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Kefka perched atop his Tower – his sole act of creation in this new era – and looked across his blood-soaked domain. Volcanoes flared to life while the ocean heaved and boiled. The earth split as continents danced at his command. Mountains fell and the seafloor rose. Lightning scorched the atmosphere, dying the sky orange. And, everywhere, everyone wailed in agony at his design.

It was all terribly boring.

He rolled an orb of light across his knuckles and huffed out an irritated breath, watching it skip and hop around his hand.

He’d once gloated to General What’s-His-Name the Do-Gooder about the pleasure found in a chorus of thousands of voices screaming in unison. Now he had a million – a mass choir, one could say. Unfortunately, it sounded much the same. How very disappointing.

A patch of silence caught his attention and he turned his gaze northward. Narshe. He should’ve known. Stoic and resilient and defiant as ever.

He hated it.

A grin warped and split his face. He lazily lifted his hand, gathering his newfound power. Closing one eye and scrunching his nose, he took aim at that pesky hamlet.

Perhaps there was still some fun to be had after all.

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Sabin dismounted, keeping a tight hold on his chocobo’s bridle. The bird warbled low in its throat and nudged his shoulder with its beak. Fishing a handful of greens from the nearest saddlebag, he held them out, palm open.

“There you go, Fig,” he said warmly.

He buried his fingers in feathers as gold as the sands of his homeland and scratched his chocobo’s head. It trilled and contentedly followed when he tugged the reins. Glancing over his shoulder, he rubbed the back of his neck.

He wasn’t banished per say, but he knew he couldn’t go home yet. What with the Empire’s murder of their father, Edgar had made it clear he needed his brother as far away as possible. Like pieces on a chessboard, he was positioning assets where they’d be the most useful.

Sabin had wanted to travel anyways. He’d heard rumors of a fighting master in the mountains and so made that his destination. He wanted to learn, needed to get stronger if he was going to be any help in the coming fight.

Whistling a jaunty tune, he turned his chocobo towards the mountain pass.

When his brother finally sent for him, he’d be ready.

Chapter Text

White paws stomped out a staccato beat against the packed earth. Eyes closed, Mog bounced and twirled through the caves, pompom bobbing. Each step thumped out a jaunty rhythm to match his squeaky humming.

He should teach his brothers and sisters how to play the drums. Then he could dance to music that wasn’t just in his head.

It wasn’t easy being the world’s only fast-talking, slam-dancing moogle, kupo.

He executed another sequence of intricate footwork, hopping from paw to paw. As he finished, the cave floor opened into a sinkhole in front of him. He jumped back with an alarmed “kupopopopopo!”, wings fluttering behind him.

The sinkhole closed and the ground returned to normal. Mog frowned. Creeping forward, he tapped the spot that had given way. It was solid as the stone beneath. He ventured further, standing on the suspect patch of ground and jumping up and down. Still nothing. Cocking his head, Mog scratched his pompom.

He had an unlikely thought. But then, he was an unlikely moogle. Curious now, he decided to test his theory and ran through the same sequence of steps.

The ground opened up again. Mog grinned.

“Now that’s what I call dancing, kupo!”

Chapter Text

Scorched, scraped, and bruised, Locke hunched over the final chest.

The heat was relentless with no hope of a breeze this far underground. Sweat traced lines through the dirt and ash caking his skin. But any discomfort would be worth it if he could just get this lock dealt with. He gritted his teeth and wiggled his lockpicks again.

He’d spent years tracking this treasure down. He’d be damned if he’d be defeated by a corroded hunk of brass.

None of the chests in Gestahl’s secret trove had fared well. The years spent underwater followed by the reignited volcano’s kiln-like heat had warped, wedged, and otherwise sealed them. That wouldn’t stop him, of course. The valuables he’d already recovered were definitely worth the trouble, but none of them were what he’d sought.

With a brittle crunch, the lock gave way and Locke forced the lid open.

His breath caught.

Nestled in crumbling velvet was a piece of magicite. Cracks laced its surface and its inner flame barely moved.

But that didn’t matter. He’d finally found it. It was real. It was solid. Tucking it in an inner pocket, he let out a shuddering exhale.

Time to go keep his promise.

Chapter Text

There was an irony to the Doman notion of getting to the afterlife via train, Cyan thought as he followed the deserted tracks through the darkened forest. Maybe that’s why his people eschewed technology so thoroughly – defying death in their day-to-day lives as best they could.

Not that it had done them any good. The bitterness rose like bile in his throat. His fist tightened around his sword hilt. A weapon of a bygone age, bearing the weight of things long past – duty, loyalty, chivalry…

Family… 

Somewhere out of sight and out of reach, the train whistled. It echoed unnaturally through the trees, its sound as haunting as the ghosts it carried.

Cyan shook his head and quickened his pace to catch up with his newfound companions.

His enemies wielded technology and death indiscriminately. Perhaps he should learn to do the same, mastering the one to dole out the other. He’d turn their own cursed deeds back on them ten-fold.

And once he had, he’d return to this holy, haunted forest and board its train.

And, when that time came, he wouldn’t let it buck him off. Heaven or hell, he’d ride it to wherever it wanted to take him.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t just about the stuff.

Okay, it was mostly about the stuff, but the adventure, the challenge, the romance of it all counted for something too!

Locke grinned as he watched the ostentatious carriage rattle down the boulevard, lacquered wood and enameled crest gleaming. Pretty prizes, but not his target today. He had his eye on the solid gold hubcaps. He waited until it stopped in front of an overpriced eatery and its overdressed occupants paraded inside.

Time to get to work.

Instead of his usual delicate lockpicks, today’s tools were a wrench and mallet. Working quickly, he divested the back wheels of pins, pegs, and screws, then scuttled down a nearby alley to wait for the fun.

It wasn’t too long before the carriage’s owners returned and climbed inside. Locke readied himself as the driver spurred the chocobos into motion. The carriage made it all of half a block before the first hubcap spun loose. The second followed shortly after, rolling and bouncing merrily towards their new owner.

Locke cackled as he scooped up his prizes and sprinted in the opposite direction.

“Stop! Thief!”

Locke paused before disappearing down the maze of alleyways.

“That’s treasure hunter,” he yelled.

Chapter Text

They say a crown is a heavy burden. Most days, Edgar hardly felt the weight. Though, to be fair, most days, he hardly wore the thing. It was mostly ceremonial after all.

But then there were days like today.

Days like today, Edgar felt the full weight of that phantom circlet – still in its case in the treasury – closing like a golden shackle around his head. Days like today, he feared he’d buckle, crushed under duty, legacy, and the ephemeral weight of thousands of souls who’d pay the price for his decision.

“Sire?” His chancellor waited to carry out his command.

Edgar swallowed. “Hide the girl. Then summon the senior staff.”

“Are we defying Gestahl then?”

“Yes, Geoff. It seems we are.” He squared his shoulders before strolling outside to confront Kefka.

Geoffrey's eyes gleamed even as he kept his face respectfully neutral. His king wore the crown well, despite how young he’d been when they’d placed it on his head. Geoffrey had full confidence he’d see Figaro through these dark times.

“Clear skies and soft sands grace your path, Sire.” He muttered the old Figaroan blessing and turned to do his king’s bidding. They had a busy night ahead.

Chapter Text

Setzer stroked the Blackjack’s railing as he walked across its deck. Nary a splinter marred the smooth surface, waxed and polished to a deep shine. His baby was one of a kind and deserved to be pampered as such.

“It’s a ship, not a pet,” Darill laughed from where she lounged, watching him fuss over the instrument panel.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, baby. Don’t listen to the mean lady,” Setzer crooned as he continued to make adjustments.

“Seriously – I’ve seen Jidoorini socialites treat their little dogs with less care than you treat this ship.”

“Did you just compare my ship to a useless lap-yap?” Setzer asked, genuinely affronted.

Darill raised placating hands, laughing out an apology at his disgruntled expression.

“In all seriousness, she’s gotten me out of more than a few scrapes,” Setzer said. “With the Empire trying to control the sea and skies, as well as the land, these days, it’s good to be able to outrun trouble. Luckily, I have the one airship that can’t be beat.”

“Is that so?” Darill straightened, eyes gleaming. “I think my Falcon would have something to say about that. Care for a race?”

Setzer grinned. “Name the day.”

Chapter Text

Gestahl flexed his fingers and took a deep breath.

He’d been released to his quarters in the wake of his transfusion, unlike the others who’d undergone the procedure. The scientists had wanted to keep him for observation, citing concerns for the aftereffects, as if their ruler would fall prey to the human weakness that had marred their first creation.

He’d not wanted to linger in such indignity for longer than necessary, and so his personal physician had intervened.

Ruling over everything had its perks.

Now he sat on the edge of his sumptuous bed wrapped in a luxurious fur-lined robe, waiting to see if he’d indeed conquered that last horizon – that ancient power that others had given up, ignored, and forgotten.

Fools, all of them.

Such power was a tool to be cultivated and controlled, not quelled. It already belonged to a mere slip of a girl through an accident of birth, his steel-eyed general, and a broken mage. If they could wield it, it was all the more his right to do so.

He gathered his will and snapped his fingers. A single flame, pure and strong, flickered on his fingertip.

Gestahl smiled. Nothing was beyond his grasp now.

Chapter Text

They’d shaved her head. Somehow, Ifrit found that more offensive than the patches where his own fur had been shorn away. Her opalescent tresses had been replaced by spiky, close-cropped tufts. If he’d been capable of tears, he would’ve wept at the indignity.

I’m alright, Ifrit. Shiva sounded tired. Of everything they could’ve taken, my hair will grow back.

But that’s not all they took, is it? He snarled at the snippets floating from her mind to his – memories that matched the wounds now marring her frame.

That too will replenish. Shiva’s thought ended on a sigh. I need sleep now. Their procedures are draining in more ways than one.

He felt her drift. Separated as they were by glass and steel, he couldn’t hold her as he wished. With no other comfort to offer, he sent her an old memory of her dozing with her head in his lap as he gently ran clawed fingers over her scalp. He felt her gratitude before sleep claimed her.

Alone in his head now, he allowed his anger to bubble forth.

I promise, dear one, when we break free, I’ll carve a pound of flesh for every ounce they took of ours.

Chapter Text

At one time, arms wrapping around her from behind would’ve made her ignite first and ask questions later. Now, Terra just relaxed as Edgar nuzzled into her neck. Reaching up to cup his cheek, she leaned into the embrace.

“Hello to you too, love.” She laughed. “What brings this on?”

“Can’t a man just miss his wife?” Edgar grinned as he straightened and rested his chin on her head, tucking her against his chest. “I’ve come to take you to lunch.”

“I’d love to, but I’m meeting the Minister of Urban Affairs about a new orphanage.”

“My hard-working queen. I suppose I should follow suit.” His exaggerated sigh ruffled her hair. “I have my own meeting about rebuilding Figaro’s farmland.”

Terra tilted her head back. He tightened his hold and kissed her forehead. She smiled – as far as Edgar was concerned, it was his job to make up for her life’s lack of affection with constant kisses and caresses.

She couldn’t say she minded.

“The demands of being king?” She grinned up at him.

“Sometimes I do hate them.” He laughed at the shared joke. “Let me at least walk you there, dearest.”

She twined her fingers in his. “Always.”

Chapter Text

Terra cupped the ball of fire in her hands, shielding it from the others. They’d made camp for the night and both her companions were asleep, or at least gave the appearance of it.

Locke had struggled with the campfire that night as the damp wood refused to light. She’d offered to help, but he’d turned her down, trying to sound light and casual and failing utterly. That was better than the king who’d joined them. Edgar wore his mistrust of her power on his sleeve, his mouth becoming pinched anytime her flames made an appearance.

Alone in the dark now, she stroked the small fireball. The flames twined around her fingers and caressed her skin without burning it. The light reflected in her eyes as she cocked her head to one side. Even if she couldn’t remember where she got this power, she was getting better at controlling it.

Phantom smoke charred her nostrils and she snuffed the flame in her fist, shaking her head to clear it of half-remembered screams.

As long as she had a say, no one would control her fire but her. She wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again.

As long as she had a say…

Chapter Text

Celes lay in a patch of sunlight. Uncle Cid was making dinner in the kitchen, which meant – for the time being – she was alone. She wasn’t often alone these days. Ever since her infusion, Uncle Cid hadn’t let her out of sight. To be fair, she clung to him too, shivering at his bedside when the new nightmares woke her, tears frozen on her cheeks.

She raised her hand above her face, blocking out the sunbeam. If she squinted just right, her fingertips glittered as if they’d been coated in diamond dust. She tilted them this way and that, watching the sparkles flare from between her eyelashes.

Without really meaning to, she formed a faceted chunk of ice on her palm. Instantly, rainbows danced across the carpet. She gasped in delight. Sitting up, she scrunched her nose and made another one, casting more rainbows on the ceiling. She laughed.

The sound drew Cid’s attention and he peeked into the den, only to stop short.

His niece sat cross-legged on the floor, grinning ear-to-ear as multiple jewels of ice lazily orbited her head. Rainbows coated the room, glinting off her platinum hair.

Despite his gnawing guilt, he smiled.

This was beautiful.

Chapter Text

Cid sat in the doorway of their island shack, watching lightning branch across the sky. With no rain accompanying it, each bright flash sizzled with the sharp scent of ozone.

He itched to capture it – rig a pole and some wire… but to what purpose? He’d need a generator to use the power, and a battery to store it. He absently picked up a stick and began sketching plans in the sand as thunder shook the makeshift shelter.

A flash. An idea.

He had saltwater in spades– he’d dig shallow pools near the house; it would take some experimenting to get the mix right, but he could store the energy he captured and—

Another flash. Another idea.

His stick moved faster as he scratched out a rudimentary generator. With materials from the abandoned houses, he could rig something together; all it would take was—

Another flash.

He froze.

What was he doing? His creations had ripped the world apart. In his blind pursuit of knowledge, he’d harmed his niece. Hadn’t he learned by now? Hadn’t he done enough? His inventions had created this hellscape.

He gouged out the half-drawn plans and flung the stick away.

Lightning flashed. He turned away.

Chapter Text

Jidoor’s newest production to honor the heroes who’d saved the world played out on the stage below. In the Figaro Royal Box, the opera’s bemused subjects watched the spectacle.

“Did moogles really help us escape the mines?”

“Um… no. Sorry…”

“Awww!”

“Why is there a talking octopus?”

“I dunno… maybe it’s a metaphor or something?”

“You did not suplex a train.”

“Yeah, but now I kinda want to try…”

“Wha—? Singing? I did not! I’m a general, not some opera floozy!”

“Now, now… Maria was very helpful during that escape. And you did look amazing in that dress.”

"...Still."

“They think I had time to lay in bed all day? There were thirteen children! I was lucky if I got to sleep ‘til sunrise!”

“Clearly a lack of research on their part, dearest.”

“Such dialogue! Surely I do not speak so… so dramatically.”

“I mean, you kinda do…”

“Well, they cast the treasure hunter perfectly – noble, resourceful, level-headed in a crisis...”

“… You screamed bloody murder when you saw one cave crab…”

“It was a whole nest!”

As the final curtain fell, they all clapped politely. Edgar turned to the others, eyes alight with mirth.

“Well, I quite liked that version!”

Chapter Text

Setzer shuffled the deck, cards whirling between his fingers. Never breaking eye contact, he smirked at the burly thug across the table.

“What’s it to be, then?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

“Generous.” Setzer pretended to think a moment. “Alright—” the cards flew as he sorted them into two neat piles— “The game is Triple Triad. Northern rules plus Sudden Death for a tie.”

The thug grunted and turned back to his mates with a guffaw. “Northern rules, eh? Risk-taker then.” He grinned a grimy, unpleasant grin. “What say we make it more interesting?”

“I’m listening,” Setzer idly sorted his hand, sizing up his opponent, his friends, and the exits.

The thug was drunk enough, Setzer was confident one good punch would knock him out. The guy's friends might prove a problem. They were on the second floor, but thanks to Zozo’s nonexistent building codes, it wasn’t as high as it should be – the window could serve as an exit if he couldn’t reach the door.

The thug pulled an oversized knife. “’Round here, we take ‘Sudden Death’ seriously.”

Setzer laughed. “Oh, I’m here for something far more interesting than your life.”

The thug just looked confused.

Setzer grinned, eyes gleaming. “Your money.”

Chapter Text

The dark figure knelt near his fire, chocobo tethered behind him and a large dog resting beside him. With a curved knife in hand, a row of small clay pots sat open in front of him. Taking a rag from his saddlebag, Shadow dipped it in the first pot. Smearing the knife with oil, he rubbed until it was thoroughly coated.

He tore a strip from the rag and dipped it in the second pot. A sickly yellow powder clung to the fabric. He swiped it across the knife, working the powder into the grooves etched along the blade’s edge.

Poison for the body. Force the target’s muscles to seize.

He tossed the used cloth into the fire and tore another strip. Dipping it into the third pot, he methodically rubbed the greenish powder over the knife.

Poison for the mind. Weaken the target’s will.

That rag also went into the fire. He grabbed the remaining scrap and dipped it in the last pot. An iridescent powder joined the first two across the blade’s surface.

Poison for the soul. Blur the target’s sense of self.

Task completed, Shadow sat motionless and silent as the fire died. Tomorrow, he’d go hunting.

Chapter Text

Sabin sat in the empty cabin. A clay pot of tea steamed on the table in front of him, its comforting stoutness a stark contrast to the dainty porcelain teacup he cradled in his hands.

He wondered if Edgar still used his. Their mother had gifted them the matched set as children – a delicate pattern of lilacs edging Edgar’s cup, while sprays of lupines decorated Sabin’s. They’d sit in her conservatory and share a cream tea with jam-covered scones, tiny legs swinging above the floor, as she sang them the names of flowers.

The tea parties had died with her.

His childhood cup had sat unused for over a decade, always kept clean and clear of clutter beside a portrait miniature of their mother. They were the only mementos he’d packed when he left in the wake of his father’s murder.

Sabin glanced out the back door, left open in his numb exhaustion. In the moonlight, his master’s fresh dug grave was a dark rectangle against the silvered grass.

“I’ve lost another one, Ed. Still not strong enough to save ‘em.” He set his cup down, tea untouched and buried his head in his hands. “Now what do I do?”

Chapter Text

“Come on, Katarin! You can do it!” The children clustered around her bed cheered as she pushed.

“They’re right, Kat,” Duane said softly, gripping her hand. “You’re so strong.”

Another contraction hit and Katarin groaned, long and guttural, and curled forward. Once it passed, she slumped against her mound of pillows. Duane wiped her face with a damp cloth, blotting away sweat and moistening chapped lips.

“Couldn’t do this without you,” she sighed, too exhausted to say more.

“You could.” Duane abandoned the cloth to stroke her hair. “But you won’t have to.”

Another contraction took hold – this one deeper and stronger than before. Katarin cried out.

“That’s the baby!” An older child shouted. “I think you’re gonna have to catch it!”

Duane hurried to see. Katarine strained with another contraction.

Golden light rippled across the room – a single wave that left sunspots in everyone’s vision. Excited screams sounded from outside, filled with a frantic joy Duane hadn’t heard since before the world ended.

“The flowers are back!”

But that miracle didn’t compare to the one in his arms, wet and screaming and perfect. He held her up for Katarin to see.

“Welcome to the world, our precious little Hope.”

Chapter Text

Against all odds, the tomb had survived. Terra and Celes would be glad to hear it – of everyone, they mourned this particular loss most keenly.

Cyan bowed in front of the mossy cairn, noting how the embedded saber shone as bright as when its owner had been alive to wield it. A simple plaque marked the general’s resting place.

General Leo Christophe, it read. An Honorable Man.

“Indeed.” Cyan stiffly lowered himself to sit cross-legged in the grass, now green and soft again. “I did not believe it to be so – damnable stubborn pride.” He shifted into a more comfortable position. “Though, thy character was vindicated in the end, however cruelly.”

Cyan sighed and looked around. Birds chirped cheerfully overhead. New flowers dotted the sun-dappled glade.

“I came to tell thee, we succeeded. Thy murder – and my own family’s – is avenged. The madman lies dead and the world has been set right again.”

He pulled out a bottle of rice wine and two cups. Filling both, he lifted one in a silent toast and drank. Grunting softly, he pushed himself to his feet and poured the other at the foot of the grave.

“Be at peace, my most honored adversary.”

Chapter Text

“Are you ready?” Locke lounged in her doorway as she finished packing.

Shouldering her knapsack, Celes took a final look around the room she’d claimed as her own since they’d returned to Figaro Castle in the wake of Kefka’s defeat. It hadn’t taken her long to pack her few belongings, leaving the room as spartan and clean as she’d found it.

Imperial habits died hard.

But there was no more Empire. Vector was well and truly gone, wiped off the map by a mad god’s whim and buried with that same god under a mountain of rubble. A fitting end for a place that had manufactured so much pain and strife, though Celes couldn’t help but mourn the homeland she’d wanted it to be.

She’d been cut loose, unmoored and ready to fly at the slightest push.

That push had come in the form of admittance into a prestigious medical college in Jidoor. With no more rank, no more magic, and the full support of friends, she was free to accept it. For the first time, her life was entirely hers to do with what she pleased.

It was a giddy feeling.

She looked at Locke and grinned. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Text

“Please, Clyde!” Hands covered in blood strained towards him as his partner begged for death.

He’d fled instead, cowardice too strong to shake even for his best friend.

***

“Please, Clyde!” Hands again, but covered in flour this time, straining towards him as his love begged him to stay.

He’d fled once more, this time out of a need to protect the two people dearest to him.

He couldn’t outrun the man he used to be.

***

Shadow’s eyes flickered under his eyelids as he lay on the hard ground. Beside him, Interceptor whined and woofed, nudging him with his wet snout.

His eyes snapped open and he sat up, movement too fluid for someone just startled awake. After scanning the surrounding plains, satisfied they were alone, Shadow leaned back against his roosting chocobo and moved to scratch Interceptor behind the ears.

He caught sight of his hand, for a moment so foreign to his eyes, that he couldn’t help but stare.

An assassin’s hand, covered in black gloves and layers of cloth. Shadow closed his eyes and buried his fingers in Interceptor’s fur.

“Please, Clyde.” He let out a ghost of an exhale, voice rasping like dead leaves. “Stop haunting me.”

Chapter Text

“C’moooon, Sabin,” Edgar whined, holding out his shirt and pants. “You gotta put ‘em on!”

Sabin shook his head, lips pursed in a pout. “Nuh-uh! Matron’ll be able to tell the difference.”

“No, she won’t! It’ll be so funny!”

Edgar jammed the shirt over his twin’s head and tugged. Sabin’s head popped out, hair askew. “I dunno why you want her to think you’re me and I’m you. We’re always together anyways.”

“Because it’ll be funny,” Edgar said again, as it that explained everything.

Sabin wiggled his arms, sleeves flapping over his fingertips. “But you’re bigger’n I am. And you don’t have my stupid cough.” He coughed to prove his point.

Edgar rolled his eyes as he rolled up Sabin’s sleeves. “That doesn’t matter. Matron’ll think you’re me ‘cuz we look the same and it’ll be funny ‘cuz we tricked her.”

“Tricked me how?” Their nanny stood in the doorway.

The boys froze. Sabin had one pantleg on as Edgar shoved his foot into an ill-fitting shoe.

Matron rubbed her face to hide her smile at the 7-year-old twins’ antics. “Sabin, why are you wearing your brother’s clothes?”

Sabin glared at Edgar. “I told you she could tell the difference!”

Chapter Text

Cyan had never seen an abomination before, despite applying that descriptor to many unpalatable things. He didn’t think he’d ever use it again unless he was referencing this ruined place.

Celes’ heart clenched as it broke. Her people had brought this atrocity into being. She gripped her saber, ice trickling down its blade. She had to set it right.

Terra wanted to weep, but couldn’t summon the tears. She’d spent so long numbed to the horrors the Empire visited upon her, it happened automatically here. That was probably best.

Locke didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see, didn’t want to breathe. His toes curled in his boots with each step he took. This place was wrong on every level. He didn’t think he’d ever scrub that feeling off.

Sabin felt like a lost child, hurt and bewildered as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. He followed the others almost blindly as he tried to re-center himself. His soul refused to be comforted.

Edgar shoved the gibbering panic as far back in his mind as he could and it still wasn’t enough. He took a deep breath and clenched his teeth. He’d scream himself hoarse later.

Chapter Text

Terra had felt something building under her skin for weeks.

These days, it seemed she spent more time in her Esper form than her human one. Everyone felt the need to grow stronger before facing Kefka and so threw themselves at whatever monsters they could find. With each one they faced and defeated, whatever she was feeling grew stronger.

They were deep in the wilderness when it burst.

The towering, long-necked lizard they were fighting had pushed most of her friends back, knocking them out of range before turning its sights on her. Already wreathed in the starlight she now wore as easily as breathing, she opened her mouth to cast down a sheet of fire.

A new word crawled off her tongue instead.

Instead of the familiar orange flames or her blazing white ones, Terra felt the temperature skyrocket as a dome of blue fire exploded outwards, disintegrating the monstrous lizard and searing the brittle grasses down to the packed earth beneath.

Celes was the first to venture near, eyes wide.

“What was that?” she asked, awe and apprehension at war in her voice.

Terra turned golden eyes towards her friend and tilted her head to the side.

“Ultima.”

Chapter Text

When asked, Terra might mention a long-lost moogle plushie, even as she stroked the milky-green gemstone she always wore. Precious as her necklace was, it wasn’t for sharing.

Edgar would pull out his lucky coin, flipping it in the air before tucking it in his breast pocket again. He joked that he made all his important decisions with it.

Celes would sheepishly display the tattered bandana tied around her wrist, normally stoic demeanor cracking as she spoke about hope at her lowest point. She never took it off.

Locke would regale anyone who asked with a different story each time, all while fiddling with the blue silk ribbon wound around his forearm. He didn’t mention the Phoenix Stone.

Sabin would show off a tiny porcelain teacup and reminisce about his mother. Once part of a set, its twin broke when the world did. When he’d found out, Edgar gifted his own to his brother, making it doubly precious.

Cyan would take out an embroidered handkerchief and stare misty-eyed at it as he spoke of his wedding day. He was able to talk about his family a little more each day, the memories finally warming his heart instead of wounding it.

Chapter Text

If you keep that up, you’ll make me dizzy.

Terra jumped, but stopped rolling her father’s magicite between her palms. The sensation of the smooth stone pressed against her skin was strangely soothing. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it.

“Sorry.” She cradled it apologetically. “Is that better?”

Her father’s flame flickered in what she’d come to recognize as mirth. Eyes narrowing, she held the magicite up to her nose.

“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Well, I’m not actually physically trapped in there. Her father’s voice shook with repressed laughter. And gravity doesn’t really affect a soul. He sobered quickly. It’s more the connection to your mind. Your thoughts are all a-tumble, daughter. What troubles you?

“Nothing in particular. My thoughts are always like that, I guess…”

After so long not being present in your own mind, I can imagine it’s overwhelming to have to navigate everything again.

Terra sighed. “It’s exhausting, honestly.”

Compassion blanketed her mind, softening the sharper edges of her ever-whirling thoughts. She got the impression of someone squeezing her hand.

Our elder taught us to control our breath to control our minds, and so control our power. Come. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll show you.

Chapter Text

Edgar held his newest bit of machinery up and honest-to-goddess giggled. Turning his gaze on the reinforced door that had stubbornly withstood both Locke’s lockpicks and Sabin’s fists, he flipped down his safety mask, revved the engine and advanced.

The whirling teeth tore through wood and metal alike, the rumble of the power tool mixing with the cracks and crashes of total destruction. Woodchips flew and the growling of the blade turned to a concussive rattle as Edgar pushed harder. The door never stood a chance.

Panting in triumph, he let the chainsaw power down and set the handle against his shoulder, careful to angle the blade away from his neck. Pulling the mask from his face, he wiped sweat off his forehead with his arm and grinned.

Wide-eyed, Sabin and Locke peered through the ragged, man-sized hole Edgar had created, coughing in the sawdust and smoke. Sabin let out a low whistle and Locke rocked back on his heels. Turning to Edgar, the treasure hunter shook his head incredulously, breathing out a faint laugh.

“Well, damn…”  He looked back and forth between the demolished door and his friend. “Guess you’re in charge of breaking and entering from now on.”

Chapter Text

“Hungry! Mister Thou – hungry! Cyan – hungry! Gau – hungry! Hungry! Hungry! Hungry!”

 Chattering insistently, the feral child ran circles around Sabin and Cyan as they trudged through the town towards its marketplace.

“Yup. We’re all hungry, kid.” Sabin sighed good-naturedly and rubbed his eyes. “And – again – I’m not Mister Thou—” he jerked his thumb at Cyan— “he is. Luckily, we’re almost to food.”

Sabin pulled a handful of coins from his belt pouch and counted them. Gau peered curiously over his fingers.

His eyes grew round as he focused on the glinting metal. “Shiny!”

“Mm-hm. We’re gonna give the shinies to the nice man over there, and he’s gonna give us food.”

Some time later, having left town fully resupplied, Sabin and Cyan sat on a log, sharing hardtack and jerky. Gau had squinted at the food and bounded off across the plains.

He returned quickly, dragging something behind him. He presented Sabin with an oversized shield, mirror-bright and inlaid with silver. “Shiny!”

Sabin stopped chewing. “That is shiny,” he said, blinking.

“Little shiny, little food,” Gau gestured scornfully to Sabin’s snack before pointing to his treasure. “Big shiny, biiiig food!” He grinned triumphantly.

“Erm… not really how that works, bud…”

Chapter Text

Most people didn’t take their grandchildren to seek out monsters. But, most people didn’t have the blood of mages in their veins and a particular talent for turning the monsters’ powers against them, either.

In front of him, the grey-scaled dragon flared its wings and reared back. Its throat pulsed with inner fire as it took aim. Strago planted his feet and braced himself, healing potion already in hand. Behind him, he could just make out his granddaughter’s beret sticking out from behind a boulder.

The dragon launched its fireball and Strago groaned as the flare scorched his skin and singed his beard. The magic flowed through him and settled in his soul. Relieved he wouldn’t have to take another hit, he downed the potion and hollered for his granddaughter.

“Relm, my dear, you’re up!”

“Sure thing, Gramps! Hey, Ugly! I’m gonna paint your portrait!”

Brandishing drawing tools, Relm sprang onto the rock and sketched out an image with a few dramatic strokes. Flipping the sketchpad around, she confronted the dragon with its portrait. The drawing flared to life and returned fire on the monster.

Standing by the charred corpse, Strago brushed ash from his beard.

“Well… that was bracing!”

Chapter Text

Trudging through Narshe’s snow, Celes frowned when she saw Terra shivering. Noticing her friend’s concern, Terra gave her a tight smile and blew on her hands, shoulders hunched and arms held tight at her sides for warmth. Clad in her usual red tunic, sheer hose, and gauzy cape, far too much of her skin was exposed to the cold.

Celes glanced down at her own outfit. The leather pants, bodysuit, and long-sleeved bolero offered far more protection.

“Come on.” She grabbed Terra’s hand and marched to one of the deserted houses. Shouldering the door open, she took them inside.

With its empty fireplace, the house wasn’t much warmer than outside, but Terra sighed in relief anyways, appreciating the reprieve from the wind.

“We won’t make it very far if you freeze,” Celes said with her usual briskness. She held out her hands. “Let’s swap. My clothes are warmer by far.”

Terra frowned. “That’s very kind, but then won’t you be cold?”

Celes raised an eyebrow and conjured a flurry of ice crystals. “The cold doesn’t bother me.”

Smiling sheepishly, Terra nodded. “I should’ve guessed, honestly.” She unclasped her cape and handed it over, bending to unbuckle her boots. “Thank you.”