, I don't see," Squall snapped, fidgeting in his seat with both discomfort and vulnerability. "What are you talking about? And just who are you, anyway? Where am I?"

"Yes, I understand now," the old man hummed, nodding to himself. "You will know and then forget, as you must. To reforge, to foster rebirth. To deliver unto me the Key."

Is he going to keep babbling like this? Maybe I should make a break for it, or at least try to wake myself.

"You have my attention—the attention of my Kingdom."

"You're a king?"

"I was. I am. I will be."

You sound more like a crazy coot than a monarch.

"Will you know what lies beyond the Door? Have you sought it? Do you? No. There is purity within the prayer. In all things. Always. For you are well-loved, and you love well in kind."

Where the hell are my clothes? I need to get out of here. There's no one around but him, so if I run now, does it really matter? It's not even cold.

"Yet I cannot treat with you, for you are promised to another. Bound in chains, servant to my usurper. Liberation is yours only through sacrifice."

Squall pounded his agitated fist into the table. The loud bang scared some snakes out from the tree, and they plopped onto the marble where they slithered around the table hissing before they disappeared into the grass. "What are you talking about?" he shouted.

"In truth," the old man said as he loosened the grip on his scythe, "treachery has challenged my throne. Our meeting, however, fills me not with wrath, but with hope. I know you now, as I will and have done. Your sand glimmers as golden dust. But even particulates are precious and can be forged into a mighty weapon."

Half growling, Squall crossed his arms and glared at the old man. He was fed up with the one-sided conversation. But even when he tried to block out the inane ramblings, he found himself compelled to listen as if he could somehow puzzle out the meaning.

"As one who also bears untold grief, I know your heart well—as intimate as my own. Yet even so, I have gleaned from you a strength that I have long since lost. I will take from you what is dear, but know the impermanence in this act. It is an expression of my duality to mirror yours. You have beaten the path that I will now follow. When you next traverse it with foreign eyes, your journey's end will return you to the Wheel's beginning, but a new beginning—an expression of our combined wills."

Squall squeezed his arm hard, surprised that he didn't feel any pain from it. It took everything to keep him from giving into his confused rage. He couldn't dismiss the old man as a rambling fool. Something about his presence exuded an aura of authority and majesty, exactly like a king but so much more. "I don't like riddles," he eventually growled. "Just tell me straight: who are you?"

The old man closed his eyes and said nothing.

"Don't mind him."

Squall looked around where a young man of about twenty years approached bathed in a golden ray of sunlight. He was a bronzed man with a sleek, athletic build adorned with a royal blue and white himation. Pinned to the fabric just over his heart was a small, purple flower that Squall had never seen before. A following of foxes and deer trailed behind him while two hawks circled above in the sky. As he neared, the animals peeked curiously from behind him, eying Squall before catching hint of his welcoming, earthy aura. They slowly trotted up to him, with the foxes playing at his feet while the deer came up close to stare at him. Happy for the distraction, Squall reached out his gentle hand to give the deer a pet, and they instantly nuzzled into him. The soldier couldn't help but smile.

"It's not often we see your kind here, so everyone's just a little extra curious."

"My kind?" Squall questioned while giving the foxes belly rubs.

The young man took a seat between the two at the table. His curly, silver hair flowed in the wind as another floral-scented breeze blew by. "This is Elysium," he explained. "It's where heroes come for their final rest after death. My grandfather is the keeper of this place."

After death? Am I…is that it? It's over? Just like that? Because of Kinoc and that butcher?

"But you don't belong here. At least, not yet."

"Then why am I here?

"That's the question, isn't it?"

The hawks screeched above and flapped their golden brown wings as they came closer towards the ground. The young man extended his arms, allowing them both to perch on either one. They both eyed Squall, judging him as they cocked their heads. Then, without warning, they hopped down onto the table and strutted up to their strange visitor. Their talons clacked against the marble as they stopped just in front of him, gazing up expectantly. With a single finger, Squall stroked them one after the other until they flew off satisfied.

"Even they don't seem to know what to make of you," remarked the young man. "They can see as well as I that your heroism is buttressed by gallantry and respect for life. But your timing is wrong."

"I died too soon?"

"More that you didn't die when you were supposed to. My grandfather weaves the tapestry for each hero, and he stopped yours but couldn't cut the dangling threads with his scythe."

"Meaning…?"

"There's more to weave."

"I still don't see the problem."

"Someone intervened on your behalf. That's not supposed to happen."

"It will be the one who grieves," cryptically stated the old man, looking towards Squall but not making contact with his eyes. He was looking at something else, but the soldier couldn't tell what.

"Don't worry—I don't know what that means either," said the young man.

Squall crossed his arms again and frowned. "So who exactly are you two, anyway?"

"Apologies, where are my manners? I'm Apollo." Grinning, the young man extended his hand. Squall stared at it a moment before reaching out towards it, wondering just who he was shaking hands with. "Well met, Hero Squall," he said, clasping the soldier's forearm as he offered it.

"I don't feel very heroic," grumbled the soldier, struggling with the resurgent memory of Ifalna's demise.

"You are," said the old man. "You have been and will be."

"Really, don't mind him," Apollo assured the bewildered soldier. "My grandfather is Chronos, the overseer of an expansive domain that operates across planes that few apart from he can comprehend. It's best to ignore his musings."

"So he's always like this?"

"Sometimes. Like I said, this is a special occasion. He's trying to understand you."

Squall hummed even though he didn't quite get it. Everything made his head spin, and the temptation to dismiss it all as a pain-induced fever dream never appealed to him greater. But with Ifalna on his mind again, he remembered the moment he cross into her realm—how surreal it felt. That wasn't a dream, so perhaps Chronos brought him to a similar place. Just without clothes.

"Why am I naked?" he suddenly asked.

Apollo chuckled. "Souls don't have clothes."

"But they have jewelry?" Squall tugged at his necklace.

"No, they don't."

"I thought you were the only one here who made any sense, but you're not."

"Apologies." The young man offered no further explanation, irritating Squall, who glared at him. But even that went ignored, and the soldier resigned to accept a level of operational ignorance when dealing with the two difficult conversationalists.

"So if your grandfather rules this place, what exactly do you do?"

Apollo's smile grew melancholic. He cast his amber eyes out into the distance towards a waterfall that rushed down through a rainbow. The sight of exotic colored birds flying through the mist lightened his mood. "You and I are much alike," he said while idly caressing the purple flower pinned over his heart. "I've studied you for a while in my own way. You seek healing inside the pool of elements."

Squall followed Apollo's gaze, instantly admiring the view. He had never seen such a beautiful waterfall. The cliffside was pure, ivory white with vibrant bushes, trees, and flowers adoring the sides where the water cascaded down into the shimmering river below. It looked like a lush garden bathed in the rainbow's splendor. "So I've had two grim reapers watching me this whole time?"

Apollo let out a boisterous laugh. "No." With a cocky smile, he turned towards the soldier and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I am the Light, and you, Hero Squall, are one of my champions. Perhaps the last I will ever name."

These guys are nuts. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Much and little all the same. As you will come to know." Apollo paused for a moment, allowing his wistful eyes to wander again towards the glowing horizon. "Or perhaps you already do? After all, you're displaced."

Before Squall could voice his displeasure towards the cryptic response, Chronos interjected. "At last, I see the threads that bind you," he said, suddenly getting to his feet. "Yes, it is all clear now. The tapestry's new amalgamated flow. Vivid in its design as it is intricate." He glanced from Apollo to Squall with grave, weary eyes as he gripped his scythe tighter. "A cruel blossom waving in the winds of despair. But the sun still shines upon it, chasing the shadows away with a single ray of hope. Your hope, and mine. He will be returned to you once you traverse the forgotten path. Yes. All will be returned, and liberation achieved through sacrifice. Grief will slumber no more."

"You said all of that before!" Squall growled, his temper and voice rising. "It still doesn't mean anything to me!"

"It won't right now," Apollo said, his voice calm and grounding. "As I said, you're displaced. Grandfather pulled you from a different plane, long before the fated moment. When you go back, the clock will run again and you'll move towards the day you are and were supposed to die—but you won't. When that happens, everything Grandfather says will start to make sense."

"So Kinoc didn't kill me?"

"He was never fated to."

Squall exhaled with relief. He didn't like the idea of someone so pathetic cutting his life short. "So what, am I immortal now?"

"No one is," Apollo said with a self-spiting smile. "Not even gods can escape death sometimes."

An ominous silence ensued. The foxes and deer nestled into the grass, sitting still and quiet. Even the hawks above stopped screeching. Squall could feel the tension in the air, but chose to say nothing. Then, without prompt, Chronos started walking away, his sky blue himation ruffling in the wind as he headed towards a wide open space. Grabbing his scythe in both hands, he slashed it through the air and sliced open a glowing tear in the fabric of reality. Chronos stepped into the light, disappearing through the slit before it sewed itself shut and disappeared.

"Where'd he go?" Squall asked.

Apollo shrugged. "I don't know."

Squall squeezed his arm again. So I'm supposed to die soon, but I won't? Why was I brought here? Just to learn that? Everyone dies someday. I never thought I'd be any different. But I don't want to go just yet. There's still so much I want to do and to see—with Aerith by my side. Aerith…I miss you. I wish things had gone differently. Will you still want me after you learn the truth? You deserve to make the choice for yourself. I don't want to die with regrets. I'm going to break free and deal with Kinoc, then you and I can talk.

As he wondered where life would take him when burdened by such despair, Squall had a sudden thought. "Is Ifalna here?"

"Not at the moment," Apollo replied.

"Did I miss her?"

"In a sense, though I suspect you are referring to your battle. In which case, she hasn't died yet."

"What do you mean? I saw her. I held her. I'm the one who—she's dead because of me."

"Not yet she isn't."

"What?"

"You're displaced, remember? That hasn't happened yet."

"You mean she's still alive?"

"On this plane, yes."

A rush of hope and excitement coursed through Squall's veins and he nearly jumped out of his seat. "Can you take me to her? I need to save her!"

"No."

"Why not?" he half shouted.

"Because she's already dead somewhere else—just not on this plane. You can't change the past, Squall. What has happened is happening and will happen."

The soldier let out a frustrated roar as he slammed his fist again into the table. "Then what's the point of free will? Do I even get a say in this? Was I always meant to kill Aerith's mother? Is this all some kind of sick game to you gods?" His fury continued to boil until a deer came and licked his fist, forcing him to slacken it. The deer nudged its nose into Squall's arm, relaxing it until the soldier deflated. He couldn't help but quiet down as he ran his hand across the soft, fluffy fur.

"As a mortal, you are stuck in the perpetual present," Apollo explained calmly. "But that doesn't mean it's irrelevant. The choices you make on that plane will affect the future."

"But the future already exists."

"Only because of the actions in the past. Understand?"

Squall let out a deep sigh as the deer continued nuzzling into him, licking and tickling him every chance it got. "Not really," he replied wearily.

"Time is always in motion because it's supported by its own weight. If you start changing things, the weight will shift and everything will collapse. Time will stall and everything will end."

"I wouldn't want that…" I don't want to risk Aerith's life for something like that.

"Few would."

Squall continued to quietly pet the deer, whose head now rested against his shoulder. Another breeze blew past, cooling his ire even more. Yet for some reason, Apollo's response troubled him. It continued nagging at him, like a cut that stung from gradual infection. "Few? Like who?"

Apollo thought for a moment, running his fingers through his wavy, silver locks as he gazed out again towards the rainbow falls. "I heard tale of a sorceress that once sought cosmic annihilation by compressing time—that is, shifting the weight so that only one section would endure while everything else perishes."

"What was the one section?"

"Something meaningful only to her, I suspect. Grandfather had her imprisoned, but not before she swore vengeance against him. He's shared the story with me a few times, but she never comes off chatty in his telling."

"Imprisoned? For how long? Is there any risk of her escaping?"

Apollo laughed. "My, awfully curious about such a trivial thing. To what end?"

"Anything that could potentially harm Aerith is a threat I need to know about."

"That list is never-ending," Apollo laughed again. "You mortals have more worries than you have sense sometimes."

Squall frowned, but he saw the point in the young man's argument.

Apollo suddenly stood up and stretched his arms over his head. "Come, I tire of this scene. Will you join me on a little jaunt to the falls? I've spied you observing them almost as much as I."

The offer was tempting, save for one problem. "I…can't."

"Oh? Too fond of the table?"

Squall said nothing, but crossed his legs and cleared his throat.

"Ah," Apollo nodded with understanding. "You mortals and your modesty. Very well. A moment." He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled so loud it echoed across the valley. A hawk responded in kind, screeching from somewhere far away. The two already encircling the skies parted their pattern, making way for a new arrival that flew down from the clouds and dropped some fabric from its talons before soaring high again. Apollo unfolded the black and white himation and draped it around Squall, pulling him up from his seat to get everything fitted properly.

Surprisingly comfortable for a single piece of fabric. Squall patted himself, making sure everything would stay in place during their trek.

"Satisfied?"

"Yeah."

"Good!" Apollo clapped him on the shoulder. "Onward!"

They set off for the rainbow falls, passing through a stunning field of flowers along the way. Some of them Squall remembered from Ifalna's realm, while others awed him with their beauty and perfume. In their wake trodded the animals, split between both men. Others joined along the way, including a wolf, a raven, and a few snakes. High above, the sun stood still, never moving no matter how much time passed. It warmed the world in the most pleasant way and its light shone brightly in the glistening waters that ran down the mountain.

When they reached their destination, Apollo chose a nice rock to sit upon and invited Squall to join him. "Are you a lover of the arts?" he asked after helping his guest settle. "Music and poetry?"

"I've never really thought about it," Squall answered honestly.

"Surely you must have a favorite song?"

Aerith's laughter. "Not in the traditional sense."

"Oh? What then do you listen to in your leisure?"

Aerith. "Whatever's around, I guess. The birds in nature? Chittering squirrels? The waterfall back home?"

"Ah, I see," Apollo hummed. "Tell me—how do these falls compare to your usual chorus?"

Squall took a deep breath, savoring the alluring scent of petrichor as he immersed himself in the splendid music of nature. Some might think that all waterfalls sounded the same, but Squall knew better. Each had its own voice. The rainbow falls sang a golden melody, harmonious and enchanting. "Divine," he uttered, relaxing into the rhythm. He closed his eyes for a moment, opening them only when he felt a fox jump into his lap looking for attention. With a small, placid smile, he rubbed the fox behind the ears.

"Indeed," Apollo concurred, reaching out to pet a swan that waddled up to him.

As he gazed into the waters, Squall's only thought was of how much better the view would have been with Aerith sitting next to him instead. "When will I go back?" he ventured to ask. "You said it's not my time, so why am I still here?"

"Only Grandfather knows."

"But he left."

"He'll return." Before Squall could say anything more, Apollo disrupted his thoughts. "Tell me—what's the world like on your plane?"

"You mean Radiant Garden?"

"Still a partition, then," Apollo lamented.

"I thought you said you had been watching me?"

"Yes, you. Not your world. I've seen some of what your world entails, but only through your eyes. It was enough to deem you worthy of my blessing."

"I didn't ask, but are you also some kind of god?"

"I am an Olympian," Apollo said with a pride marred by sorrow. "My sacred duty is to bring Light, Healing, and Song into the world. I am Truth and the Destroyer of the Wicked."

"We could really use all of that in Radiant Garden. Can't you do something about the Heartless and those bastard scientists?"

The wolf at Apollo's feet whined and rubbed its head along the god's leg. "I cannot," he said, caressing the wolf's thick mane. "Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that I won't be able to."

This tense jumping is getting annoying. What's he really saying?

"Forget all of that for now. Just enjoy Elysium while you can. After all, you won't return here again until the End. It's not every day a mortal can visit and then live to tell the tale."

"I'll have plenty of time for that when I'm dead. Right now, I'm more concerned with how to protect Aerith from whatever the hell Kinoc and Hojo are plotting. Then there's that witch—Maleficent. Ifalna warned me that she's after Aerith's powers—whatever they are. You said your job is to destroy the wicked? Well, I can't think of anyone more wicked than that bunch."

Apollo said nothing for a bit, gazing out instead into the rushing current as it snaked down the valley. His head was turned away from the soldier, with eyes obscured by his long, silver curls. "Would you ever fight a battle that you knew you could not win?" he asked after some time, still facing the distant horizon.

Squall crossed his arms and contemplated the question for a moment. "If I couldn't get a tactical advantage and if the stakes were high enough, I'd retreat. As long as it wouldn't cost me the war, conceding one battle wouldn't be an issue."

"But what if it did cost you the war? What then?"

"I'd assess my vulnerabilities and weakness to recalibrate my strategy."

"And if you lacked the time to do so?"

"I'd find another way. Think outside the box. Something—anything. I wouldn't just roll over and take it. Especially not if I was fighting to protect Aerith, which is what I'm doing now. So will you help me or not?"

A soft smile crept across Apollo's lips. "It's my duty to help," he said, craning his neck to finally look at the soldier. "Which is why I've made you my champion. You'll have my blessing for as long as you need it."

"I'm new to this whole god thing. What's a blessing do?"

"It's different for everyone—be they the god granting it or the supplicant receiving it. In the past, I've usually bestowed upon my chosen the gift of foresight. But that won't help you."

"Wouldn't it? I could win any battle with that."

Apollo shook his head. "Your heroism stems from the courage you display when faced with the unknown. To grant you foresight would be to cripple your strongest asset. No, instead I will gift you with something more suited to the trials you will soon face." Before Squall could so much as think of a question, Apollo touched his hand to the soldier's head. It glowed with a bright, golden aura that emanated a comforting warmth. "There," he said, slowly lifting his fingers from Squall's soft, brown hair. "It is done."

"What is?" the soldier asked, feeling everything all the way down to his toes tingle.

"Even when the Darkness comes to claim you and the pact you forge seeks to unravel you, your heart's most cherished wish will always be granted."

"My heart's…what?"

"I first came to know you through your prayer, Squall. That night when your heart reached out to the gods, it was I that you summoned. I followed you since then, studying your resolve, your nature, your being. It is how I chose you as my champion. And so, Hero Squall, your blessing comes in the form of your heart's most sincere, cherished, and craved wish. May its truest desire always see you tread the True path."

Is he talking about Christmas night at the church? My prayer back then—the only one I've ever made—was to be with Aerith always. So does that mean she and I will never part? "Will she still be with me…even once she knows what I've done?"

"The heart of another is not within the purview of my blessing. It only extends to you, Squall—to what you feel. The fire of your love and devotion to this woman will never extinguish so long as it remains true. That is my gift to you."

That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I thought gods were supposed to be omnipotent. I'd never stop loving Aerith. It's impossible. This guy's a con artist. "So you're really not going to help me against all those people?" he griped, salty.

Apollo tossed back his head and laughed. "I have faith in your victory."

"My soul might be here in the free and clear, but my body's currently broken and chained to a wall."

"Perhaps, or perhaps not. As my grandfather always says: 'The Wheel yet turns.'"

"That coot's as cryptic as ever," Squall muttered, half hoping the rushing falls drowned out his voice. But of course the god heard him.

"Grandfather is only ever unintelligible when he's speaking out of time," Apollo explained.

"Not exactly looking forward to an eternity with him regardless."

"Better him than Hades. Many mortals will never be welcomed here in Elysium. Their fate is to drift forever in the River Styx, wailing, moaning, and suffering."

"Hades? He another god?"

"Of the Underworld, yes. He works closely with the Moirai—three sisters that weave the fated threads of non-heroic mortals. They aren't as forgiving or pleasant as Grandfather, so perhaps consider that the next time you're tempted to ridicule him."

"Why have two gods overseeing death?"

"That is a complicated tale. Suffice it to say my grandfather and his children have seldom been in accord with each other. There was a power struggle over the throne that saw Grandfather banished for some time. With him deposed, his children divided the kingdom between themselves based off a lottery to ensure fairness of rule. But Hades despised his lot in life and grew contemptuous of my father, who was crowned king. Hades soon devised a scheme to wrest control of the rulership for himself. It was almost successful when Father did something unthinkable and released Grandfather from his prison. Together, they defeated Hades and all returned to equilibrium. As a war spoil and power check, Grandfather claimed half of Hades's realm for himself—the nicer half, as you can no doubt see."

"Your god politics sound complicated."

"You have no idea…" Apollo sighed with remorse. "Olympians are their own worst enemies."

Squall hummed in response as he continued stroking the fox's fur. It had curled into his lap and fallen asleep while its partner had scurried off to splash around in the river. Some exotic birds flew past him, their feathers bright colors he never thought possible—pink, lime green, orange. A violet one landed on his head and squawked a couple of times before cozying up in his hair as if it were a nest. He didn't mind it. To the contrary, it felt rather comfortable.

After sitting in a peaceful silence for a while, Squall's attention started to wander. He traced the edge of the mountain to a small forest with a rounded canopy where the foliage danced in the wind. Just beyond it lay a delightful meadow painted with a vast array of colorful blooms. The cluster of yellow ones growing in the center made him think of Aerith.

"Want to go there, hm?" Apollo nudged. "I can venture a guess as to why."

Squall's cheeks turned a tinge of pink as turned his head away. "Do you always follow my eye line?"

"I see through the eyes of all my supplicants," replied the god with a hearty pat to Squall's shoulder. "Though in this case, we happened to be gazing in the same direction at the same time and I took notice." He then slipped off the rock and started for the meadow, with his wolf, deer, and foxes following close at his sides. "Come!" he called to the soldier, who started to wonder if he wasn't just another animal in the god's ensemble.

They trekked through the grass until the reached the long, wide bands of beautiful flowers that grew almost like a naturally painted mural across a vibrant, green canvas. Squall plopped down near the yellow ones—surprised that up close they were the same lilies that grew in Aerith's church. Apollo watched him for a bit, studying the mortal as he caressed one of the flowers. A fox started emulating him, picking a different flower to paw at. The god found it endearing and smiled.

"Are you related to Ifalna?" Squall suddenly asked, unable to move her out of his mind.

"All gods are related to one-another," Apollo replied, choosing a place to sit nearby. "We're one, big family."

"Did you know her?"

"I do. I remember when she was born to Khloris. This is actually the garden where Ifalna was raised. Her mother conjured it for her."

Squall's hand slipped from the lily, losing all its strength. "This is Ifalna's world…?"

Apollo nodded. "She was reared here in Elysium."

"I thought this was the land of the dead?"

"It is the Blessed Land of the Gods. We merely chose to allow certain mortal souls to rest here after death."

"So all the gods live here?"

"No. Most rule on high from Mount Olympus, which is right over there." Apollo pointed to a tall, ivory mountain far in the distance. Its peak was obscured by circling, white clouds. "I too reside there."

Squall hummed and then fell into silent contemplation. Casting a mournful glance at the lilies, his anxiety and guilt resurfaced. This was hers. This is the place Professor Gast spent most of his life trying to find. But now I'm here without either of them. What's the sense in any of this? Ifalna…you had a mother who made this garden bloom just for you—the garden that you brought with you to our world. The garden that now belongs to your daughter. Did you ever tell Aerith? Does she know any of this? Why am I the one carrying all of these secrets and burdens for your family? All alone. …But I wouldn't be alone anymore if I told Aerith. Is that selfish of me? Doesn't she have the right to know? Does her father really know best? Would I make her laughter disappear?

Sensing his turmoil, the animals came to play with Squall. Even the wolf lazily trotted towards him, huffing to get his attention. Pretty soon, the soldier found himself with his back flat in the flowers as all of his furry friends piled onto him. They rolled around a bit until all of the meadow echoed with Squall's lighthearted happiness.

"And now you see why this is a paradise," Apollo mused with a coy grin. "Agony of any kind doesn't last too long."

Taking a deep breath of the cool breeze, Squall slowly sat up and eased the foxes and wolf paws off of his chest. He did feel relaxed, though his dispersed thoughts proved rather relentless. They regrouped after a short period, plaguing him with more worries that dragged down his burst of exuberance. "You brought me here on purpose, didn't you? To show me Ifalna's home."

"Nothing of the sort, I promise you," Apollo replied in earnest. "This just happened to be close to your point of arrival."

"Just a coincidence, then?"

"If you believe in such a thing."

"I don't."

"Then you have your answer."

Squall sighed. "Why can't you be straightforward with me?"

"Don't take it as a sleight," the god replied, placing a supportive hand on his champion's shoulder. "Some things are better left unexamined. We could spend the rest of our days discussing the threads of fate. Whether you're here or on the mountain, alive or dead, with your woman or without her—it's all irrelevant in discussion. Sometimes all you need to do is let things play out as they must do without thinking too much."

"If you've really seen things through my eyes, then you know I can't help but wonder about things. Which brings me to another question: did you come all this way down the mountain just to see me?"

"But of course! It's not every day that one of my chosen comes to visit Elysium. This is a rare opportunity for us to enjoy nature's bounty together."

"Won't we be doing that when I…come back here? What I'd really like to know is if you're here for more than just to grant a blessing and sate your curiosity."

Apollo averted his gaze and smiled wistfully as he extended his arm. At once, the raven flew down to perch on the god's forearm. It cocked its head expectantly as Apollo leaned close to whisper something to it then took off again.

Squall observed the god, finding it strange that he would summon a raven. He remembered Professor Gast's warning about Diaval, and the witch. Was there a connection?

"It's my messenger," Apollo explained, as though he could read Squall's mind. "Did you know that ravens were once white?"

"No."

"Yes, a rather fine silver-white plumage to be precise. Though I think a charred black suits them better, don't you? It reminds them to be careful of the messages they deliver."

That's an odd statement . All this just to dodge my question? "Who is the message for?"

"You'll see soon. For now…" Apollo again put his fingers to his mouth and whistled loud enough to reach the mountains. Within moments, a hawk screeched through the skies in response and swooped down with an odd bit of cargo clutched in its talons. It dropped off a masterfully crafted lyre, which the god caught in his wanting fingers. "…allow me to entertain you with true music."

Before Squall could utter another word, Apollo's dexterous fingers started gliding across the strings. He filled the entire valley with a catchy, little tune that lured out all kinds of animals from the skies, forests, and mountains. To Squall's surprise, people started showing up too. Pretty soon, everyone clapped along to the melody, singing along to lyrics that they somehow all knew the words to. A few people even started dancing. It was all so loud and overwhelmingly busy for the introverted champion. Even though he knew it was rude, he glanced around looking for an opportunity to leave.

When a nearby group of naked revelers started twirling around, they inadvertently made a part in the crowd and Squall saw his chance. Ever the soldier, he flopped down on his belly and crawled along the grass the way he used to navigate through barbed wire in the obstacle course back at the academy. After reaching a certain distance from the crowd, he felt safe enough to stand up and walk the rest of the way. But just as he got to his feet, he suddenly bumped into someone.

"Oh, pardon me!"

Squall opened his mouth to apologize but wound up staring with his jaw half agape. There, in front of him, was a woman who resembled Aerith. She was a little older, with a longer face, a smaller nose, and pastel eyes, but just as beautiful and radiant. Stunning even. Like Aerith, she also braided her golden brown hair, but the design was more intricate and had dozens of small flowers woven into it.

"I was so taken by the melody that I did not notice where I was walking. Do forgive me." She gave him an apologetic bow before continuing towards the party.

"Who are you?" Squall found himself asking bluntly, not even taking a second to think it through.

"My name is Khloris," said the woman with a warm smile just like Aerith's. "Are you perhaps a new arrival?"

It's her grandmother, but she's so young. Gods are weird. "Something like that. I'm not supposed to be here."

Khloris came closer and tilted her head to examine Squall. "I see now. You are the anomalous mortal I was told about."

"Does everyone know?" the soldier asked, almost transfixed by her beauty and the gardenia scent wafting around her.

She shook her head. "Apollo's raven told me to come here—to meet you."

He sent a raven for that? But why? Does he expect me to beg her for forgiveness? Maybe that's exactly what I should do. "Khloris, I—"

The goddess cut him off with a finger to his lips. "Not here," she said, watching a group of drunken revelers stumble around close by. "Let us retreat into seclusion."

Squall hummed in accordance and followed her in silence as she led him far away to a garden concealed beyond the forest. Along the way, his thoughts spiraled wildly from one end of the spectrum to the other. He wondered what to tell her—about her daughter, about the Heartless, about the experiments and the witch. Did she know that she had a granddaughter? Did she even care? Aerith never mentioned her. Aerith… The more I look at Khloris, the harder it is for me to keep patient. Did I do the right thing leaving you? I want to be with you, but they won't let me leave. I'll go crazy at this rate. But does it even really matter? My body's in no shape to do anything once I get back.

The garden was more manicured than the meadow. There were hundreds of different flowers all kept neat and tidy, arranged to make intricate designs. A fountain accented the center of the circular garden, depicted a finely sculpted half-naked woman pouring water out of a jug. Khloris sat down on one of the stone benches in front of the marble fountain and patted the seat next to her. Squall felt uncomfortable sitting so close to her, so he opted instead to lean against the pedestal holding a smaller statue of a woman carrying a basket of flowers. Khloris seemed a little sad at the evasion, but masked it with a smile.

Squall kept his eyes fixed to the side, staring at some hydrangeas. He couldn't look at Khloris for so many reasons, guilt chief among them but he also couldn't deny her allure. "I need to tell you something," he said to break the silence, not sure what she was doing in all that time she sat across from him. Studying him? Judging him? Staring daggers at him? It didn't really matter. "I met your daughter and…" He swallowed hard. Out of nowhere, tears started welling in his eyes. He shut them and crossed his arms, forcing himself to calm down. "I'm sorry, but she's dead." Squall's fragile voice almost broke, but he pushed past it. The burden needed to shift. "I couldn't save her. The only choice I had at the time was to fight…and kill her. I'm sorry." He bowed his head, keeping his chin to his chest until he felt her gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I appreciate the strength it took for you to tell me this," said the goddess. Squall couldn't see her, but the sound alone confused him. She wasn't crying or angry or sad—or anything. "I hope it gives you some peace."

"Me?" Shocked, Squall glanced up at her. She stood uncomfortably close to him, still holding that same smile. "Your daughter's dead because of what I did, and you're hoping for my peace?"

"Ifalna charts her own path. Even if it was fleeting, she knew true happiness once. That is all I need to feel satisfied."

"But I cut her life short!"

"And what life was that?" Khloris's expression darkened, betraying her underlying scorn. "The mortals ripped the most precious flower from my garden and plucked its petals, steeping the defiled stem in a putrid filth. Ifalna should not suffer such a cruel fate. Better to end her misery than to prolong it."

"Then why didn't you stop them?" Squall exclaimed, getting riled. "You're a goddess!"

"We do not meddle in mortal affairs. That is the law."

"What kind of stupid law is that?"

"One enacted to prevent another cataclysmic war." Khloris suddenly reached out and took Squall's hand, stopping it from balling into a fist. It felt so soft and warm. "Listen to me: some fates are far crueler than death. If nothing else, at least she and I will be reunited soon."

"But she won't be with Aerith…"

"No, she won't. All she can do upon returning here—all any of us can do—is watch the mortal worlds from afar."

"But doesn't that mean she's not really dead? She's just in another world like Professor Gast said."

Khloris turned away from Squall, craning her head in the direction of the faraway end of the valley where the faint, melodic sounds of Apollo's music still reverberated in the distance. "You saw the revelers, did you not?"

"Those red-faced drunks?"

"Your colorful description aside, how did they appear to you?"

Squall crossed his arms, not sure he liked where the implication was headed. "Like they were having a good time enjoying the festivities."

"As if they were enthralled by the melody, you might say."

"I guess. What's your point?"

"That is my point. Death, by definition, is the loss of the higher self. What remains after death is little more than an echo of what once was."

"So then what, when I die I'll turn into some slap-happy dancing fool just like them?"

"Perhaps, though I suspect you're apt to disappear into the forest. A semblance of your essence will remain to give the echo form, after all."

Squall grimaced at the thought. "So then Ifalna—"

"Will no longer know pain." Before Squall could voice any of his other worries, the goddess traced her tantalizing fingers up his bare, muscular arm as she reduced the gap between them in a way that made the soldier instantly alert. "You are such a caring man," she said, her voice turning sultry. "Your heart is truly worthy of Apollo's grace…and perhaps more. Shall I bestow upon you another gift?" Her amorous hands wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer.

As her lips drew near, Squall could see the desire flickering in the goddess's half-lidded eyes. She looks so much like Aerith… He stood mesmerized by the heat radiating from her youthful, curvaceous body as it pressed up against him and made his heart race. A tingling excitement coursed through his veins, which he struggled to control. His arms yearned to hold her, to pretend for a moment that they were secured around the familiar contours that they had been so cruelly denied. A mixture of longing and emotional strife made the goddess's bewitching seduction almost irresistible. Almost. But she's not her. Grounding himself in the sole reality that anything this woman offered him would serve as little more than a painful lie, Squall swiftly brought his hand up to block his lips from hers. She kissed his open palm just as he pulled away from her and she gazed at the soldier with a mystified sadness.

"You would refuse me?" Khloris uttered, dejected.

"I only want Aerith," Squall replied, taking several measured steps back, breaking free of her hold.

"So you say, but your desire is clear." Khloris nodded towards the soldier's visible arousal.

Squall just cleared his throat and crossed his arms in response. Trying to focus on anything but her bosom, which was now half exposed as the goddess indiscreetly slipped partially out of her floral-embroidered chiton, he struggled to will himself to cool down.

"There is no harm in this discreet copulation," she continued, approaching him again with her lustful, paralyzing gaze. "It is all the pleasure without the consequence. After all, your physical body is elsewhere. Think of it as a wondrous dream from which you will eventually wake, possessing little more than a sensual memory." She reached her hand out towards his chest, but he pushed it away.

"Even if what you're saying is true, I would never betray Aerith. I love her, and only her. Nothing will ever change that. I'm sorry, but I can't be with you."

Khloris's face darkened again as she took umbrage at the soldier's firm rejection. "For a mortal to lay with a goddess such as I is the rarest of rewards—one with which you will never again be presented."

"I don't consider infidelity a gift." Why is she so obsessed with me? Does she really want me to cheat on her granddaughter? Doesn't she even care?

"And what is fidelity in the face of transcendent ecstasy?" the goddess scoffed.

How the hell is Aerith related this this lady? They might look similar, but they couldn't be more different. "What about Ifalna's father? Don't you care about his feelings? What does he think of you pursuing someone like me?"

A hint of melancholy flashed across the goddess's face for but an instant before bitter resentment reclaimed its hold. "Irrelevant," she sneered. "He left a long time ago."

The venom in her voice felt somehow familiar to Squall. He recognized something buried under her reflexive dismissal. "Now I get it," he hummed, confusing her. "You feel abandoned and betrayed."

"Mind your tongue, mortal!" the goddess hissed. "Do not presume to understand the mind of an Olympian!"

"But I do understand you," Squall persisted, knowing he hit a sore spot. "More than most." No longer feeling threatened by the goddess, he instead looked at Khloris with kindred compassion. She sees my devotion to Aerith and wants the same for herself. Whoever she had fallen in love with didn't reciprocate her feelings. Khloris must feel so lonely, especially without her daughter around. I wonder how or why Ifalna came to live in Radiant Garden. Was it an accident, or did she leave trying to find her father? Either way, Khloris was left without a family for a long time. Kind of like me, I suppose. I don't even want to think about what I'd be like if I didn't have Aerith in my life.

"Impossible!" the goddess scoffed, shying away from his penetrating gaze and covering her suddenly vulnerable body. Caught on the back foot, she reeled towards the bench where she plopped back down in a huff. "Cease in your inane fabrications!"

"I know what it's like when everyone you love leaves," Squall continued, approaching to stand at a respectable distance. "And it's clear just how much you care for your daughter. It can't have been easy without her here. It's hard just watching from a distance…not being able to hold her, comfort her, share in her happiness when she made her family." Khloris averted her eyes, but the keen soldier could tell they were moist.

"The divine do not share in such mortal trivialities."

"Even gods have feelings," Squall replied softly, as if he were talking to Aerith. "I'm sorry you've had to suffer through this all alone, but don't give up. One day you'll feel joy again."

The goddess was so taken by his tenderness that she felt robbed of all words. She stared at him teary-eyed then slowly rose and drifted closer, again closing the gap between them. "Why are you like this?" she eventually murmured. "You are but a child of the wilds, destined to a world of pettiness, brutality, and death. How did you come to be so solicitous? From where do you draw your warmth? I must know…" Her lips again grew dangerously near. She wanted him more than ever, and Squall could feel that desperate desire emanating from her. All of his instincts screamed for him to escape, but before he could so much as flex his legs in retreat, the scheming goddess blew some kind of pollen into his face.

After a small sniffling fit, Squall rubbed his eyes and sneezed a few times. When he glanced back up again, his heart started beating erratically. There was something different about her this time—more alluring than before—and the soldier struggled to break free of her mesmerizing charm. He gritted his teeth and blinked a few times more, trying to disrupt their connection. His eyes were watering, and no matter how hard he rubbed them, the haze just got worse. Then, out of nowhere, he no longer saw Khloris standing before him—but Aerith. They weren't in Elysium anymore either, instead standing in front of the garden of lilies inside the church back home. With her brilliant, emerald eyes, she was begging him to take her.

"This can't be real," the soldier growled, fighting against the illusion. "Whatever you're doing, stop!" But then she touched her gentle hand to his cheek and he could smell Aerith's familiar scent. It was intoxicating. "Aerith…you can't really be here…can you…? Am I…? No, but…I was…"

As she leaned in closer to him, Squall found himself captive to his resurgent arousal. An uncontrollable urge to pull her in close overpowered his senses and without thinking he wrapped his arms around her supple body. A wave of excitement flooded over him as their lips touched. For a moment, he felt as though everything had returned to a time before the arrest, before the fighting, before all the tragedy. They were together again, happy and enjoying each other free from judgment, guilt, and pain. He was prepared to completely surrender to his urges, but the way she kissed him soon broke him free from the spell. Something was missing. Something important. Just as she had him flat on the ground with her hands running down his waist, he suddenly pushed away from her.

"Stop messing with me," Squall grunted half breathless as he rolled away and bounded back to his feet. To his eyes, it still looked like he stood in the middle of the garden back home. The floral scent in the air, the sound of the ruffling tarp from above, the beauty of the naked and wanting woman before him—everything was telling him to believe the illusion. Except for one thing. But he wasn't going to tell her that.

"Squall, please," she pleaded, still wearing Aerith's face. "How can you be this cruel? Don't you want me?"

"You're the one being cruel! I never asked to come here, and I sure as hell didn't sign up for whatever this is supposed to be. Try to trick me all you want; this isn't the path to happiness. It's just an illusion—same as whatever spell you cast. It's not real, Khloris, and it never will be. Not for me, not for you."

With downcast eyes, the dour goddess summoned forth a wind to blow clean her pollen from the soldier head. She then clothed herself and stood with her head bowed in apology. "What you say is true," Khloris admitted with a shaky sigh. "Perhaps I gave in too readily to base desires ill-befitting an Olympian. I do hope you will find it within your loving heart to accept my most sincerest apology, dear Squall."

The soldier crossed his arms and grimaced. He didn't like her calling him that and he half wondered if she didn't have some other trick up her sleeve. "Do you really have nothing better to do with your day than try to pull this stunt? I thought gods were supposed to be out there giving blessings to the people praying for them, but all I see around here is unfettered hedonism."

"And who would pray for such things these days?"

"Aerith for a start."

"Only because her mother did well to instruct her in the old ways. In truth, Olympus continues to fall into ruin and decay. Doomed to turn to dust."

So this is where Ifalna's pessimism comes from. Thankfully Aerith didn't inherit it. She's more like her dad—always believing in something better. "So that's it? Things are a little rough and you're ready to toss everything to the wind? Like you said, life for me hasn't exactly been a picnic either, but I'd never just roll over and lose myself to it. When the world pushes you hard, you push back even harder. That's what it means to be alive."

A small, wistful smile tugged at the goddess's lips as her cheeks flushed. "You truly are a remarkable man…"

Squall instinctively backed away from her, not wanting to risk a third encounter. Anyone else—had they maintained their obstinance as he did—would have fled, but he never turned tail no matter how difficult the situation. Besides, he still pitied her. Even if she was a desperate temptress, he understood the root of her suffering.

"Tell me about Ifalna's father."

Khloris winced and a mess of wrinkles blemished her smooth complexion. "There is nothing to say about that conniving wretch," she snapped. "He swindled his way into my hallowed valley then stole away as quickly as he came."

"Seems like a long time to torment yourself over someone that doesn't sound worth it."

"For one so attuned to his emotions, you know far too little of the heart's frailties."

"I just focus on the people that really matter and cut out the rest."

"Spoken like one untarnished by betrayal."

"No, I've been betrayed. Or so I thought. I changed the way I look at it. I could say that my parents abandoned me, but that's not really true. My mother died in childbirth and my uncle was killed trying to do the right thing. I don't know what Ifalna's father was like or why he really left you, but you loved him once—it sounds like you still do. There has to be something more to this, something you're not allowing yourself to see. When you change your perspective, maybe you'll finally find peace."

Khloris couldn't help but laugh.

Squall frowned. "What's so funny?"

"We both wish each other peace," the goddess said, sweetness returning to her lilt. She bowed her head once more. "I truly hope that you will forgive my transgressions. May you return to a world filled with happiness, light, and love."

"Thanks." She sounds like she means it. Maybe I finally got through to her…

"You are very welcome." Khloris smiled and batted her doe-like eyes. "As you are a kind and noble man, would you perhaps…do me one courtesy?"

…or maybe not. "Depends on what you're after," the soldier replied warily.

The goddess started to lift her foot as if to approach him, but then caught herself and stopped. "Would you be so kind," she said slowly, careful to select the appropriate phrasing, "as to regale me with stories…about Aerith?"

That request caught Squall by surprise. "What?" Why would she want to know about her? To tweak her illusion for next time? Should I even say anything? She's probably still trying to figure out how I knew it was all fake.

"I…know so little of her. The last I saw of that child was many moons ago when she was aught but a girl no higher than your knee."

"I thought you could see her from here?"

Khloris solemnly shook her head. "It is not so simple. For one such as I, who governs the growth and fertility of the valleys, sight into the outside realms is limited without a bridge. My daughter used to facilitate that connection, but…"

But then Ifalna was kidnapped. Is this why she seems so callous towards her own granddaughter? Because she doesn't even know her? Can't even picture what kind of person she's grown into? "You can't reach her even through her prayers?"

"With great difficulty. I can hear her voice but little else. Tell me—what is her favorite bloom? Has she any woodland companions? Does she find greater joy cloistered within the shade of an old forest or perhaps sitting in contemplation beside a sparkling spring? Does her smile shine with the sun's grace or twinkle with the moon's majesty?"

These don't sound like manipulative questions. I think she's genuinely interested in the answers. Am I really the right person for this, though? I don't actually know what to say. Woodland companions? Does that pigeon count? Aerith's hardly ever left town aside from that one trip we took together. If she did see any springs, they would've been frozen over. And her smile? Well, it's all of that and more—at least to me. About all I can tell her is that Aerith loves those yellow lilies—because they remind her of her mother. Maybe that's all Khloris needs to hear—that despite all the distance, heartache, and hardship, there's still something very real and resilient connecting their family together across realms, worlds, and whatever else.

Squall mulled over his words a bit longer. When he felt satisfied with his response, he opened his eyes to see the goddess awaiting him with eager anticipation. After years of separation, she lowered the wall to the curiosity that she had steeled herself against long ago. "Aerith's a wonderful woman," he began, his words growing fonder and more wistful by the second. As he heard himself speaking about her, Squall couldn't hold back the sense of longing that kept tearing at his heart ever since he started on his journey. He wished Aerith was there in his arms instead of a character in a story that he was recounting for someone else.

At least Khloris was enjoying herself. The goddess listened carefully, hanging on his every word. At one point, she closed her eyes so as to envision every detail with greater clarity. When the soldier finished recanting his heartfelt tales, Khloris couldn't help but smile. "I thank you," she said with all sincerity. "Perhaps one day, should our connection again be bridged, I will have the privilege to see her once more."

"I still don't understand why it's so hard for you to do that now. I thought gods were supposed to be these all-powerful beings?"

"Be that as it may, we are still governed by laws."

"You've mentioned that before… I don't think I understand. I thought gods were the laws?"

"We create them, enforce them…and also abide by them. As we must to avoid catastrophe."

Squall crossed his arms and thought for a moment, then remembered something from before the goddess deployed her manipulative wiles. "You mentioned a war. Is that the same one that Apollo talked about, the one between the king and that death god—what's his name, Hades?"

Khloris shook her head. "Not quite, yet not altogether unrelated. As they so often do, one war led to the next. Hades is but one of a rebellious faction dissatisfied with the status quo. Although now rare, violence on Olympus was once commonplace before the Schism."

"Schism?"

"It is how we have come to reference the last great war—the one that saw your realm torn from ours. Once long ago, there was but one world. We Olympians ruled from on high while you mortals served as our supplicants down below. But then Prometheus rebelled, and Zeus—our king—cast him down as a traitor and they struggled violently. Chaos enveloped your kind, and you soon turned your weapons against your own kin. After many bloody revolutions, your ancestors found peace only through infinitesimal fractures that saw the birth of a nigh infinite sea of worlds painted across the cosmos."

Is that really how the stars were made? Does the Guard have its roots in that war? This is the first I'm hearing about something that's not as vague as "insurgents" or "traitors" or "enemies." It must have been so long ago that we've lost any sense of grounding—just relics of a long forgotten history. "So your new laws—they maintain the peace?"

"Yes," the goddess nodded. "As long as we do not meddle, war is kept at bay. The realms have been without strife for millennia."

"But how is reaching out to your family considered 'meddling'?"

Khloris hesitated to answer. After a moment of tormented silence, she suddenly turned her back to the soldier. "Forgive me," she said, the tears clear in her voice. "All of this excitement has taken its toll. I believe I shall retire for the rest of the day."

Squall almost wanted to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Almost. He instead called out to her with an idea. "When I get back, I'll tell Aerith everything. Then she'll know to pray specifically to you. Maybe then you'll have a stronger connection."

Although she made to leave, the goddess hadn't moved. Instead, she just stood there for a time. "You are too kind," she sniffled, "and I am perhaps undeserving of it. Yet I thank you all the same."

She sounds sincere, but I can't help wondering if she's trying to look vulnerable on purpose. Squall wanted to change the subject, in part to dispel the melancholic atmosphere but also as a way to figure out how to leave. Apollo's party still raged in the background somewhere, even as the sky started darkening. Some dark clouds came to eclipse the sun, which by all accounts still hadn't shifted much from its original position. The soldier thought it strange, but chalked it up to the otherworldly nature of the place. Did Elysium even follow the same rules of nature as Radiant Garden?

"You sense it too?"

"Hm?" Squall glanced down to see Khloris standing a little closer with her focus on the sky.

"The Darkness."

"This isn't normal?"

"Not with Apollo here. He controls the Sun. The Darkness seeks to encroach."

"Does this happen a lot?"

"More frequently as of late."

"Where's it coming from?"

Khloris shook her head. "I am but a humble flower goddess," she replied, giving Squall a sense of nostalgia. "These affairs are far outside my purview."

The two watched as a shadowy blanket fell over Elysium. The music suddenly stopped. Even the buzzing bees, chirping birds, and chittering squirrels fell silent. It felt as if time stood still. Squall didn't want to breathe, fixating all of his attention on his heightened senses. The winds of battle flew past him. A fight had broken out somewhere—he just knew it. But where and with whom? As if to answer that question, panicked shouts echoed in the distance followed by several streaks of lightning that boomed through the air.

"Those are from Zeus!" Khloris fretted. "Whatever has happened must truly be serious for him to strike!"

"I thought you said the wars were over!"

"This eludes my understanding. I apologize."

Squall looked into her frightened eyes and saw no signs of deception. More lightning cracked across the sky, and he instinctively took a defensive posture while weighing his options. Without a weapon, he felt vulnerable, but he couldn't deny his compulsion to run towards the conflict. Just as he decided to leave the garden, a powerful gale blew past him, almost knocking the soldier off his feet. Hundreds of colorful petals swirled up through the wind, heralding the arrival of a winged man.

"Khloris, come!" ordered the golden haired god as he flapped his large, white wings to whack Squall into the ground.

The goddess frowned. "What are you doing here, Zephyros?"

"Ferrying you away from Apollo's fall." He grabbed her wrist.

"What are you talking about?" she cried, struggling to free herself.

"I warned him he would pay for his crime one day," Zephyros seethed, his face dark and twisted.

"No…" Khloris stood stunned and horrified. "What have you done…?"

"Reaped revenge for Hyacinthus."

Before either god could say another word, Squall bounded off the ground and tackled Zephyros. With a mighty roar, he tore at the god, who struggled fiercely to pull free of the mortal's vise-like grip. The soldier dug his nails into the feathery wings, hampering the god's ability to fly away. With several stunted flaps, Zephyros could barely make it off the ground. Viciously locked in a powerful grapple, they rolled around through the garden and smashed into everything from the statues to the fountain. All the while, Khloris was screaming for them to stop.

Just when Squall managed to get Zephyros into a debilitating chokehold, a raven streaked down from above and went straight for the soldier's eyes. Its razor-sharp talons shredded into Squall, forcing him to let go. While the winged god hobbled away to freedom, hacking and wheezing with every step, the soldier swatted at his tenacious aerial attacker. The raven tried to peck out his eyeballs, forcing him to duck into his arms for cover. Even while on the defensive, Squall tried to get to Khloris, who was screaming in defiance of the winged god that grabbed her. All of his attempts to rid himself of the pesky raven failed, however, and it was all he could do just to catch a glimpse of Zephyros forcing Khloris over his shoulder before flying off and disappearing into the pitch-black sky.

Squall wrestled with the raven a little longer until a woman's commanding voice pierced through the frenzied din of battle that waged all around Elysium.

"Diaval—to me!"

At once, the raven abandoned its quarry and flew off towards a nearby knoll where a dark figure stood basking in the sickly glow of green flames. Another flash of lighting struck through the sky, illuminating the woman's devilish features for just a moment before the fire overshadowed her. Squall stared wide-eyed at her. He knew who she was—the witch, Maleficent. With black horns spiraling from her head and a long, black cloak draped over her body to give her appearance a more domineering aura, she gazed back at him with a mischievous malice that almost made the soldier shudder. Another figure soon appeared, one draped in blue embers. He whispered something into the witch's ear. They both cackled louder than the thunder. Then, just as quickly as they appeared, the two vanished along with their flames into the consuming darkness.

Several long minutes passed before Squall found the strength to overcome his paralysis. Something in the air had shifted. It felt heavier, more oppressive, but also sickening. A crippling trepidation creeped up his body as he turned from the garden and dashed for the meadow where he had last seen Apollo. The music had long since been replaced by the crackling of fire, explosion of lightning, and cacophony of pain-filled shrieks. What he saw when he reached the scorched clearing nearly forced his stomach up his throat.

A ring of dead animals lay in the charred earth. The foxes, deer, hawks, and wolf from earlier had been slain—their bodies left contorted and rotting around their master and friend. Apollo's lifeless, pale corpse was prostrate in the ashes next to his broken lyre. Squall ran to him. Without thinking, he slid down and scooped the dead god into his arms. As he did so, the small, purple flower that was once pinned over Apollo's heart fluttered down to the barren earth.

No, this can't be happening! How could she kill god? How?! They're supposed to be immortal! …Why do I even care? It's not like he really helped me. I got some fake blessing from him and a fancy tour of the place. Big deal! He was never really going to help me against all that rot in Radiant Garden! I barely knew the guy! So why? Why do I feel like I've just lost a part of myself? Why do I feel so hopeless all of a sudden?

Squall continued holding Apollo, pressing him close to his chest as he grieved for the god's passing. He was overcome with a paralyzing sadness, that he failed to notice a sea of shadows pooling around him. Hundreds of pairs of yellow eyes soon fell on the unsuspecting soldier. The Heartless reached their claws out, allowing their bodies to take shape as they encircled their prey. Then, all at once, they pounced.

Before they could slash into Squall's meaty heart, a sudden burst of light slashed into them. Chronos's long, sharp scythe pierced out from the fabric of reality and sliced all the shadows in half. The Darkness dispersed, paving way for the god to reemerge in full next to Squall.

"Where the hell were you?" the soldier shouted. "You could've done something! You could've prevented this!"

The old man said nothing at first as his long beard flapped around in the foul winds of death and destruction. He simply kneeled down next to his grandson and placed a hand over his chest. "This is what must be," the god said in a withered, strained voice as his hand began to glow. "What will be. What was." With one, swift motion, he forced his fingers into the god and yanked out his still heart.

"I don't understand how any of you are gods," Squall spat, frustrated. "All I ever hear about is your laws and limitations—how you can't help good people or punish the bad ones. How you're responsible for so many wars and countless deaths. How you manipulate and lie and cheat to get your way. Just what's the point of you? Aerith's spent her whole life praying to you people, and what does she get for it? What does anyone?"

While Squall unloaded his grievances, Chronos silently tugged a golden thread out from Apollo's heart. He then slipped his scythe down so that the blade faced the dead god's body. But instead of focusing there, he lifted his eyes to meet the frustrated soldier's. "Hope," he stated firmly. Before Squall could say anything more, a blinding light shot out of the scythe, out from which spiraled another thread. This one seemed green at first glance, but also shimmered blue as it spiraled in the light. There was something about it that felt familiar to Squall—homely, warm, and nostalgic—yet also brimming with potential, possibilities and…hope. The soldier watched as Chronos tied the two threads together, transforming them into a large spool of new thread. It was neither gold nor green nor blue, but something else. A composite of them all and something more.

Another flash of bright light blinded Squall. It took longer for his sight to return, though his hearing seemed just as impaired, for he heard a sound that didn't make any sense. It was the cry of a newborn. As the light faded, however, he came to realize that Chronos no longer held a large spool in his hands, but instead a baby that cried and coughed as it wriggled its tiny arms and legs.

"What name would you bestow upon him?" questioned the god as he suddenly slipped the baby into Squall's unwitting arms.

The soldier stared speechless at the baby. What kind of question is that? How should I know? Why should I even care? What the hell is happening? Why am I holding him? He feels so warm. I think I…like holding him. It all felt so foreign to him, yet not unpleasant. Little kids were one thing, but this was something else entirely. Carefully, fearing the newborn's fragility, Squall took one of his tiny hands in his and gave it a light squeeze. The baby stopped crying, distracted by the sensation. He stared with his wide, unblinking eyes as Squall rubbed a soothing thumb over the back of his soft hand. What would I name him…? What would Aerith? Why would I even think that…? Squall noticed the tuft of silver hair atop the baby's crown and figured it must have been Apollo's reincarnation. After all, gods weren't supposed to die. Maybe they just went through a rebirth every so often. But something didn't feel right about that—namely the eyes. They weren't amber like Apollo's. Instead, they held a bright, bluish green color evocative of the thread from earlier. Looking into those eyes filled Squall with the same consummate feeling of familiarity. Was it of the forest? The mountain? The valley? Something in there, maybe. Or maybe something more.

"Essence of the land," Chronos replied, nodding his head in accordance as if the soldier had provided an answer. He then scooped the baby back into his grasp where it started wailing again.

"Why not just call him Apollo?" Squall ventured to ask, suddenly feeling colder and emptier without that bundle of life cradled in his arms. He wanted to take him back, to protect him, to quiet him again.

"Apollo is dead."

The statement filled Squall with dread, for more reasons than one. But before he could press the matter, a god appeared riding on a donkey. Bearded, tall, and muscular, the god wielded a large hammer and greeted Chronos with a solemn nod.

"Where is it?" he asked, dismounting.

"Patience," Chronos replied, holding his scythe close over the wailing babe.

Squall couldn't keep still any longer. He made to push the weapon away from that baby, but the new god stopped him.

"Do not interfere."

"Who are you to stop me?"

"I am Hephaestus," said god in a deep voice, "and you are to bow to me, lowly thrall."

Squall balled his fists. "Don't talk to me like that. I've had it up to here with you gods and your power trips. I don't know what you're both plotting, but I'm taking this kid and getting out of here before more Heartless show up to ransack the place."

"He will not be harmed," Chronos stated, meaning for both Squall and the babe. Hephaestus met the soldier's glare for a few more moments before harrumphing and shifting his weight. Not long after, Chronos jerked his scythe up, tugging out an orb of pure light from out of the baby.

"Is that his heart?" Squall wondered out loud, made mystified and uneasy by the sight. He wanted to rush in there and grab the newborn to whisk him to safety, but felt transfixed by the light.

"It is the bonding of sands," Chronos replied, allowing Hephaestus to take the orb. "The ingot of a virtue most rare."

The muscular god returned to his donkey to remove an anvil strapped to the mount's rear. When he fixed it to the ground, he set the orb atop it and struck it with his hammer. Again and again. Each time harder and louder. Sparks flew from the friction until the light spread out into a peculiar shape. Hephaestus then blew fire onto the anvil followed by overturning a satchel of electrum dust atop the malleable light. He continued hammering it until the blaze died down and then he removed the new creation with his tongs to cool it within a bucket of water.

"It is finished," Hephaestus proudly declared, holding it up for all to see.

Squall eyed the curiosity, not sure what to make of it. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, made of silver and gold. Most intriguing was its shape. It resembled a giant key. "Just what is it?"

"The End," Chronos replied. "And also the Beginning."

"It is a weapon that serves as a key to unlocking hearts," Hephaestus clarified. "I call it the Keyblade."

"Keyblade?" Squall repeated, still marveling at the weapon. Hephaestus handed it to him for a moment, allowing the soldier to feel and hold its weight. It wasn't too heavy or light, and balanced rather well in the hand. The blacksmith god knew his craft well. "What do you mean it unlocks hearts?"

"Those creatures—the Heartless—cannot be defeated by normal means," Hephaestus explained. "Even after striking them down, their dispersal is temporary. To truly defeat them, one must first liberate the hearts they have devoured. This blade will free a heart immediately upon contact. It unlocks the binding that anchors a heart to the shadows. It also allows unrestricted passage into any heart—from man, to beast, to world. No door will resist its command, nor will any heart."

"Can we save people that have lost their hearts?"

"Potentially. That depends on the wielder."

Squall narrowed his eyes. "And why is that?"

"Where there is Light, there is also Darkness. This Key is now one of a pair, for when I struck the finishing blow, I breathed life into both vessel and shadow."

"I don't think I follow."

"It is the will of the Kingdom to forge its fate," Chronos interrupted, yanking the weapon out of the soldier's hands. "Whosoever holds this Key and is worthy shall obtain the power of Apollo."

Squall had so many more questions. His eyes darted from the gods to the Keyblade to the baby that still cried for attention and affection. The world wasn't getting any brighter, and Apollo's grey corpse still lay in a field surrounded by rotting animal carcasses. In the skies, the lightning had eerily stopped and a hollow stillness overtook the mountain. Elysium started feeling like a true land of the dead, and regardless of what Chronos said about hope, it seemed farther away than ever. But Squall wasn't allowed to voice any of those concerns or debate the matter further. The god of time swung his scythe and slashed open the fabric of reality, shoving the soldier into it.

"Forget, reforge, and traverse," were the last words Squall heard before everything went black.