9
CHAPTER 9 – THE WORLD BETWEEN WORLDS
For one sporting such a tall, bulky build, the ease with which the man in red crossed the jagged, deformed landscape was impressive. Squall did all he could to keep up. Surprisingly, despite the amount of effort he was expending, none of it seemed to be wearing him down; no matter how steep the slope or treacherous the terrain, his stamina had yet to wane. Perhaps it was the adrenaline. Or his determination. Or maybe even another side effect of the time compression. Whatever the case, he refused to let his mark slip away.
Whether that were in fact the mysterious swordsman's intent remained unclear. Judging by the occasional glimpses back, he certainly knew Squall was on his heels. And yet, he seemed to pay the pursuit little heed. He'd made no concessions to let him catch up, but then, neither did he seem hurried enough to outrun him. Perhaps he was even testing him again. Although Squall had wanted no part in their prior duel from the outset, that he'd let himself be toyed with so blatantly still stuck in his craw. The longer he followed behind, the more appealing the thought of a rematch became, particularly when considering all he still had to potentially glean from this man's identity.
Who are you, really?
However hazy his memory of that particular day was, there was no mistaking that scimitar. Matron's own reaction and insistence that he follow after only cemented his hunch, if he could even call it one at this point. Who else could this be but the man who'd come to his rescue? Still, he knew nothing about him. Not his name, where he'd come from, nor why he'd even returned to the orphanage if not to provide assistance in their hour of need again. Squall still couldn't make sense of whatever nonsense he'd spouted off before about a king. Hopefully each step after him on the road to parts unknown would lead him to a clearer understanding. For the moment however, he merely longed to find Ultimecia waiting at the end. And after her, Rinoa.
Eventually, the man came to a halt upon a nearby ridge. He stared off into the distance, appearing to no longer care whether his pursuer caught up to him. Regardless of his motive, it was enough leeway for Squall to do so. He stopped just behind him, and peered out across the lay of the land ahead. Onward the time compressed realm stretched with seemingly no end. Even from their elevated position, he could hardly see far or clearly enough on account of the setting sun still frozen in place on the horizon. The further east they progressed, the darker it would surely grow. By foot, it would likely be hours, or even days longer before they reached a state of nightfall, at which point it would become too hazardous to forge any further. He wouldn't dare take another step into the dark without the assurance his boot would still meet solid ground.
"Persistent, aren't you?" the red man finally spoke, not taking his eyes from the scene before him.
"Do you even know where you're going?" Squall deflected.
"It matters not. I have already traveled further distances than you could ever hope to comprehend."
"From where?"
"You'd never believe me if I told you."
Squall huffed in disappointment. He'd thought the man's sudden deference was a sign that they'd turned a corner. Still, he didn't seem adversarial, or otherwise upset by Squall following him all this way.
"Then at least tell me what brought you back after so long," he prodded.
"I don't know what you mean," the cloaked man replied bluntly.
"I mean 13 years ago, when you showed up to defeat that sorceress."
To that, the man hesitated. Still, he refused to meet Squall's eyes, content to keep staring out across the discombobulated landscape before him.
"Thirteen years?" he repeated. "Has it really been… just like that?"
"So, it was you."
"Haven't I already told you as much? We dealt with the sorceress, and put her to rest for the good of the kingdom."
Again, what kingdom?!
"I assumed that would be the end of my service here. But alas, there is clearly more to be done before I may depart. If you must follow, I ask only that you do not stand in my way. I cannot and will not permit any further disruptions."
His tone was plenty serious for Squall to abstain from protesting. He wouldn't have had any inclination to otherwise; he was more than happy to play second fiddle in lieu of the man's credentials.
"Works for me," he acceded. "I'm just here to help, however I can."
"And might you tell me why?"
Because Matron told me to. Because I want closure. Because this is my duty as much as yours. Because I want to find Rinoa. And because…
"Because I know what it means to walk alone," he finally said.
A pregnant pause filled the air between them. Several tense, uncomfortable seconds passed before the man finally turned his attention back to Squall; his blank, pupil-less stare remained haunting as ever.
"I wonder," he replied in a hushed voice.
"Let me prove it to you," Squall doubled down. However unsettled he was, he did not look away. His perseverance was swiftly rewarded with an amused snort.
"That fire in your eyes… how long has it been since I've seen it?"
To his surprise, it was the man who first withdrew from the stare down. He pivoted away to look back out across the twisted terrain.
"It's a strange thing to say, but suddenly I feel closer to home than I have in a long time."
Funny how that works, isn't it?
"Home isn't just a place, but the people you share it with," Squall said, extending his hand. "So, why don't we act like neighbors? At least for the time being. Squall Leonhart, Commandant of SeeD."
Still, the man kept staring away into the distance, lost in his own thoughts. And then, just as Squall was prepared to abandon all hope, an arm emerged from the red cloak. The angle perturbed him; its vector seemed unnatural somehow in relation to the man's torso, yet to visibly shift his way. Still, they shook hands successfully.
"Gilgamesh," he finally introduced himself. "That is what I was once called, long ago."
Now we're getting somewhere.
"Pleasure to finally meet you," Squall followed up, releasing his grip. "So, Gilgamesh… where exactly do you come from?"
Despite having freshly broken the ice, the man in red still remained hesitant to open up. He at least saw fit to offer some common courtesy; he turned his head back to him as he retracted his arm. For just an instant, Squall could even swear he glimpsed some trace of emotion in that dead, empty gaze.
"I hail from a world every bit as alien to you as this one," he answered. "And have traversed many more in my journey to find it again."
"I don't understand," Squall bluntly told him. "What other worlds are there?"
Before his trip to the Lunar Base, the notion of another inhabited plane of existence would have been out of the question. Even now, he doubted Gilgamesh could have actually come from one; it had taken a cosmic event which supposedly occurred only once every several centuries, if not millennia, to bridge the gap between.
"More than you would ever believe," he explained. "More than you could ever conceive of. Countless realities – fantasies, even – separated not by space or time, but the omnipresent veil of existence itself."
"Now I know you're pulling my leg," Squall scoffed, rolling his eyes.
What the hell do I have to do to get a straight answer out of this guy?
"Perhaps a demonstration is in order, then."
His hand, having retreated back into his cloak, quickly re-emerged with a sword in its grip. Squall stepped back as the blade swung out, and instinctively reached for his own. He stopped himself as Gilgamesh brought it to a halt, holding it out parallel to the ground for him to inspect. It was the steely blue, double-edged greatsword with a snake-like streak running through.
"Many are the worlds I've visited," Gilgamesh went on. "Few are the spoils I've deemed worthy of taking from them. This one, Excalibur, I spent nearly half my life pining for. I once thought myself so close to holding it within my grasp, only to be deceived with a cheap replica. That would be the one you broke."
He promptly re-stowed the blade. A mere second later, he whipped out another, unfamiliar one. Still, Squall reeled back to avoid the edge; this one was a good foot or so longer than its predecessor, if far slimmer. As the sword settled into place, he immediately identified it as a katana. What he could not deduce was the means by which Gilgamesh kept this among all his other weapons sheathed beneath his cloak. He'd drawn it so swiftly, without any discernible time spent fumbling for the handle. Even with his years of combat training, Squall could never have matched that speed.
Still not sure what this is supposed to prove, though…
"Masamune," Gilgamesh introduced the katana. "This belonged to the most fearsome swordsman I've ever faced. Be assured, he would never have shown you the kind of mercy I have."
"So, I take it you used both hands for him?" Squall half-joked.
The reward for his jest was not laughter, nor even a witty comeback, but yet more silence. Gilgamesh simply stared him down, holding the katana perfectly motionless and level all the while.
"Hmph," he snorted. "Something like that."
He again returned the sword to his cloak. Like clockwork, out came the bulky scimitar a moment later.
"And finally, my newest acquisition: Zantetsuken," he proclaimed. "I'm sure you're plenty familiar with this one."
Squall nodded, his eyes washing over the breadth of the sword from tip to tassel. It was at once a marvelous and intimidating piece of craftsmanship. The crescent blade showed not a trace of wear or soil, its edge so pristinely sharpened as to pass for a freshly minted one. Gilgamesh twirled it with his fingers, flipping it into a reverse grip. Squall's eyes widened as he held out the hilt to him, gesturing for him to take hold of it.
"Care to give it a swing?" the man in red asked.
"You're serious?" Squall balked; surely this had to be a trick. "What's the catch?"
"Only that you return the favor. For that sword you carry has piqued my own curiosity."
Squall glanced down to the gunblade at his side, mulling over whether to accept the terms. He was plenty curious himself to lay hands upon the very weapon that had spared him 13 years ago. Even so, he remained unconvinced; could he really trust this wasn't some elaborate setup to leave him disarmed? Gilgamesh had made plenty clear his intentions in the midst of their prior battle. By his own admission, he saw the gunblade as a worthy addition to his collection. Would handing it over to him outright truly be a wise move? But then, were he such a formidable fighter as he'd repeatedly claimed, and clearly shown himself to be, surely he would have no trouble taking it from him then and there.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
He very cautiously and deliberately drew the gunblade from its sheath, and extended it out to Gilgamesh in turn. To his relief, they swapped weapons without incident. To his surprise, the difference in weight as he took Zantetsuken in his hand couldn't have been more stark.
"It's so light!" he gawked.
For such a hefty looking weapon, it amazingly weighed next to nothing. He imagined he would have no difficulty swinging it even with his left hand, were he so inclined.
"It is no ordinary sword, to be sure," Gilgamesh responded. "The enchantment placed upon it is a powerful one. If you'd like to see for yourself, take a slice at that boulder there."
Squall followed his outstretched finger to the nearby rock in question. It was just barely shorter than he was, three times as broad, and unmistakably sturdy. He could hardly believe Gilgamesh would suggest such a thing; he wouldn't dare try to cut through something that dense with his own gunblade for fear of damaging it, let alone such a meticulously crafted work as the scimitar.
"Go ahead," the swordsman insisted. "What are you afraid of?"
Just don't complain when your collection's down by two in one day…
He stepped forward to the boulder, and swung back the sword as instructed. Ultimately however, he couldn't follow through; he pulled back at the last second before impact, to avoid shattering the blade. It still collided with the rock, if far more gently. And yet, despite his reluctance, the blade sunk partway into it as if through butter. He stood there in amazement, mouth hanging open.
"You can do better than that," Gilgamesh egged him on. "Try again, and this time put your whole heart into it."
Squall obediently withdrew the blade from the rock and prepared for another strike. Though he didn't understand what had just happened, he could believe what his eyes were seeing. This time, he didn't hold back; he struck with all the might he could muster, even instinctively twitching his finger as if to pull a trigger which did not exist on this sword. His efforts were rewarded as the sword cut straight through the boulder with almost no resistance. The severed upper half buckled, and gradually slid off with a heavy thud.
"You see? That sword can slice through any matter in existence."
Astounded, Squall retracted the blade and brought it up to inspect. The edge remained sharp as ever, absent any denting or wear.
"And judging by our battle, it seems your own is a cut above the norm, as well."
He turned back around to see Gilgamesh fumbling about with the gunblade.
"That trigger on the hilt," Squall explained. "When you pull it, it causes one of the explosive rounds in the chamber to go off. The vibration serves to amplify the power of the strike. It takes a bit of finesse to master the timing. And even then, I wouldn't go trying to chop any boulders in half with it."
It was almost embarrassing for him to admit. However impressive he'd always thought his gunblade's power, it now appeared so meager in comparison.
I suppose if it means he won't be interested anymore…
"This trigger is jammed," Gilgamesh said as he continued to fumble with it.
"Let me see."
Squall reached out to swap back for it. They re-traded weapons, and as he took the gunblade's hilt in his hand, he saw for himself the trigger locked in place from when he'd last fired it. With some quick fiddling, he manually popped it back out. Only as he swung the cylinder free to check on the loaded rounds did the enormity of the malfunction become clear: all six were still accounted for. Not a single one had been detonated.
What the hell?!
Quickly snapping the cylinder back in, he spun it to a random round and pulled the trigger. Again, just as when he'd crossed blades with Gilgamesh at the orphanage, there was no vibration. Again, the trigger locked in place the moment he took his finger off.
"Something wrong?" Gilgamesh asked.
"It won't fire!" Squall blurted out, starting to panic. Had his gunblade somehow been damaged during the confrontation?
"Interesting," the man in red hummed. "Perhaps it is another result of this… what did you call it? 'Compression'?"
"What do you mean?"
"If, as you say, this is a realm frozen in time, a stationary picture of what once was, is, and will be, then how can you expect the mechanics of that sword to function as usual? How are those rounds to fire the split-second after you pull the trigger, in a world where that moment cannot and will never arrive?"
The revelation, however obvious now that Gilgamesh had laid it out for him, still hit Squall right in the gut. His gunblade was effectively no more useful than any other standard sword now. What little wonder it had failed to cut through the replica sword the first time; it must have been his sheer strength alone which had allowed him to succeed the second. He turned back to the freshly cleaved boulder, staring at the severed top half now lying upon the ground.
"Then explain that!" he countered. "You saw how it slid off!"
"Indeed, gravity it seems still continues to hold fast upon this realm. Just as I'm sure it always has and always will in your world. But only through outside influence, whether physical or magical, can any part of it be set into motion. Defacing a rock under these circumstances is one thing. Triggering an explosion is a far more complex matter, I'm afraid. You can no more accomplish that now than force your heart to start beating again."
Thanks for the reminder…
He despairingly looked over his sword. The custom lion engraving upon the blade, a symbol of the power he'd long ascribed to it and fought to wield, stared right back at him. He was at a loss. Losing his GF had been a big enough handicap to contend with. Now, he felt completely useless.
"I must say however, I'm impressed," Gilgamesh carried on. "Replica or no, that was still a decently made sword you broke. It seems there's more to you than meets the eye, young man."
Squall turned back around to face him. Although the praise did nothing to better his predicament, it was enough to momentarily perk his spirits. He'd earned the respect of his enigmatic childhood savior.
"Thank you," he accepted the compliment as he sheathed the gunblade. "At least your other three all still work as intended."
"And that's where you'd be mistaken."
Suddenly, Gilgamesh flipped Zantetsuken around and tossed it back to him underhanded. Squall leaned forward to grab it by the handle and blunt side. Despite its light weight, he stumbled as he caught it; the knowledge of what its blade could do prompted him to keep his fingers clear by any means necessary.
You couldn't have just handed it to me?!
"It seems there are even some magics which cannot function as intended in this realm," the man said cryptically. "Take another swing, this time through the air between us. And don't hold anything back."
"So, you're okay with just loaning this to me now?" Squall asked disbelievingly. "No collateral?"
"My travels have taught me many lessons. Among them: how to better judge the company I keep. Prove me wrong at your own risk."
Flattery gave way to apprehension in the wake of the thinly veiled threat. Regardless, Squall knew better than to test him; he'd never have simply given him such a powerful weapon without the means to take it back. He righted the sword and swiped through the air as instructed. As before, it took surprisingly little effort. For Gilgamesh however, it was apparently insufficient.
"I thought I told you not to hold back?" he scolded him. "Again, and this time put all you have into it. Swing as if you truly desire to rip this world apart at the seams."
Squall needed no further impetus; he presently wanted nothing more or less. Any other considerations, whether for Rinoa, Laguna, Ellone, or anyone else he held dear, all hinged upon that alone. He steeled himself, raised the blade, and swung it down with a mighty cry as if Ultimecia stood before him now. And as it tore through the open air, so the open air was indeed torn apart. He gaped in awe as a dark portal opened up in the sword's wake. Beyond was pure blackness, silent and complete.
"What is this?!" he reeled, backing away.
"The Interdimensional Rift."
He turned to Gilgamesh as the swordsman stepped forward, his focus centered squarely on the portal.
"An endless void existing on the border between realities. The realm which connects all others."
Calmly, without paying any further heed to Squall, he stepped forward to meet the darkness. It swiftly enveloped him from head to toe. As he disappeared from view, Squall recalled the moment Edea had done the same; the chill he'd felt in the Timber TV station as she'd whisked away herself, Seifer, and Deling into a shroud of black mist was much the same as the visual itself. Now just as then, the dark portal dissipated and faded away into nothingness. Only this time, Gilgamesh remained standing at the precise spot where he'd entered. The void had seemingly refused to take him.
"Were you expecting something more?" he taunted Squall. "Fear not. I'd have never taken the plunge back into that hell again without Zantetsuken at my side."
"What… what happened?" Squall asked.
"As you can plainly see, nothing at all. And therein lies the problem."
Enough with the riddles, already!
"For ages have I wandered between worlds," he proclaimed, ambling back over. "Through it all, I have been at the mercy of the Interdimensional Rift. It is a barren, desolate plane of existence. Ever shifting, never stable, with no beginning nor end. Every so often, a portal will open. Time and again, I've heeded its call, hoping beyond hope it might be the one to lead me home at last. And time and again, I've found myself displaced. Stranded in a strange new world, until another tear in the fabric of reality presents itself. It can take years for this to occur, and almost never without some manner of spellcraft to achieve it. I couldn't begin to guess how long my journey has taken in sum. Time lost all meaning to me long ago."
Although his better judgment urged him to remain skeptical, Squall found it increasingly harder to dismiss Gilgamesh's story as the ravings of a madman. He'd opened that portal himself. He'd seen his matron vanish into one just like it mere months ago. And as the strange man's harrowing tale continued to unfurl before him, so his sympathy continued to mount.
"For all this time, I have been condemned to an eternal voyage through worlds unseen. Never knowing my next destination. Never the master of my own destiny. Until I came to your world, and took up that sword."
He pointed to Zantetsuken, yet seemed not to shift his vacant stare from Squall.
"With it, there was finally the chance I might see my home world again. To finally traverse the Interdimensional Rift freely, no longer a slave to its unpredictable nature. And then, just when I thought I had broken that horrible cycle, I wind up in this place. No matter how many tears I make into the fabric of this world, no matter how many times I attempt to depart, here I remain. Do you know why?"
"I wouldn't have a clue," Squall admitted. He was struggling enough to keep track of every compounding facet of the tale, let alone attempt to apply any kind of logic to it.
"You ought to," Gilgamesh prodded him. "It is only thanks to you I understand it myself. I've spent only a brief time in your world when compared to every other I've visited. But that it seems was all it took. As you said before, we exist in this reality as mere reflections of ourselves, neither truly alive nor dead. Therefore, I am only Gilgamesh as your world remembers me at the very moment before I was set to depart from it. Perhaps my 'true' self even succeeded, and crossed back into the Rift. Be that as it may, my reflection, the imprint I left upon your world remains bound to it, drawn here from across time and space just as every other component of this godforsaken realm."
He swept his hand back out across the haphazardly arranged landscape. Though no longer an unexpected sight for Squall, the significance behind it suddenly carried that much more weight. Every speck of dust, dirt, or sand strewn across the surface had once stood or would some day stand upon the very spot it did now. By that same token, he, Gilgamesh, and every other inhabitant of this twisted collage were no different. They were all of them but a fleeting glimpse of history through the ages, drawn together against their will in accordance with Ultimecia's grand design.
"And so, if I am to have any hope of leaving here, that I might finally see my journey's end, this compression enchantment must be reversed. To that end, I will gladly serve your realm and its people once more."
Squall simply nodded back. He wouldn't pretend to fully understand all that the man before him had been through, nor the workings of this supposed rift between dimensions. The passion and determination in his words were plenty clear to him, however.
"Glad to hear," he said. With a twirl of Zantetsuken – still, the ease with which he could handle the sword was unbelievable – he extended the grip back to Gilgamesh. The man in red made no effort to take it.
"Please," he turned down the offer with a hand wave. "If your own sword refuses to function as intended, you may borrow that one for the time being. There is still no telling what dangers we are bound to face on the road ahead."
"You… you're sure?" Squall stammered. However grateful he was, he didn't want to potentially leave Gilgamesh fighting at a disadvantage.
"I've defended myself long enough without it," he insisted. "And from it, for that matter. I only ask that you do not use it frivolously. That sword should be your last line of protection where my own cannot suffice. Its power is not without cost. You take your own life in your hands should you forget that. Now, let us be on our way."
Gilgamesh turned and began back along the ridge. Squall lingered behind for a moment longer; he couldn't shake off his awe quickly enough. The circumstances behind his return notwithstanding, the man who'd saved his life 13 years before was unlike any other he'd ever known. He'd been naive to misjudge him then just as now. Be it for his skill with the blade, or the clear code of honor he held himself to, this was a man he could respect. The enchanted sword in his hand, however light, now carried weight far greater than his gunblade. It spoke of trust fought for and earned from a man literal worlds apart from him in experience. And so he followed after, eager to prove himself worthy of that trust.
Practically nothing was left of the road which once paved the way to Balamb Garden. A vast wilderness consumed the expanse between its former resting place and the town, the trees seeming to have reclaimed what territory mankind had stripped away from them. Or had it yet to be stripped away? Nevertheless, the dense forest blanketed the land no differently than the omnipresent shroud of darkness. But for the moon, and the meager flame Quistis held burning in her hand, there was no other light to guide her and Rinoa on.
Still, it was enough. There in the distance, towering above the treetops, loomed the castle's silhouette shining in the moonlight. As long as it remained in sight, they had a path forward. And as long as they had the will to go on, they would. Their pace stayed gradual in the face of the unknown; there was no telling how abruptly the terrain might shift at any given moment. More unsettling for Quistis was the pure silence which permeated the trees. Without wind, their leaves refused to rustle. Neither did her ears discern any other movement in the vicinity. Even the typical nighttime chirping of insects, birds, and other woodland fauna were unaccounted for. But for the occasional crunch of dirt and snapping of twigs beneath their feet, there was nothing.
She would have at least expected to happen across the odd bite bug or caterchipillar; she'd seen firsthand the sheer amount of both species known to inhabit the local forests, courtesy of what prior training expeditions she'd participated in. Instead, they'd yet to encounter wildlife of any sort in the hour or so since they'd set out from Balamb. Was it pure luck? Or yet another facet of time compression? Dr. Odine had been plenty sure of his theory where the state of human populace in this world was concerned. By now, even she was convinced; upon leaving town, they'd crossed paths with a squad of SeeDs making their way in from the outer encampment to survey the scene. The doctor had mentioned nothing of how the incantation might affect other, non-human life forms, however. Why it would be any different, she hadn't the slightest idea.
As if I have the slightest idea about any of this…
Besides providing them light by which to forge ahead, the flame Quistis held also gave her assurance that her grasp on the sorceress power was improving. It barely took any effort to maintain. If anything, the amount required was a complete inversion of what her GF sphere had necessitated. The real struggle was keeping it dialed back to a meager, controlled blaze, just as her heightened emotional sensitivity ever since inheriting the power. It had apparently taken years of meditation for Edea to keep both under control. Though Quistis had nowhere near such experience, she at least had Rinoa by her side. And through her, all that Ultimecia knew on the matter.
It was imperative she reserve as much energy as she could. Despite its fleeting similarities, this was an entirely different world, bound by entirely different laws of nature to the one she knew. Though she felt no physical fatigue from the trek thus far – nor much of anything beyond the heat lapping at her fingers – she couldn't afford to exert herself too quickly from the outset. The effects time compression had on her body's function did not necessarily imply her stamina was indefinite. Nor did it even mean it would gradually recover once expended. For all she knew, her power was strictly finite in this realm. Showing up at Ultimecia's doorstep preemptively drained would be a death sentence.
With any luck, it'll be the same for her.
Eventually, the trees thinned. The Alcaud Plains awaited beyond. Or at least, that was what Quistis assumed the lay of the land before her to be; none of it resembled the sprawling green fields she recalled. Her view now unimpeded, the full scope of the castle ahead was revealed to her, as was the reason they'd been able to see it so clearly from so far away. It was tall to be sure, but nowhere near the height she'd anticipated. It floated in mid-air upon an uprooted earthen plateau, tethered to the ground by a circle of thick chains all around. The sight almost reminded her of the Garden. That the castle was hovering over the precise spot it had once been rooted to only furthered the comparison. In all likelihood, it had been a deliberate move on Ultimecia's part.
"If you couldn't tell she's got a chip on her shoulder before," she commented on the location.
Rinoa said nothing in return. Nor did she meet Quistis' eyes. She instead continued staring out at the fortress in the distance, seemingly lost in a daze.
"Well, at least we've got a way up with those chains," Quistis carried on, taking a step out from the woods' edge. "Come on, let's-"
A hand caught her by the shoulder before she could go any further.
"Hold it," Rinoa urged her, extending her other hand out across the fields ahead. "Up there."
Quistis did as she was instructed, turning her eyes to the height of the castle. Its pointed spires stretched up into the night sky, still too obscured in the moonlight to pick out the fine details. The cluster of shimmering specters arrayed around them however, were plenty clear. They spread out from one another as they soared outward and over the plains, inbound for her and Rinoa's position.
What now?
She quickly extinguished the flame in her hand, and together the two sorceresses retreated back into the trees. There they lay still beneath what cover the foliage could provide them. Quistis stifled her breath to calm her nerves, her eyes locked to the skies above. After roughly a minute, the mysterious lights went streaking overhead like a formation of shooting stars. Quick as they were, she could just barely discern their humanoid silhouettes as they passed by in the night. Only once they'd cleared the treeline did she feel safe to release her breath.
"What were those?" she finally exhaled.
"No idea," Rinoa half-whispered. "But it looks like they're heading for the town. The others… do you think we should double back?"
Quistis hesitated. With their GFs gone, Zell, Selphie, and every other Balamb operative on the scene would be helpless to repel any sort of magical assault. Her and Rinoa's intervention might be the only hope for them now. Alas, they were too far away. Given the speed with which those strange anomalies had cleared the distance to the forest, it would take too long for the two of them to make their way back into town.
"We'd just be wasting our time," she answered, setting her sight on the castle again. "The sooner we take care of Ultimecia, the sooner this all ends. The others can take care of themselves. I'm sure they will."
They have to…
In her heart, she remained unconvinced. Perhaps fate's hands truly had ushered them all to this point, just as Ultimecia. And perhaps still, they would would see their preordained mission through to the end, as history was destined to recall. But now, standing upon the soil of a foreign dimension, one existing beyond the bounds of fate's grasp, it fell to their collective strength and determination alone. The only force which guided her now was her faith in that future to come. Determined to fight for it, she heeded its call, and stepped out to meet the plains again.
"Let's go."