"We know what the birth of a revolution looks like: A student stands before a tank. A fruit seller sets himself on fire. A line of monks link arms in a human chain. Crowds surge, soldiers fire, gusts of rage pull down the monuments of tyrants, and maybe, sometimes, justice rises from the flames."

~Nancy Gibbs


Two

Squall stared at the broken, boarded-over back windows of the house as he hung a basket of laundry on the line to dry. Three years since Ellone and Matron left and no one bothered to replace the panes. Bits of glass still peeked from the tall grass, but time and exposure to the elements dulled their sheen to a dusty, gray patina. Some day, someone was going to cut themselves, but no one had ever bothered to clean up the remnants. Seifer wouldn't do it himself and Squall refused on principle.

It was cold and dark in that back room. Raijin nicknamed it "The Cave," and he wasn't so far off. With seven teenagers crammed into a cavernous, drafty stone room, lights out after eight to save on electricity, and only an oil lantern for illumination, it was less a joke than it seemed.

Every now and then, Cid mumbled something about buying replacement panes, but he never did. Not that Squall expected him to. Cid occasionally talked about improvements, then forgot about them until something else broke.

Money for repairs was hard to come by. Which was why the pipe under the kitchen sink leaked, and the toilet in the front bathroom overflowed, and why they still bathed in a round metal trough instead of an actual tub. The roof leaked in four places, and there were bats living in the eaves, birds made nests in the gutters, and occasionally in the stovepipe, which caused the house to fill with smoke every time they used the wood stove.

Where ever Matron and Ellone were, it had to be better than here. At least, he hoped so.

He pinned the last of the laundry to the line and took the basket inside. At the table, Quistis had her face stuck in her history book – reading ahead, no doubt – and Zell was at the counter before an assembly line of day-old bread slices they got cheap from the bakery, jar of gil-store mustard in one hand and a butter knife in the other.

Squall hoped it wasn't baloney again. That was all they'd eaten for the last two weeks and he would kill for something else, anything besides mustard and baloney on stale bread.

Xu breezed in with a bowl in her hands, Raijin behind her, wearing a huge, toothy grin.

"My chickens made eggs, ya know?" he announced.

"Good thing, too," Xu muttered, "They were about to become soup."

"You wouldn't do that, to 'em," Raijin said.

"I most certainly would," Xu said. "We don't need any more non-productive mouths to feed. We already have Seifer."

Squall frowned but didn't add his two cents. Seifer was surly and uncooperative, especially with Xu, but he did more than his share to keep the place from crumbling in on itself. The income from his part-time job kept them fed, and he and Zell were the only ones brave enough to climb up to the roof to patch the holes when the leaks got too bad.

"Eggs?" Zell perked up. "Fried baloney and eggs on toast, baby!"

"Whatever. Don't care," Xu said. She placed the bowl on the counter beside Zell. "There are tomatoes too."

Zell whooped as he counted the eggs in the bowl, high-fived Raijin, and busied himself with his new task.

"Seen Seifer?" Xu asked.

"Dunno," Squall said.

"What about Cid?"

"Probably still in his room."

"I swear to Hyne..." Xu muttered. "Go find Seifer."

It wasn't hard to find him. He was in the usual spot, in the lighthouse, staring out to sea.

"Xu wants you."

"Xu can eat me."

Squall didn't much care whether or not Seifer answered Xu's call. Squall's part was done and Seifer could do as he pleased.

He sat down opposite Seifer, his back to the wall, the heels of his too-big shoes against the weathered metal rail. Seifer stayed where he was, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of Ellone and Matron's return.

"They're not coming back," Squall said.

"They'll come back," Seifer vowed.

"Whatever."

Squall understood Seifer's obsession, even if the rest didn't. He was there the morning Seifer found out Ellone was gone, and he heard Cid's empty reassurances.

"My Sorceresses left me too, son."

Squall understood what that meant. Not how, or why, or even when, but now that he was older, he understood what Cid meant. Not that he knew how he should feel about it, or why Sis chose Seifer, of all people. He didn't ask questions no one would answer anyway.

Ellone and Matron were gone and it wasn't safe for them to return. Squall paid attention to the news. There were witch hunts going on in Galbadia, and with refugees bleeding into Centra seeking asylum and a fresh start, it wouldn't be long before Galbadia turned their eyes on the south.

"They'll come back," Seifer said. "I know it."


Rinoa stared out the window of her new home in the Palace of Dollet and frowned at the setting sun. From where she stood, she couldn't see the struggles of the citizens, only the colorful bands of pink and lavender and a sprinkling of stars above the sea. The view was deceptively beautiful and peaceful, but Rinoa knew too much to buy the lie entirely.

Below the evening sky and beyond the protection of the palace gates, evidence of Galbadia's victory showed in the blast marks in the square. Pits from gunfire were gouged into the walls of every building. Even now, a week later, the north end of the city was pungent with the odor of death, and the wounded still wandered the streets in need of care.

Dollet fought hard to keep their freedom, but they fell hard and fast as Galbadia overtook their small army within a matter of hours. Their surrender was unconditional.

Now, the ruling family and several Dolletian political leaders were either dead or sat behind bars in D-District, charged with a slew of imaginary crimes that not even the best lawyer could defend in a Galbadian court. In the interim, Rinoa's father would manage the city and bring the remaining rebels under control. Rinoa was just along for the ride, and perhaps an education in the ways of war. It was no secret Caraway's sights were set on a political career for Rinoa, something she only held an interest in if she stood on the other side of the line.

She turned away from the window and eyed the dress her father had picked for her on the bed. It was beautiful, made of fine Trabian silk, with shoes to match, but Rinoa was not interested in attending a formal social gathering full of politicians and miltary types in the wake of a massacre. They would eat caviar and pate, while the people just a few blocks away would be lucky to eat at all.

Her father wouldn't hear a word of argument, nor would he listen to her concerns about the welfare of these people. Caraway believed a fifteen-year-old girl knew nothing of the world, and maybe he was right. But Rinoa knew right from wrong, and sitting down to a seven course meal while half the city starved was wrong. Mistreating the people he meant to rule was wrong.

Still, she dressed and did her hair the way her father liked, and she readied herself to play the prim, proper and obedient daughter of the G-Army's most celebrated General.

Downstairs, she put on a fake smile and accepted greetings from her father's associates, all the while, wishing herself somewhere where she could do some good. They asked questions about her education and how she was settling in, and her father answered for her, as if he didn't trust her ability to speak for herself. The more it happened, the more irritated she became, until she excused herself, swiped a bottle of champagne from the bar when no one was looking, and retreated to the balcony at the back of the Palace ballroom.

To her surprise, it was already occupied. A tall young man she recognized by posture alone stood with his face turned to the sky. He was as out of place here as Rinoa, and it showed. His formal military jacket hung from his shoulders, the toggles undone. His pants were baggy and a little too short.

He turned as she stepped outside, revealing a long, narrow face and denim blue eyes. He smiled impishly at the bottle in her hand and wiggled his eyebrows.

"The lady comes bearing gifts," he drawled. "This party just got a little more interesting."

His rakish gaze swept over her and Rinoa rolled her eyes, as unmoved by his charming smile as she'd been the first time they met.

"You look stunning in that dress," he said. "Nice legs."

"Stare any harder and your eyes are going to fall right out of your head, Kinneas."

"Can't help myself," he said. "Pretty girls just move my furniture."

"Gross."

"Did it hurt?" he asked.

"What?"

"When you fell from heaven."

Rinoa snorted. "That line actually work for you?"

"Not yet," he admitted. "Tryin' a few different ones out. But, I think you might be immune to my charm, anyway."

"Lines like that, I would be surprised if I was the only one."

"Ouch," he said. "Don't spare my fragile male ego or anything."

"Oh, don't worry. I won't."

Rinoa stepped up to the rail and uncorked the champagne bottle and aimed it over the edge of the balcony. The cork shot out into the night and foam spilled from the neck.

Irvine opened his mouth, one corner hitched up in a smirk but Rinoa cut him off.

"Say it, and I will push you off the balcony, Kinneas."

They met a year ago, at a similar party in Deling City in celebration of some victory or another. Irvine, at fifteen, proved himself an exceptional marksman during a conflict, taking out the head of the Timber Resistance and his second with two clean shots from a distance of 1000 meters in breezy conditions. Apparently, that was hard to do, especially for a recruit fresh out of basic.

Caraway paraded the gangly boy around like he was his own son and invited him to events and parties, brought him to meet Vinzer Deling himself, and later arranged for Irvine to escort Rinoa to a débutante ball hosted by one of Rinoa's wealthy classmates. Rinoa spent the evening lecturing him on feminism until his eyes glazed over, and at the end of the night, he decided to go in for the kiss. Rinoa knocked him silly and lectured him about consent for twenty minutes before he apologized and then tried again.

They weren't exactly friends, but friendly enough to prefer each other's company over that of a bunch of fat politicians and career military men who talked endlessly about the war effort and compared the size of their swollen bank accounts.

"I don't know why they keep inviting me to these damn things," Irvine said. "I got nothin' to say to those guys."

"When Caraway says jump, everyone around him asks how high," she said. "You included."

"And you."

"And me," she agreed and lifted the bottle to the sky. "He doesn't even ket me pick out my own clothes."

"You ever think about all this?" he asked. "What Deling's doing?"

"That's subversive talk, Kinneas," she warned. "Don't forget where you are."

"Don't tell me you're okay with bein' here," he said. "I know enough about your feelings on social justice and the like to know you're not lookin' away when you see it."

"Sometimes..." she began, but broke off. This was neither the time, nor the place to discuss her feelings about the war, or Vinzer Deling, or his quest to conquer the world. People had gone to prison for less.

"Yeah, me too," he agreed and snatched the bottle from her hand. "Me too."

They shared the champagne, which Irvine admitted he wasn't a fan of, but drank anyway to pass the time. It went straight to Rinoa's head and rather than leave her giddy, it turned her already sour mood dark.

"How did you wind up Galbadia's favorite sharpshooter?" she wondered. "You're what, sixteen?"

Irvine's placid expression faded and he dug the toe of his boot into the granite patio stones.

"I've been a war orphan twice," he said. "Second time, it was starve to death in the streets, go to a work camp for insurgents, or join the army."

"I'm sorry." she said. "I didn't know."

"That's the hand life dealt me," he said mildly. "My adopted parents were arrested for subversive activities and I wound up in an orphanage in Galbadia. One day this recruiter came around. Me and some other boys were out back, plinkin' cans with a BB gun... I was damn good with that stupid thing but it was just a toy, you know? Not like we were shootin' squirrels or somethin'..."

He trailed off and lapsed into silence, swallowed down a mouthful of the champagne and leaned his forearms against the rail. He was basically a hostage, kept and trained by the same people that took his family from him and orphaned him a second time.

"They didn't give me much of a choice," he said. "Wound up in a military barracks a day later with about ten other boys, all selected for this special training program. Normally, you gotta be sixteen to join up, right? Yeah, well, we were exceptions."

"How do you not hate them?" she asked.

"You do what you gotta to survive," he said. "I mean, compared to everyone else, you got it pretty good, but I bet you fake your way through it a lot, too."

He was right. She faked smiles when she was supposed to, all the while quietly seething over the injustices she saw all around her.

"That's awful," Rinoa said. "I had no idea they were doing that."

"There's a lot you don't know," he said. "And before you get all pissy about it, I don't mean so much that you've privileged and sheltered, which you are, I mean it ain't what it looks like from the outside. Deling's got his eyes set on this continent and everything beyond and there's no one to stop him, except maybe Esthar, but they've got their borders locked down so tight we don't even know what's on the other side."

"My father thinks Esthar will stay out of it."

"They will," Irvine agreed. "Until we come knockin' on their door, and believe me, I've heard enough talk at these shindigs to know that's not an if, but a when."

"Why?" she wondered. "Esthar isn't even a threat. As far as I know, they want nothing to do with the rest of the world."

"Well, seeing as Deling is on the hunt for a Sorceress, and Esthar knows what happened to Adel, I suppose that's reason enough."

Rinoa wondered why it was so important to Deling to find a Sorceress. With the world's largest army at his disposal, was it really necessary?

"If I were you, I'd learn as much as I could," Irvine said, "and use it how you see fit. One girl with courage and conviction is a hell of a lot more powerful than a dictator who hides behind an army, in my humble opinion."

"You're suggesting treason," she whispered.

"Not treason," he said, lifted the champagne bottle in mock toast. "Revolution."


Seifer stumbled up the steps from the beach and smiled as he caught a whiff of perfume on the collar of his jacket. She tasted of gin and smelled of flowers, all too willing to spend the evening alone with him in the lighthouse. He couldn't even remember her name. A girl from school, older, and so far outside his social circle their orbits rarely crossed. On Monday, she would pretend she didn't know him, and he would pretend the same.

That was fine with Seifer. What little conversation they'd shared wasn't particularly stimulating, and she was more focused on things that didn't involve talking anyway.

He stumbled over a loose stone in the top step, skidded and nearly crashed into the clothes line. With a drunken snort, he righted himself and held onto the pole until the world stopped spinning. When it did, he skirted the perimeter of the house and followed the wall to the front door.

It was nearly 3am, and he'd rather not face a lecture from Quistis, who was only three months older but fancied herself as a big sister who was the boss of everything.

Why she bothered, Seifer didn't know. It wasn't as if Cid would do anything about it. He would shake his head, mumble something about curfew, then return to his steady diet of crossword puzzles and whiskey. Seifer would ignore it and do what he pleased anyway. He worked too hard to be told what to do by someone who barely lifted a finger.

He kicked off his battered wellies and left them beside the front door. A hiss rose up from the bushes.

Startled, he turned and saw a single, glowing green eye peering back at him. Fujin's favorite old one-eyed tomcat, which Seifer would gladly chase off if not for the cat's help keeping the rodents out of the house. The ones the cat didn't eat were often left on the doorstep as a gift for his mistress.

"Git," he hissed back, then quietly eased the door open and slipped into the foyer.

A single candle in a jelly jar burned at the table in the kitchen, where Cid was passed out in his chair with one hand clenched around a glass full of amber liquid.

Seifer padded into the kitchen, removed the glass from Cid's hand and drank it down in one gulp. He dropped into the chair opposite the sleeping man, uncapped the bottle and poured a measure into the glass. He lifted it and stared through the whiskey at the flickering candle, too drunk himself to judge Cid for his drunkenness, but resentful just the same.

Cid was supposed to look after them, but he spent most nights like this, drunk and forlorn and staring through walls as his longing for his Sorceress ate him alive. He slept till noon or later, and barely lifted a finger to help out, too lost in his own misery to provide for them. Meanwhile, every one of the kids worked their asses off doing odd jobs to pay for repairs and necessities and hunted or bartered for food, while this joker slipped further and further into despair.

"Mine left me too, ya dick," he muttered and swallowed another mouthful of the whiskey. "Can't afford to keep the lights on, but you always have your booze, don't you?"

Seifer was not immune to Ellone's absence, or to the craving for something he couldn't have. He tried to kill it with girls and work and fighting and alcohol, but it never entirely went away. He hadn't seen Ellone since he was ten, and seven long years down the road, there wasn't a day that went by he didn't miss her. There wasn't a day that he didn't resent her.

But he wasn't going to destroy himself waiting for her either, even if he still went up to the lighthouse to search the horizon for any sign of her return.

Squall shuffled into the kitchen, glared at Cid and slipped into a chair between them. Without a word, he reached for the bottle of whiskey, took a sip and dragged a hand over his eyes.

Xu would have scolded him and taken it away, but Seifer didn't care. Squall busted his ass hunting up enough protein to feed six people, in addition to his off-books part-time job at the docks in town. If Squall wanted a drink, Seifer figured he deserved one.

"He's not eating," Squall said and shoved the bottle back at Seifer.

"And?" Seifer asked. "He's an adult. He can do what he wants."

"Roof's leaking again," Squall said. "Tired of living in a shit hole."

"Again?" Seifer sighed. He rubbed his tired eyes. "I'll look at it in the morning."

Squall's eyes slid over to him and then back to Cid as the man let out a loud, grunt-murmur and a snort.

"Old man Chapin asked me to help tear down a barn this weekend," Squall said. "Said some of the lumber's still good. Might be able to trade him for it."

Seifer nodded. He didn't want to think about this shit right now. He was tired of never having enough of anything and watching them all break their backs just to survive.

"Where were you?" Squall asked.

Seifer flashed a satisfied smirk and stretched his arms over his head, the cat that got the cream and the canary both and had his fill.

"Out. Doing things."

"Doing who?"

Seifer's smirk grew into a grin and he ruffled Squall's bangs. He wasn't about to share details, and Squall didn't want to hear them anyway.

"Puberty finally creeping up on you, little brother?"

Squall scowled, but a blush crept up over his cheeks and he shook his head.

"Never mind," Squall said. "Don't care."

Seifer snickered and finished the whiskey in his glass. They both stared at the now snoring Cid.

"What did we do to get stuck with this moron?" Squall wondered and kicked the leg of Cid's chair. Cid gave a grunt, but didn't budge.

"Crap-shoot," Seifer said. "God rolled the dice, we lost."

Squall snorted and folded his arms over the table, hunched over, all bony and gangly and surly as only a sixteen-year-old could be.

They polished off the rest of the bottle in silence, and Seifer thought about how he and his siblings would spend their weekend earning enough Gil or goods to survive the next week while other kids did dumb teenager shit. Beach parties and off-roading out in the desert.

Times were tough for everyone with the war going on, but Seifer was too aware of how others were a lot better off. Kids from the Kramer house were the butt of jokes for their threadbare clothing, for being the recipients of the yearly holiday food drive, which amounted to all the undesirable things that people didn't want – canned cabbage and pumpkin, beets, processed meat products - until Seifer told them to take their charity and stick it up their asses.

They'd all grown up defending themselves against bullies that poked fun at their poverty, as if being poor, orphan kids was something to laugh at. None of them asked for this, and really, who gave a damn what someone else wore or ate for lunch?

Seifer vowed time and time again to strike out on his own, do his own thing, but it wasn't right to leave these guys to fend for themselves. They'd starve to death if Seifer wasn't there to find ways to earn some quick cash and Squall didn't spend every other afternoon out hunting and Raijin didn't bother tending his garden and his hens.

Quistis managed the household budget now that Xu was gone, but she wasn't particularly skilled at negotiating for labor or goods. Squall was inside his own head too damn much, and Zell was too all over the place. Fujin might step up, but chances were, if Seifer left, she and Raijin would follow.

Squall poked Cid's cheek and sneered when the man snorted at him.

"Think we should put him to bed?"

"Nah," Seifer said. "Not worth the trouble."


Edea wasn't herself.

Ellone watched from her place on the deck of the Esper, the cross-stitch in her lap forgotten as the woman paced and talked to herself. Edea's normally sleek, well-kept tresses were a tangled mess, and not just from the wind. Her dress was wrinkled and could use a good wash.

For several days now, Edea railed at shadows and muttered at the sky, her green eyes faded to a strange tawny-gold, and sometimes, she spoke in a language Ellone didn't understand.

She knew what this was, but she didn't know what to do, and Edea's madness infected Ellone with a sharp paranoia she couldn't shake. It was like seeing her own future before her very eyes, and she peered into mirrors when she was alone to see if her own eyes were different.

Everyone noticed it. The ship's crew, the orphans they cared for. Edea, who couldn't have children of her own, surrounded herself with little ones to satisfy her need to mother and care for others, now ignored them or cursed them or screamed when they tugged the skirt of her dress.

Edea collapsed to the deck in a heap, sobbing and pleading with whoever she imagined was there and Ellone went to her side, only to be pushed away with clawed hands and a snarl.

"Maybe you should get some rest," Ellone said. "We'll go ashore, okay? Find a doctor?"

Edea lifted her gaze and stared at Ellone. Her eyes blazed a bright yellow-gold, her pupils irregular, the shape like a club on a playing card.

"You can't be here, Ellone," she said. "I can't protect you anymore."

"We're safe," Ellone promised. "I made sure we're protected, just like you taught me."

Edea screamed and raked her fingernails down the sides of her own face, leaving dark lines of blood on her cheeks. Ellone backed away, afraid of Edea, really afraid, for the first time since she'd found herself in the woman's care so long ago.

She fled her mentor and caregiver and went straight to the captain's quarters. She banged on the door until he opened it, ignored his irritated expression, and pushed inside the room.

"What's the closest port?" she asked.

"Balamb, but I ain't getting' anywhere near that place, what with Galbadia tryin' to invade," he said. "S'pose we could make Fisherman's Horizon in a day or two, depending on the wind. Why?"

"I need to get a letter or a telegram to someone as soon as possible. It's urgent."

"You're a witch, ain't ya?" he asked. "I reckon you can teleport yourself where you need to go if you're in a hurry."

Ellone didn't know how. That was one of many things Edea never taught her. Maybe, the woman didn't know how to herself, or maybe it was something that never occurred to her to teach, but either way, Ellone didn't trust herself to wind up where she was supposed to.

"That's not an option," she said.

"S'pose I could try the radio," he said. "Frequency's been busted for years. Only half the communications get heard..."

"I need a guarantee my message will get to the intended recipient," she said.

"Ain't no guarantees no more, girl," the Captain said. "We thought we had it bad with Adel, but this Deling guy, he ain't even a witch, and he's a thousand times worse."

Ellone already knew this from listening to the staticy, spotty reports on the radio, and from word while on land. Deling had his mind set on ruling the whole world, and everyone suffered because of it.

"Is there any way into Esthar?" she asked.

The Captain laughed and shook his head.

"You're more likely to see a chocobo flying than get anywhere near it," he said. "I hear the only way in is through FH, but you won't get far. They say the city's invisible, and most people who try wind up comin' back or get killed out in the salt flats."

If Laguna was alive, he could help. There must be some way to find out and get a message to him. Cid was her other option, but she wasn't so sure he would be of any help. The handful of images she got from Seifer's head were not promising, as it looked as though he was deteriorating along with Edea.

"How far to the Cape of Good Hope?"

"Now that's a solid month and a half, maybe two," he said. "We can't go through Galbadian waters to get there, so we gotta go 'round, unless you feel like getting' into a brawl with the G-Navy."

Ellone considered her options. Take a chance and find a way into Esthar, which could take weeks and might prove futile, or go to Centra and see if Cid could break Edea out of her spell.

"Set a course for FH," she said as she mentally composed her message to Cid, "then plan for a trip to Centra."


Seifer dropped out of school to work full time at a butcher shop in town for crap pay, but it was steady work and the owner didn't care if he skimmed the trimmings to take home. After a few weeks of regular paychecks, Seifer paid off the debt to the electric company and got the lights turned back on because he was sick of cold showers and non-perishable food.

A few days later, a pipe burst in the kitchen, and they were back to square one, out of cash and behind on bills with water damage in the kitchen they had no money to repair. Cid stopped leaving his room, except to trek to town to buy booze while everyone was at work or school. Seifer hadn't a clue where the money for that came from until he noticed his meager savings was a little light.

He was pissed. Really pissed, but there was no point in a confrontation. Cid was so far gone, all he did when they spoke to him was nod or mutter an agreement, no matter what was said.

"You're an incompetent dill-hole, you know that?" Seifer said to him one afternoon.

Cid just nodded.

"Your mother was a Tonberry, ya know?" Raijin chimed in.

"Yes, yes, good," Cid said.

"I think Julia Heartilly's left the building, huh?" Squall murmured. "Think he even knows where he is?"

"Doubtful," Seifer said.

"SLACKER," Fujin added.

"Stop that," Quistis scolded. "Can't you see this isn't his fault?"

"Whose fault is it, then?" Seifer wondered.

Four pairs of eyes avoided his sweeping stare.

Squall got a second part-time job after school at a local chocobo farm to help pitch in with the bills. When he mentioned dropping out, too, Seifer threatened him with physical violence if he so much as suggested it again. He and Quistis were the smartest, and had the best hope of doing something with their lives besides this.

Quistis tutored, but quit after she punched the patriarch of the second richest family in town for repeated, inappropriate touching. Seifer and Squall slashed the tires of his extremely expensive convertible Tempest and Zell took a crowbar to the hood. Then, they left him unconscious on a sidewalk with a broken nose and short a few teeth. Quistis might have been bossy and too damn smart for her own good, but no one messed with their family and got away with it.

Sometimes, Seifer wondered if there was any point to their struggle. Every time they got ahead, there was always something waiting to set them back a few paces. Zell fell off the roof and broke his arm in two places while repairing the crumbling chimney, and doctor bills were expensive. The alternator in Cid's old truck died, and even with Zell and Fujin's DIY expertise, the parts cost more than they had. The compressor in the fridge conked out and the cost of replacing it was equal to purchasing a brand new one.

It never got easier, even with every one of them working to keep their heads above water.

One afternoon, as Seifer, Squall, Zell and Raijin split apart a huge log Raijin found on the side of the road to use as firewood, an unfamiliar car pulled up the drive. Wary, Seifer tightened his grip on his ax and eyed the two visitors as they climbed out. One was taller than Seifer, and thin, with dark skin and his hair in thin, beaded braids. The other was so large, Raijin looked puny in comparison.

"What do you want?" Seifer demanded as they approached. "If you're sellin' something, take off. We ain't buying."

"Not much for greetings around here," the thinner man said.

"Yeah, well," Seifer said, "most people who come this far out aren't looking to make friends."

"Perhaps we can anyway," the man said. "I'm Kiros Seagill, Vice President of Esthar and this is my Master of War, General Ward Zabac."

Seifer snorted and raked his eyes over the both of them, sure these two were about to run a scam by him.

"I'm Seifer Almasy, Empress of Dollet," he said. "Care to come inside for a spot of tea and some finger sandwiches?"

Zabac smiled and gestured in Seifer's general direction.

"Ward is pleased to meet you, Your Majesty," Seagill said.

"Fantastic," Seifer said. "What do you want? We got shit to do."

Seagill's eyes swept over the building and took in the crumbling columns and the missing shingles on the roof and the overgrown front courtyard.

"We're here on behalf of President Loire of Esthar," he said. "As I'm sure you're aware, the situation with Galbadia has passed the point of no return. We are currently preparing to mount a defense against a likely invasion of our country."

"What's that got to do with us?"

"We came in hopes of recruiting capable young people to join our forces," he said. "Certainly some of those displaced by war would be interested in fighting back against the oppressor."

"Esthar and Adel displaced us," Seifer said. "Refugee camp is about two miles up the road. Try there. Sure it's full of people who want revenge."

"The Estharian Army is not the Galbadian Army," Seagill said, ignoring Seifer outright. "We take care of our soldiers and provide them adequate training, housing, nutrition, and opportunities for education and personal growth. If that is your concern, you need not fear."

Seifer leaned on his ax like it was a cane and stared at the man. Then he cast a glance over his shoulder at the others and was annoyed to see interest in both Squall and Zell's faces.

"At this very moment, Galbadia is about to launch another assault on Balamb," Seagill said. "They held off the first invasion, but they will not withstand a second. They're also aware Centra has become a hotbed of dissenters, and we expect they will launch an assault by year's end."

"So, like, Esthar? For real?" Zell asked. "It really exists?"

Zabac laughed silently, and Seifer realized, the man must be mute.

"Do you take women?"

Seifer swiveled around to where Quistis stood a few paces away, a long white envelope in her hand. He scowled and shook his head but she shrugged as if to say it couldn't hurt to listen to their offer.

"Of course," Seagill said. "All jobs in our army are open to women, and many make a lifelong career of service. With pension upon retirement, of course."

"If you live that long," Seifer muttered.

Seagill passed a pamplet to Quistis. Seifer spied a pair of blades at his wrists and grew even more suspicious. In this political climate, it was unwise to travel about without a weapon, but the more he thought about it, the more odd it seemed that the supposed VP and his War General were wandering around Centra without an entourage.

"Take a few days to think it over," Seagill said. "We will be staying in town if you have questions."

"Esthar was the enemy back in the day," Squall said. "Why should we trust you now?"

"Adel was the enemy," Seagill said. "We just want peace. Unfortunately, that means we must fight to keep it."

Zabac nudged Seagill and inclined his head at Squall. Seifer frowned and flicked his eyes back toward his younger brother, wondering what they saw that he didn't.

"Hmm, perhaps so," Seagill murmured. "We'll let you return to your work. Seek us out at the hotel in town if you're interested."

As the pair left, Seifer looked at his family and at the varying degrees of curiosity in all of them. None of them said a word.

Quistis handed him the envelope. Without even seeing the name on the return line, Seifer sensed who it had come from. It was as if her hands left behind traces of herself on the paper, and it was the closest to her he'd felt in seven years.

He slipped his finger under the flap and tore it open, half eager to read what words she'd put on the page, and half full of resentment for the way thoughts of her still caused him heartache.

But she always would, wouldn't she?