prologue

PROLOGUE – THE JILTED ROGUE

The boy's heart pounded in his chest. He sucked in short, panicked breaths through his mouth, making his best effort to stay quiet. He'd overheard the commotion from moments before, and had come outside to investigate. Having seen what he'd saw, he could barely bring himself to peek his head back out from behind the stone pillar for another look. Still, he pushed through the fear. He carefully sidled himself around to peer out at the scene unfolding beyond the orphanage's front porch.

There, upon the ivy-covered trail running from the steps and across the grounds, stood Matron. By her side was a man he'd never seen before. His clothes were torn and tattered, his face beaten and bloodied. Either hand held a sword, both gleaming crimson in the midday sun. Off to the side, slumped against the nearby stone annex, lay Squall. He'd been in Matron's arms when the boy had first arrived on the scene, unconscious then just as now. A woman in a tarnished scarlet dress slunk along the path towards them, inch by agonizing inch. The mysterious swordsman continued to hold both his blades at the ready as she drew closer.

And yet, it was Matron who next stepped forward; her face showed not an inkling of fear as she reached the wounded woman. She outstretched her arms, beckoning for her to take her hand. As she did so, a radiant light suddenly came over her, growing more intense by the second. The boy hurriedly swiveled back behind the pillar to shield his eyes, and potentially himself from whatever was about to happen. There he stayed, hunched over in dread anticipation for minutes on end. When he again found the courage to peek back out, the woman was gone; her discarded red dress lying on the ground was all that remained.

Matron's attention had turned away to the man, with Squall once again cradled within her arms. How it galled him to see such a thing; to think that had been him once, when it had been just the two of them in the beginning. As the boy continued to stew in his jealousy, he realized too late that the swordsman's eyes had flitted clear past her. They now stared straight at him poking out from behind the column. He just as quickly ducked out of sight again, his heart resuming its frantic pounding, and considered darting back into the house. It was clear he'd seen something he shouldn't have. He trained his ears, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps crinkling on the ivy. There were none. Satisfied, he risked one more peek around the pillar. What he saw left him astonished.

With a swing of one of his swords, the man cleaved a visible slice in the open air before him. It widened into an open portal the next moment, beyond which was pure darkness. He turned back to Matron for one last look, nodded, and stepped on through. It closed behind him, leaving her standing there holding Squall's limp body, gazing into the distance as if in a trance. The boy couldn't help but do the same. And as his imagination proceeded to run wild, dreaming up one fantastical explanation after another for who the man might have been, an ambition to last the rest of his life was born.

Seifer kept his grip tight on the chair's arm, rhythmically clenching his fingers. A glance to his left assured him that Raijin was every bit as on edge. An uncomfortable silence hung between them, and over the whole of the infirmary lobby save for some occasional shuffling from the student receptionist's desk. So they'd sat for several hours now. Other students had come and gone, admitted and discharged at regular intervals by members of the volunteer medical staff. Dr. Kadowaki herself had been unavailable to oversee any of their releases. Only after more than an hour spent in the operating wing had she re-emerged with several more med students, wheeling out a still sedated Fujin on a stretcher into the infirmary proper.

It had been an accident, courtesy of their most heated argument yet. Fujin's contention: Seifer being an ungrateful friend to her and Raijin. She'd practically shouted him down, accusing him of treating the two of them like a pair of disposable peons unfit to stand on his level. What's more, she'd been right. Their association had been one born out circumstance, as three like-minded delinquents who'd routinely shared detention together. They'd grown close with time, too close for Seifer's comfort, in fact. He'd long become apathetic to the concept of camaraderie since having been ripped away from Matron all those years ago, single-mindedly fixated on his own needs and no one else's; it was all he could do to cope with the persistent sting of abandonment. The slight had hit him dead center, prompting an instinctual rage to flare up at the prospect of having been exposed. He'd promptly denied it, and demanded she never speak to him like that again. She'd refused. They'd fought it out, Raijin trying his best to play mediator all the while. With one failed counter on Fujin's part, the damage was done.

As he continued to ruminate on what had happened, the door to the recovery wing hissed open again. Dr. Kadowaki stepped out, and turned her attention along the wall to the two of them.

"How… how is she?" Seifer nervously asked as he rose out of the chair.

"Her condition is stable," the doctor dispassionately spoke. "That's the good news."

"And the bad?"

"I'm sure you can guess."

Dr. Kadowaki's eyes looked sternly into his. The implication in her gaze was clear: she'd been able to tell the wound's true origin. He and Raijin had passed it off as having come from a slip out on the rocky shoreline due south. Regardless of whether Fujin would have divulged the truth when she'd woken up, he should have known better than to expect the story to fool a trained professional. He'd even considered making a detour back to his room to leave behind his gunblade, so as not to further incriminate himself. With the severity of the injury however, there had been no time to dawdle. And now, having been caught in the lie, he understood this was one instance where he couldn't so easily shirk responsibility. It made no difference; he'd already made up his mind to apologize to her the moment she regained consciousness.

"Well, how's she doin', y'know?" Raijin cut in. "Is she awake?"

"She is," Dr. Kadowaki sighed in return. "Won't speak a word to me, though."

"Can we see her?" Seifer asked anxiously; that Fujin hadn't said anything yet was his only hope left to potentially avoid any repercussions.

"As long as it's quick. Visiting hours are almost up."

With a nod of thanks, he trudged on by into the sterile white recovery wing. A quick scan over the few occupied beds was all it took to locate Fujin. She lay back against the pillow, her silver hair virtually blending in with the cover's hue. Bandages had been wound around her entire forehead, with a thick patch covering her left eye. As he and Raijin drew closer, he began to reconsider if any apology, no matter how sincere, could be sufficient. If someone he'd considered a friend had done the same to him, would he have it in him to forgive? And yet, no matter if his efforts were in vain, he knew he had to try.

"Hey," he greeted Fujin, taking a seat at her bedside. "How're you holding up?"

Her remaining functional eye turned to him, visibly red and puffy. Seconds passed in awkward silence as Seifer continued to grasp for something, anything, to break the tension.

"Listen, Fujin… I'm sorry," he finally spoke. "And not just about your eye. You were right. I haven't been fair to you two. It's just that… well, I've never really had anyone I could call a friend before. I've never known what it's like to let someone get that close to you, or how you're supposed to treat them. I guess that's something I'll have to work on. I need to change. I know I can. And I swear I'll prove it to you, if you'll give me the chance."

Already, the act of making himself so vulnerable was further outside of his comfort zone than he'd ever dared to tread. Fujin continued to stare up at him with her lips pursed. At last, they parted.

"Why?"

The response was terse, monotone, and unexpectedly concise. For someone who loved to run her mouth as much as she always did around him, hearing her say so little for once unnerved him.

"Because I want to," he insisted. "Because I value our friendship, and appreciate all the times you've had my back. I just wish we didn't have to be at each other's throats like this. We're a posse, right? So, what do you say? Can we work this out?"

He meant what he'd said. Although he knew he couldn't expect to sort out his trust issues overnight, two people would be a good start.

"Maybe," she answered. Again, not a word more.

"I'm all about second chances, y'know?" Raijin piped up. "But it's your choice, Fujin. I get that it's a lot to let slide, y'know?"

Seifer understood as much himself; losing an eye at only 13 was something he couldn't begin to fathom. However she decided, he was prepared to respect her wishes.

"Promise?"

She sat up in bed, and turned to look him in the eye. Were she truly inclined to forgive, her face certainly didn't show it. Nor did her continued insistence on speaking in one word bursts assure him that there were no hard feelings. Whatever the reason however, Seifer had to admit it was a refreshing change of pace.

I could probably get used to this.

"Sure. I'll do my best to support you guys, as long as you're willing do the same for me. You get as good as you give, right?"

Her eye fell away to the sheets below, seemingly in contemplation. Moments later, it swiveled back up again, accompanied by a gentle smile.

"Right."

Seifer heaved Rinoa's limp body off him as he rose from the wet floor, his own still aching but slightly from the tumble he'd taken off the upper balcony. His entire outfit had been completely drenched by the sea serpent's massive torrent of water; even now, it continued to drain out of the flooded atrium and down the adjacent hallways. Scouring the ground around him, it wasn't long before he spotted his gunblade, its grip exploded outward. Without the proper materials and expertise needed to repair it, he doubted the weapon's trigger would ever function again. He begrudgingly snatched it up, stored it in his sopping wet jacket, and darted his eyes about the atrium to get his bearings.

All around, the ravaged first level lay bare its devastation. The central directory and surrounding foliage was no more; the monstrous three headed hound had all but disappeared into the ether with the leviathan; and strewn all along the walls were the bodies of Squall and his retinue. Whether they were unconscious, dead, or simply too fatigued to rise, he knew he couldn't afford to waste time. He set his sights on Selphie, and promptly dashed across to her side, his boots kicking up water every step of the way. Relieved she'd indeed been knocked out, he knelt down by her side, and quickly searched her outfit from head to waist.

He eventually pulled the sphere out of her breast pocket. Immediately, he was perplexed; its bronze casing was unlike any other he'd ever seen. As he spun it around in his hand, his eyes bulged as the Galbadian insignia printed on it came into focus. Was it possible he had the wrong sphere? A glimpse of the brilliant holy energy shining within convinced him otherwise; as Edea had told him, there could be only one such sphere of its kind. Why this girl had it rather than Xu was something he couldn't understand, but for whatever reason, she did. More importantly, his time was running short; he needed to get moving. He depressed the switches on the top and bottom, prompting both halves to re-seal.

Pocketing the sphere, he made a beeline for the starboard side hall, slowing only as he noticed Edea passed out on the floor nearby. There she lay defenseless, her dress torn to ribbons, her golden back piece shattered. As much as it pained him to leave her behind, she'd already reassured him it was all part of the plan. His assistance would be needed elsewhere in the meantime. With one last look at the woman who'd raised him as her own, he raced out of the atrium and down the corridor.

He swiftly maneuvered through the halls, making his way in the direction of the hangar bay. Although he could be reasonably certain all the aerial mechs had been deployed, he knew there ought to be at least a few leftover motorcycles he could commandeer. Still, he needed a way of signaling disengagement to those troops capable of doing so. The magic bestowed to him by Edea might suffice for a brilliant enough flare, provided he still had enough energy in reserve; its power being finite, it was imperative he not squander whatever was left. As he continued to ponder, another solution swiftly made itself known, courtesy of a fast approaching argument from the intersecting corridor up ahead.

"Please, sir, be reasonable about this!"

"Shut it, Wedge! Soon as I find somewhere less steep to deploy from, I'm outta he-"

Seifer drew his gunblade as he turned the corner. The pair of soldiers stopped in their tracks as the weapon slashed through the air, the one in front nearly losing his hold on the motorcycle he'd been walking along. Even without any distinguishing characteristics about their uniforms, he didn't need to ask for their names and ranks.

"Perfect timing," he smirked. He lowered his gunblade, and ambled over to take the handlebars from Biggs. "Gather what supplies you can, send up the retreat signal, and tell the first respondents to start heading southeast for the Vienne Mountains. Parachute. Now."

"What's going on?" the disgraced former officer protested. All the same, he pulled the pack off his back as ordered and extended it to him. "You're telling us we're just gonna turn tail and run?!"

"And what exactly did you have in mind?" he snapped, gesturing to the motorcycle. "Hurry up and get a move on, and stay clear of the atrium if you know what's good for you. See you at the base of the mountains. I'll be expecting a tent."

Not giving Biggs a chance to respond, Seifer pushed on by him and Wedge with the bike and parachute, making his way back to the hangar. His mission was clear, his determination resolute. So long as he could still be of service to his liege, to the only mother he'd ever known, so he would be. He refused to stoop to the level of Squall and the others, who'd been content to simply toss whatever gratitude they'd once held for her away. He was different. So he'd always known from that fateful day when he'd witnessed what he had in front of the orphanage. Just as that man who'd been standing by Matron's side in the face of danger then, so would he be there to serve her now. He had become the sorceress' knight.