After many years of not writing anything on this story I decided to give it a try. Obviously, my writing is WAY better than what I wrote for the first three chapters. I had thought about fixing them better rather than make only small edits, but I feel about as enthusiastic as Squall does about reading Laguna's writings. No thank you. I also thought this would be a great way to practice my writing by working on something that isn't as high stakes for me - which I really need to do. Thanks for your time!
FFVIII Chapter 4
The archeological site at the Tomb of the Unknown King had an impressive sprawl of tents and equipment – a surprisingly well-organized setup for someone like Laguna. A knot of unease settled in Squall's stomach as he and his friends arrived for the prearranged meeting with the former president of Esthar.
Since his battle with Ultimecia, he had spoken to Laguna only once – a painstakingly awkward experience that left him numb. Or at least, that's what he told himself. His friends, on the other hand, had been ecstatic to learn that the hero they admired was, in reality, his father.
Squall exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze wandered to the sky. Of course that bumbling idiot was his father. It wasn't enough that he'd spent hours listening to his endless rambling and reckless leaps into danger—no, fate had to lace it with that perfect touch of irony.
Leaning back against a tree, he listened to the stream trickling past the rocky foundation of the tomb. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows across his skin. Above him, the sky stretched vast and blue, streaked with drifting, aimless clouds.
He had never thought much about being an orphan until Ellone disappeared. But crying and wishing for things that couldn't be changed was a waste of time. Acceptance was a practical choice. Emotions? Not worth it.
Now, things were different. He wasn't exactly an orphan, but it didn't matter. It wasn't like it changed anything.
Shaking off the thought, Squall turned to the research notes he'd been handed earlier. Laguna was, predictably, behind schedule.
The Tomb of the Unknown King is estimated to be roughly 1000 years old – a recent discovery now that Minotaur and Sacred no longer guarded the ruins, allowing archaeologists full access. This places the Tomb at the height of the Centra Civilization, just before its sudden collapse.
The Ancient Centra language was nearly wiped from existence. While remnants of the Deep-Centra dialect had been found in the Deep Sea Research Facility, and the Terra Dialect from the Centra continent, this newly discovered variation was unlike either.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Zell's voice surfaced, replaying an earlier conversation.
"They're calling it Sub-Centra Dialect," Zell had said, practically vibrating with excitement. "Man, can you believe that? A whole new language just sitting here for a thousand years. If we've gotta wait for Laguna, might as well check it out, right?"
Quistis had nodded thoughtfully. "It wouldn't hurt. We might find something the research team overlooked."
And so, that was how he ended up sitting here, flipping through pages of research notes on something that wasn't his problem.
He turned another page and blinked.
A smaller notebook had been tucked between the sheets.
Laguna's Traveling Memoirs.
His fingers hesitated.
His stomach twisted – an instinctive reaction, one he quickly ignored.
He didn't have to read it.
He already knew what was inside. Some exaggerated, sentimental, over-the-top drivel about adventure and heroism. Maybe a dramatic retelling of the time Laguna got stuck in a tree for three days.
He wasn't sure he wanted to delve into the inner workings of his father's mind.
"There you are!"
Rinoa's voice cut through his thoughts as he plopped down beside him with effortless ease. "What are you up to?"
Squall tensed slightly, then sighed. "Reading."
"Well, obviously! Reading what?" She leaned in closer, tilting her head to get a better look. "Laguna's Traveling Memoirs? Ooh, that sounds interesting."
His groan was immediate. "It's probably full of cheesy, overdramatic nonsense."
"Oh, come on. You can't know that until you read it! Do you want to read it together?"
Squall gave her a flat look. "I think I'd rather fight a T-rex."
"Oh, come on! I doubt it'll be that bad. Your dad, for all his awkwardness, is actually a decent writer."
His eyebrows lifted. "When did you read his journal?"
"I didn't," Rinoa replied, smiling. "But I've read some of his works in Timber Mechanics."
"Yeah, well, this," Squall said, holding up the journal with a dry look, "is probably the unfiltered version."
"Only one way to find out," she teased, her tone carrying the hint of a challenge.
Squall's grimace softened into something almost like a smile. With a muttered "You asked for it," he flipped the book open, unwilling to let the challenge go unanswered.
The first few pages were exactly what he expected—drivel about reaching the tomb after a series of mishaps. Something about an underground river, a pair of tires, a fishing net, a chocobo that definitely wasn't his, and an incident involving a wrench and an angry armadodo.
By page twelve, Squall shot Rinoa a pointed look, flipping ahead forty pages in one swift motion to the last entry.
The tone of the writing noticeably shifted—frantic scribbles from his father detailing the events surrounding Ellone's disappearance. Laguna described an unusual heaviness in the air that day, as if something unseen lingered in the tomb. At the same time, he had felt an increased determination to accurately record the ancient Sub-Centra scripts etched into the walls.
Tension with the Galbadian government was growing. Officials were growing impatient for the archaeological team to share their findings, and the bureaucracy surrounding their research permit was closing in on its expiration. If it wasn't renewed, all excavation efforts would be forced to stop, cutting their work short just as Laguna believed they were on the verge of something significant.
Then, near the bottom of the page, a hastily scrawled note recounted the moment Ellone vanished. She had been standing near the tomb's coffin, gazing up at a panel of glyphs, when Ward pointed out an unusual shadow moving behind her. At first, they assumed it was a trick of the light—until Seifer moved toward her, intent on pulling her away.
The second he touched her arm, they both disappeared. And with them, the shadow.
The memoire ended abruptly.