The Horizon Bridge spanned the ocean from the Esthar Continent to the freight yard outside Fisherman's Horizon. From there, the track sliced through the town's northern edge, cutting into the stone-and-steel wall that wrapped around the settlement before stretching towards the Galbadia Continent.
He had to give the engineers credit—the bridge was solid, built to take a beating. Too bad they didn't use that talent for something that actually mattered. Instead, they wasted away in their bubble, letting Fisherman's Horizon rot into a stagnant hole–a nowhere town for people pretending peace meant the fire was out.
As he neared the gate, he passed the seawall's windmills and desalination towers, each reinforced with harpoons in case something massive decided to crawl out of the ocean. One loomed above him now, its metal tip gleaming in the sun—mostly for show. No sea beasts had shown up in months. Still, you had to be an idiot not to prepare.
The gate attendant gave a lazy two-finger wave, eyes never leaving his book. A switch clicked. The steel door beside the booth groaned, mechanical locks hissing before a final clank signalled it open.
Seifer scoffed. Who didn't even glance at the person they were letting through? All that flashy readiness, and they couldn't be bothered to pay attention. Complacency masquerading as competence — always a great combo.
Without a word, he pushed through. The door creaked behind him with a muffled shudder, the steel cool beneath his palm — heat-resistant alloy and the thick gate frame casting a permanent shadow.
Fisherman's Horizon opened before him: narrow apartments, clustered harbours, fishing boats, and the Sun Chalice — a massive power hub wrapped in solar panels, its luminous concave dish angled to capture every stray photon.
Terraces of crops ringed the structure, set along heat-resistant walkways that funnelled rain into a reservoir beneath the Chalice — fresh water for the town or a backup for dry spells. Efficient. Unavoidable. Impossible to ignore.
He followed a side track sloping toward the train station. The skylight overhead had finally been replaced — a relic of the damage left behind when Adel had her grip on Esthar. Now, with the ceasefire holding and peace technically in place, the station had resumed operations.
If there was one thing he'd learned from all those dusty old tomes about sorceresses, it was this — peace never lasted. At best, it was a pause. A breath before some bureaucratic bastard found another pawn to play.
The station was nearly empty, save for a few early risers prepping for the weekly supply run. Most crates still stacked in the freight yard. As he walked the descending track, voices drifted up from the platform below, broken and scattered across the rails.
Father down, the maritime district stirred. Fishing boats drifted along the oceanfront, seagulls circling overhead, screaming like they owned the place. A few houseboats rocked gently in the marina, home to those who'd taken their fishing obsession to the extreme. Salt hung in the air — thick and constant, drifting across the town.
South of the Chalice was the residential district. Apartment buildings rose from recycled, non-corrosive metal. Patchwork awnings threw scraps of shade, and laundry lines stretched from porthole windows across narrow streets. Just enough room for two people to walk side by side. His steps tapped steadily along the pavement, the hum of a radio drifting from an open window.
Fujin and Raijin lived near the Chalice. He'd crashed with them for a while—until pride kicked in and money got tight. He needed his own place. Something that was his, even if it was barely holding together. More than that, he didn't want them to see how rough things had gotten. He'd spent most of his life looking out for them. It didn't feel right for that to flip.
His apartment sat on the western edge of the district, crammed beneath a three-story complex like an afterthought—someone's half-assed attempt to squeeze in one more unit. Still, it was cheap, dry, and quiet.
Good enough.
His front door was tucked next to the back alley, with a porch that overlooked the ocean, bordered by a low wall circling the outer perimeter. He had yet to spot any dogs roaming around Fisherman's Horizon, but there were a few cats. He saw one of them now—a beige tabby with bold black stripes, lounging on his porch.
It was rolling around, lazily basking in the sun as if the damn thing owned the place. But as he approached, the cat suddenly bristled and reared on its haunches, amber eyes defiant. At first, the little runt used to hiss and swipe at him—until one day, he stuck out a finger, daring it to take a swipe.
Now, it had become their odd little ritual, and the cat refused to leave before it was properly executed.
Seifer smirked. He didn't know its name—didn't care, really. But he admired its spirit. He stuck out his finger, letting the beast take a tentative sniff, its nose flaring as it drew close, tiny puffs of warmth brushing against his skin.
And then it was over. The cat's haunches relaxed, its ears softened, and it grudgingly padded down the steps before taking off, darting down the alley until it disappeared behind a stack of crates packed with random junk.
Seifer stayed hunched on his porch, still gazing down the alley, when he caught the sound of approaching footsteps—quick, familiar, and unhurried. He straightened before they reached him, already knowing who it was.
Raijin came into view first, a big grin plastered across his tanned face, holding up a string of three large, deep-blue fish. Their iridescent scales flashed in the sunlight. "Yo, Seifer! Best we fry 'em up, eh? These suckers won't last long in this heat, ya know?"
Fujin trailed behind Raijin, arms folded loosely behind her back, still wearing the blue military jacket as if she'd been born in it. Her stride was subtle and purposeful yet carried a strange lightness—delicate in a way that felt out of place.
Seifer's eyes narrowed sharply. There weren't many people who would notice the slight shifts in Fujin's expressions. Still, he knew her well enough to catch the hesitation in her stride, the careful way she held her hands behind her back, and the way her eye flickered thoughtfully instead of the intense, piercing gaze he was used to.
Something was up.
Instead of calling them out, Seifer's smirk widened as his eyes shifted to Raijin—whose grin was a little too cheerful, even for him.
"Yeah, sure. Saves me a shopping trip," Seifer replied, eyes tracking between the two, watching for the slightest break in their façade. Not that he had the cash to shopping, but he wasn't about to admit that.
His stomach, however, had other plans and growled angrily at the thought of finally getting something to eat. His face soured–traitorous organ.
"Alright, but you're cooking it," Seifer muttered, sarcasm curling off his words in a lame, half-assed attempt to save face—though that only seemed to make Raijin's grin stretch further.
"No problem. Just lead the way and prepare to be amazed, ya know?"
With his keys jiggling in the lock, Seifer entered his apartment, tossing his keys onto the coffee table after squeezing through what he considered a bottleneck of an entrance. The kitchen opened up directly to the left, while the living area sat to the right—both crammed into what was technically a single room masquerading as two.
His kitchen table was pressed tightly against one wall, with the stove, fridge, and counter jammed onto the other side. A small porthole window sat between them, which he promptly opened by twirling the handle, letting the briny sea breeze mingle with the stale air trapped inside.
The living room, however, had no window—just a beige, lumpy sofa and a coffee table made of recycled metal, like nearly everything else in the place.
Raijin immediately got to work, rummaging through drawers before pulling out a fillet knife and carving the fish.
Outside the porthole, the distant cry of seagulls and the flutter of laundry hanging outside the neighbour's window flapped in the wind.
There was that cat again, sitting next to a crate on a piece of cardboard, grooming itself contentedly until it seemed to sense eyes on it. It paused mid-lick, its pink tongue still out, and met Seifer's gaze with quiet curiosity. Seifer grinned, then promptly turned away, settling into the fold-up chair by the window. The metal legs scraped against the tiled floor.
"So, what's the occasion?" he pried. There wasn't anything unusual about their visit—only a lingering silence between them that curiously left him on edge.
"Oh, nothin' much," Raijin muttered, slicing the last fillet and laying it out on the counter, ready for seasoning. "But just wait until you hear about this new job opening—"
And there it was—the crack.
"Idiot," Fujin muttered, abruptly delivering a swift kick to Raijin's shin. He yelped, the floorboards creaking as he jerked back his leg.
"Oh? Really?" Seifer drawled, his voice dropping several octaves. "And what exactly is this new job opportunity?"
The last thing he needed—or wanted—was pity. He didn't need them digging up some dead-end job for him. He was perfectly capable of finding one of those on his own.
"I swear, if this is about joining Raijin on a fishing expedition, you can shove that idea right back up your—"
"Monster hunter," Fujin cut in simply.
Seifer blinked. "—Wait, what?"
"Yeah, I know," Raijin said, shooting Fujin a half-apologetic, half-pleading look. "It's the about the GEC Initiative or somethin'. Their monster bailed, and they're looking for a replacement, ya know?"
Seifer's head spun. "One of you better start making some sense."
"Fujin overheard some archaeologists talkin' last night. Galbadia and Esthar are teamin' up—some joint dig at the Tomb of the Unknown King. Part of this GEC thing, to build better ties or whatever. But Seifer—man, they need someone tough. Their last guy bailed. You'd be perfect."
Seifer rubbed the back of his neck, weighing it over. As much as he hated to admit it, the idea was tempting—hell, way more appealing than hauling crates. Maybe, just maybe, it could turn into something real. Prove himself, let word of mouth spread.
But that was the catch, wasn't it?
Word of mouth had already spread.
He was still known as the sorceress's lapdog in more places than not, and there were plenty who hadn't forgotten his part in unleashing monsters across Gaia. Trying to sell himself as a monster hunter now felt like showing up with a wrench after flooding someone's house.
Still…A part of him wanted to believe it could work.
A clang of a pan set onto the stove drew him from his thoughts, followed by Raijin rummaging through his empty cupboards. "Hey, Seifer, where do you keep your seasonings?"
Seifer clenched his teeth. "Hey, you're the one who showed up unannounced. I haven't had the chance to—"
A loud thud rattled the table as Fujin slammed a vial of oil and seasoning down, clearly marked with the Solar Pub's insignia.
"Oooh, that's their famous seasoning, isn't it?" Raijin hollered happily, popping open the lid.
Raijin was, surprisingly, a good cook—so long as he didn't start experimenting with things that had no business being on a plate. Thankfully, deep blue tuna were a staple in Fisherman Horizon's diet and posed no threat to anyone who didn't need an iron gut to survive the meal.
The first fillet hit the hot pan with a sharp crackle, filling the room with the rich scent of sizzling oil and garlic.
Seifer's eyes shot toward Fujin, who stared blankly back at him as if daring him to challenge her. After a few beats, he looked away, irritation shimmering just beneath the surface.
He never really expected to fool Fujin, but he had counted on her to at least uphold the dignity of his façade. The fact she'd already swiped the seasoning and oil for this moment–knowing he probably didn't have either–meant she was done playing along.
Seifer began drumming his fingers against the table, thoughtful, hesitant. "Okay, so–what's the catch?"
"Laguna."
Seifer flinched despite himself. That was a name he hadn't expected to hear—Laguna Loire. The star of his favourite childhood movie, The Sorceress Knight. He'd modelled his entire life after it—right down to his gunblade.
Even during the darkest training regimens under the NORG Administration at Garden, it kept him grounded—to persevere with the belief that it would all mean something one day. That he, too, could become a hero people would remember.
But now the name felt heavy in a way he couldn't explain. A tightness across his chest that whispered whatever aspirations he'd once clung to was nothing more than a fraud—one he had unwittingly devised, but devised, he did, nonetheless.
He hadn't thought of his favourite childhood movie in years, but now that he did, there was something else lingering beyond the surface. Bits and pieces of his childhood memories resurfaced when he lived at the orphanage.
...Ellone.
He barely remembered those days. Years of prolonged exposure to Guardian Forces had nearly wiped his memories clean—just like the rumours warned. But something stirred now, faint and persistent. A flicker of the past: the two of them sitting close, knees just touching, as The Sorceress' Knight played softly in the background. He used to watch it with her and the other orphanage kids, all crammed together on that oversized area rug.
The thought made him restless. He didn't like the idea of losing control over something as simple as his own memories. It made him wonder—what else had slipped through the cracks? What else didn't he remember?
"Well, there goes that plan. Laguna Loire? Really?!" he scoffed in disbelief, then fell silent at the sheer absurdity of it all. This wasn't just showing up with a wrench after flooding someone's house–this was building the house with faulty pipes, flooding it, and then kicking the damn door down. "There's no way he's gonna hire me after I kidnapped his favourite pet!"
Raijin abruptly dropped a plate of grilled fish in front of him. The aroma of the seasoning and the sight of the lightly crisped edges were enough to distract him into a rabid rage. What made it worse were his friends' expressions—sympathy and concern that scraped against his nerves, raw and grating.
He stabbed his fork into the fish and stuffed it into his mouth. It was tender, flaky, and spiced near perfection, but Seifer hardly noticed. His teeth tore through the flesh like it was leather, the grinding of his jaw absurd against something so soft.
Raijin tried passing a plate over to Fujin, but she gave a curt shake of her head, her frown lines deepening.
"Try."
Seifer gaze flicked upward in surprise, then he scoffed and shook his head. "No. It's stupid. There's no way–"
"Try," she repeated, more insistent this time, her head leaning back against the wall, that single red eye fixed on him in an unblinking glare.
Seifer sat back in his chair, stunned. Of all people, Fujin should've realized how preposterous this was. Why on earth would the president of Esthar hire him—the guy who sided with Ultimecia and nearly helped end the world?
He turned to Raijin helplessly, expecting at least some grounding in reason. But instead, Raijin nodded slowly in agreement. "We won't know if we don't try. And if we don't try, we won't know, ya know?"
Unbelievable. Seifer threw down his fork; his appetite was gone. "There's no way I'm going to willingly turn myself into some shit-for-show clown," he snapped, pushing to his feet, ready to storm out and get away from the friends who had clearly lost their minds.
But Fujin stepped into his path. Her head tilted in a challenge. "Afraid?"
His eyes went dark. Deadly dark. Him? Afraid? In what universe? He almost snapped—almost shattered what little remained of their friendship—for daring to even suggest such a thing. Afraid? She, of all people, should know better.
"I'm not afraid of anything."
Her expression remained calm, unreadable. "Prove it," she said.
His jaw tightened. Fists clenched. The silence was palpable. A pin drop could have shattered it, stretched taut by the weight of everything unsaid. Raijin stood frozen, watching the storm brewing. The last fillet on the stove was nearly forgotten, the muted sizzling fading into the background—then a sharp, acrid scent hit.
"Shit." Raijin snatched the pan by its busted handle and yanked it off the burner, cursing under his breath as smoke curled upward. He waved it toward the open window.
The tension snapped.
A glint flickered in Seifer's eye. His scowl melted into a calculated grin. "All right, Fujin. You win. I'll play this little game of yours. But if it turns out to be a colossal waste of time, I know it is—you both owe me two months' rent. Deal?"
"Oh hey, now wait a minu—" Raijin started, but Fujin cut him off.
"Deal."
A short pause. Then, a barely perceptible nod as the weight of the deal settled on Seifer's shoulders.
Despite his earlier protests, Raijin turned the half-burnt fish in the pan, no longer concerned about the bet. He shrugged, plated the fish, and declared with stubborn confidence, "Still good."
Feeling deflated, Seifer let out a resigned breath. "I can't damn well go out dressed like this, can I?" he muttered, tugging at the collar of his blue coveralls. "Give me a sec. Go finish your breakfast, lunch, or whatever the hell it is you do," he added, waving dismissively as he rounded the living room and climbed the winding staircase.
Upstairs, a narrow hallway led to his sorry excuse for a bedroom and an even sadder bathroom. The bed was just a single mattress on the floor, but it was properly made—neat and squared with a blanket Raijin had nicked from work. His closet was barely large enough for half a person to stand inside, but everything inside was folded precisely.
He peeled off his coveralls, the fabric sticking to his shoulders from a night full of rain, heat, and sweat, when he felt something weighted in his pocket. Reaching in, Seifer pulled out the can he lifted from the freight car that morning.
A damn can of beans.
He stared at it, his jaw twitching. The thing sat in his hand like the punchline to some joke he didn't find funny. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
He didn't even know where he'd first heard that line—probably from some over-hyped textbook—but hell if it didn't land now.
A quiet, self-deprecating snort escaped him.
Squall had also thrown something like that to him about how far he'd fallen. Not cruel. Just… blunt, like everything Squall ever said.
Funny.
He didn't hate him for it. Hell, he even respected the guy. But he doubted even that bastard could've pictured just how deep that rock had sunk.
His hand clenched tighter until the sharp edge of the can dug into his palm with a satisfying sting. Fujin and Raijin were right about one thing—he couldn't keep pretending like this. What exactly this bullheaded plan would prove, he wasn't sure. But he couldn't keep walking back into this pitiful apartment, stuck in a rut, locked away in some godforsaken backwater haven.
Maybe he'd go on his own crusade. Cut ties. Take out as many monsters as he could before the big one finally got him. It wouldn't be the end he wanted—but he'd make damn sure it was glorious in his own way.
"Yo! Seifer! What's taking so long?" Raijin hollered from downstairs.
"Just a damn minute!" Seifer grumbled, tossing the blue coveralls and the can into a corner for later before slipping on a pair of black trousers and throwing on a slightly loose white muscle shirt. He rolled his toned shoulders once, loosening the tension that always seemed to cling to him like static. The silver dog tag glinted around his neck, serving as a reminder to never forget who he was. He never took it off.
Then his hand hesitated, brushing up against a beige trench coat, frayed and worn around the edges, with red crosses stitched into the sleeves, their ends styled in fleur-de-lis. He wasn't sure why exactly he kept the damn thing. Habit—he supposed. The thing looked like a relic; its colour was dull and dusty, and it carried a faint, musty scent of age and battles. He turned away, closing the closet door with a click.
Raijin and Fujin were still in the kitchen when he came down. He drew his hand under the cold faucet before brushing back his blond hair into that typical slicked-back look he preferred. A quick fix. Nothing fancy.
Fujin nodded in approval. "Let's go."
Seifer's bluish-green eyes snapped to her, a flicker of annoyance breaking through. "What, you don't trust me now? I said I'd go, didn't I?"
"Nah, man. It's not like that," Raijin said, smiling warmly as he clapped a hand against Seifer's shoulder. "We're coming with you, Seifer. We're applying for the job too, ya know?"
He blinked, caught off guard. "What? You serious? I thought you two were happy where you were. And let's be real—they'll probably shut the door on you just as fast as me. So what's the angle?"
"That doesn't matter to us, Seifer," Raijin said, tone steady. "We're going no matter what. This town wouldn't be the same without you anyway, ya know? Besides—we're a posse. Now and forever."