Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sabin didn’t dream, at first. His sleep was a merciful void until images formed: shifting statues, bloody steel, airships on fire. He felt himself falling, an endless descent he couldn’t escape from. His vision faded out as he waited for impact—

and then, he was awake.

His eyes opened wide as he sucked in a deep and ragged breath, pain needling through his body.

“Oh! Oh, don’t move—you’re still hurt, just—”

Someone spoke, but he barely heard the words. He couldn’t quite see, either; his eyes strained to adjust as his vision slowly began to unblur.

He was in bed, and when he looked down at his body, he saw bandages, their ripped cloth stained with something dark. What’s going on? Where am I? is what he tried to say, but it was hard to form words, and his throat ached as he managed nothing more than a croaking groan.

“Please, Your Majesty, don’t move,” came the voice again.

Your Majesty?

A woman was crouched next to the bed, and she took one of his hands in hers. “Let me get you some water. Oh, thank the Gods you’re back.” She turned her head and called out to someone standing in the doorway of the room. “His Majesty is awake. I think he’s okay—I think…”

Sabin closed his eyes, and his thoughts drowned out the rest of her words.

Oh.

She thinks I’m Edgar.

“You’re in Pinehill,” the woman he now knew as Marta told him. She was the leader of the small village, located a few miles west of Albrook, and she seemed to be about his age. “You crashed right through the trees just south of here. They broke your fall, but roughed you up something awful. It’s honestly a miracle you’re alive. You’ve been in and out for a couple of weeks now, I think. It’s been hard to keep track of time…”

Sabin slowly rolled his head on his shoulders, tried his best to stretch. His entire body felt like one huge bruise, like every muscle had been torn. His left leg and right arm, Marta told him, were broken, though he’d gathered that from the pain.

“Was anyone else with me?” he asked.

“No. Just you. And how lucky we are at that. You’ve given me hope, Your Majesty. There’s only a few of us left here. Most of us were…” Marta ran a hand anxiously through her hair.

Sabin opened his mouth, then closed it. You’ve given me hope, Marta had said, and though he didn’t want to crush whatever it is she meant by that, he knew it was wrong not to correct her mistake. The soft of him battled with the sensible as he tried to parse the situation—

“Oh!” Marta exclaimed, halting his thoughts. “You had something in your pocket. Here.” She bent to dig through a basket of clothing next to the bed, and pulled out a small, dimly prismatic object.

Magicite.

Marta handed it to him, and relief came in a wave so intense he felt like he could cry. The magicite was Kirin, and it was still alive; he could feel it.

“Thank you,” he breathed, “for keeping this safe. Thank you.”

“What is it?” Marta asked.

“It’s a long story. A long, crazy story. I’m going to try something that might be a little weird, ok? But bear with me.”

Marta nodded, her eyes widening with interest edged by apprehension.

Sabin focused on the magicite, felt Kirin at the edge of his consciousness, speaking to him. I’m here, it seemed to say. Call upon me. Sabin tried to manifest the feeling of a healed body—no bruises, no wounds, no broken bones. It was a big ask, he knew—his injuries were many—but he hoped, he prayed…

The feeling flooded over him so intensely that his eyes shot open and he was pressed back against the headboard, dropping the magicite. Marta stood up, said something—but he couldn’t quite make it out. He felt his body changing in a manner that almost felt unbearable, strange and uncanny, stronger than any other healing spell he’d been subject to. In a few agonizing seconds, it was over, and he felt… different.

He moved his arms and legs. He took a deep breath and no longer felt the pain of broken limbs. He still felt the soreness of what no doubt were tightening wounds beneath the bandages covering a good deal of his body, but he’d examine himself later. He sat up, touching his body as if it were something new.

“What was that?” Marta asked, terror in her voice.

“Um… magic,” Sabin said, and despite its familiarity, even he was in awe of the power he’d just experienced.

“You can use magic?” Marta asked, looking at the magicite in his hands. He held it out to her, and she took it. “It’s so warm,” she said quietly, and he knew she could feel its life.

“It’s called magicite,” he said. “Like I said, it’s a long story. But… it’s got healing powers.”

“Well are you… are you better, then? Can you stand?” Marta asked.

Sabin moved slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. They felt strange and shaky, almost gelatinous, but he pushed his feet against the floor, flexed his knees, and slowly began to stand.

Marta looked up at him in awe.

“Your Majesty…” she said.

An awful feeling churned in his gut, and he knew he should correct her. He wasn’t in the habit of lying, and he prided himself on his honesty, but he just couldn’t bear to break her spirit after she’d saved his life.

“Please,” he sighed, “Just call me Edgar.”

Sabin had never been a liar; he’d always been honest to a fault—much to Edgar’s dismay when they got into mischief as children. Edgar, on the other hand, was a master of little white lies when he wanted to be. Sabin didn’t fault him for it, though; one thing he could say about Edgar was that he never used a lie for true ill will. Mostly, Edgar's lies were to protect Sabin whenever he got into trouble; Edgar, ever the quick thinker, always found a way to take the blame.

The biggest such lie—for Sabin’s protection—was that a coin toss would be fair, and though the deception was born of pure love, it was still a sore spot.

Sabin wasn’t the type to believe that the end justified the means, especially when something untoward was involved. But he thought back to that coin, and how a little lie didn’t always harm. What would Edgar do, if he were here? he asked himself. But this situation was so different, so odd, that he didn’t know the answer. He’d already lied by omission, and now he was, regrettably, along for the ride.

“I think I should warn you, before you step outside,” Marta said. “It’s worse than you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything’s gone.”

“What do you mean?” Sabin repeated, remembering what he saw as the airship plummeted, how he wasn’t sure if the earth was shifting or if it was just the feeling of falling.

“After that island fell, everything changed. The world… it’s like it ended.”

Sabin looked toward the only window in the room, but found that it’d been boarded up, the panes missing completely except for jagged bits of glass along the edges of the sill.

“Things come out at night,” Marta said, following his gaze. “And this is the only building fully standing, so we hide in here. I thought about maybe going to Albrook, but…”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve stayed because of me,” Sabin said.

Of course we couldn’t leave you, but the truth is that I don't want to leave in the first place. Besides, it’s fine. Those things… they haven’t… they don’t bother us.”

I’ll hold that thought for later, Sabin thought. But right now, I need to see this for myself.

“I’m ready to go outside,” Sabin said. “I need to face it eventually, and you said your people are waiting…”

Waiting for me, he thought.

But to do what, exactly?

Pinehill was crumbled around Sabin, a few damaged buildings half-standing. Debris littered the ground in wooden beams and bricks, the interior of former homes exposed as if the walls around them had been sucked up into the sky. The ground had been dug up in strips, shallow trenches as if something burrowed not far along the surface of the earth, kicking up soil as it went. He saw withered garden patches, and a well that he hoped still held water. In the near distance, he could see a group of what he knew were graves, sloppy mounds of dirt with rocks piled on top. Those must be the residents who didn’t survive, he thought, and then he saw the dried, blackened bloodstains on some of the rubble where he instinctively knew that bodies had been crushed.

Sabin looked into the center of the village, and a man walking by abruptly stopped to take off his hat, holding it to his chest and bowing his head. A woman hanging up laundry on a line between two pillars of crumbled stone clasped her hands together and gasped. Six other people emerged, gathering in the wreckage to stare at Sabin.

He looked into the distance beyond the rubble, and the world was nothing like what he remembered. The ground had been razed, scattered crops of trees still standing with leaves withered on dry, dusty earth. The sky was a dark and dirty orange, the sun partially obscured by smog-like clouds, and the air smelled vaguely of smoke and ozone. On the horizon, a gnarled tower that Sabin knew in the pit of him could only be Kefka’s stretched towards the sky like a curse.

He found himself overwhelmed as panic set in. He turned and fled back into the house he’d emerged from, suddenly faint and feeling sick. He stumbled back to the bedroom and reached the bed just in time for his legs to give out.

This can’t be happening. Everyone I know is dead. Everyone’s dead and I’m the only one left. Edgar’s dead. Everything’s gone. How do we live like this? What do I do? What—

“Are you okay?” Marta was suddenly by his side again, fear in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” Sabin said, before he could stop himself. He hated to admit that no, I’m not okay, not at all. When was the last time he felt this weak? Maybe as a child, when he was sick, when Edgar would sit by his bedside for hours on end…

“I’m… I need a minute…” Sabin said, as his voice choked up.

Marta nodded, but hesitated before leaving the room. Sabin could hear voices outside, Marta saying something to the crowd.

Just breathe, Sabin thought to himself. Breathe. You know how. But terror gripped him as he panicked—If I let myself slip into this feeling, I’ll never get out. I’ll lose it. I can’t lose it. I have to stay alive. His heart felt like it was going to explode, and he put his hands over his face as he tried to focus on breathing.

He thought of Edgar—Edgar’s face, Edgar’s laugh, Edgar, beside him—and the feeling finally, mercifully, began to pass. He sat back up on the bed, wiping the sweat from his brow as his heartbeat finally slowed, and he knew he couldn’t hide forever.

Here goes nothing.

“Um,” he began, when he stepped back outside. The people were still standing there, waiting. He held up a hand in a wave and forced himself to smile. “Hi. Sorry about that.”

He told them his—Edgar’s—story of how he found himself on an island in the sky, showed them Kirin, and related to them the horrors that led Kefka to end the world. Sabin’s own name was strange in his mouth when he referred to himself—the notorious missing Figaro prince, found and now lost again—through Edgar’s point of view.

The creatures came that night, and the people of Pinehill gathered together in the same small house where Sabin woke up, just as Marta had explained. Sabin watched out the window of what used to be a functioning kitchen as shapes moved in the dark, twisted beings the likes of which he’d rarely seen outside of the Magitek facility or past encounters with Kefka.

The group slept in shifts and Sabin insisted on taking one, against Marta’s wishes that he rest. She gave in, eventually, and took the shift with him.

“Have those things ever broken in here?” he asked quietly.

“Not yet,” Marta said. “They’ve been digging up the graves…”

Sabin moved closer to the window and watched exactly that. The things in the dark shuffled around the makeshift graveyard, scratching at the mounds of earth. An arm was roughly pulled from the ground in one of the creatures’ jaws, and Sabin looked away.

“You can’t stay here,” Sabin said. “We need to leave. Soon.”

Marta’s eyes widened. “But we can’t just up and leave. How are we supposed to do that?”

“Exactly what you said. Just up and leave. You said you thought about going to Albrook, right?”

“Well yes, but that was before we found you. I thought—I thought maybe you could help us, here. That maybe there’d be a chance to rebuild…” she trailed off, and Sabin knew that Marta knew such a thing was impossible. He felt for her; a matriarch of ruins feeling helpless as a leader.

Well that makes two of us. Three of us, if I’m counting Edgar. He often felt helpless in charge, too…

“Listen. I know that this is home. And I know you don't want to leave. But at times like these…” Sabin paused. Crap. Where am I going with this? “...you need to get everyone to safety. And your people need you to be a leader right now, not me. As difficult as that feels.”

Marta looked down at where her legs were crossed on the floor and idly played with the hem of the plain dress she wore. “Okay,” she said, finally. “But back me up, okay?”

“Of course I’ll back you up! And I’ll protect you if any of those things come near. Trust me. I’m… I’m good at hand-to-hand combat. Believe it or not.”

“Oh really?” Marta asked. “I didn’t know that. I know Figaro has advanced weaponry… you came up with that yourself, didn’t you? Automatic weapons? Engines…”

“Yeah. I, uh, I love machines,” Sabin said awkwardly. “I uh, did build an automatic crossbow. And a chainsaw. Would be nice if I still had them with me.”

Marta turned towards him a bit more. “That’s fascinating. Can you tell me about the castle? Does it really submerge and travel underground? How does it do that?”

“Uh...” I have no idea, Sabin thought. “It’s kind of a secret, actually. Can’t tell.” He flashed what he hoped was his most charming, Edgar-ish smile.

Oh, Edgar. How excited you’d be to explain this.

Sabin remembered being young, how Edgar would go on and on about machines, explaining his ideas, what he’d learned and what new invention he was trying to create. Sabin felt a guilty ache in his chest when he remembered how sometimes he’d tune Edgar out, finding himself bored by his brother’s inclinations, his updates on how fast he’d been able to take something mechanical apart and put it back together again that day.

I wish I would have listened more, Sabin thought. I should have treasured every moment in which you shared yourself with me.

“You okay?” Marta asked curiously. “You’re zoning out.”

“I’m fine,” Sabin forced a grin. “Just have a lot on my mind, is all. Still processing everything.”

“Of course,” Marta said. “Sorry. I know it’s still a lot for you. It’s a lot for all of us. Honestly, I hate to say this, but you might be lucky that you were knocked out when it happened. It wasn’t… it wasn’t nice to see.”

“I know,” he said, and rubbed a hand over her arm in a gesture of comfort. She placed her opposite hand over his and squeezed.

When it was Sabin’s turn to sleep, his dreams were full of mirrors. There was nowhere to look but at himself, so he stared into his own eyes, the dark circles beneath them making the blue look brighter than usual.

He discovered at a young age that the longer you stared at your reflection, the more it started to change, and he did that now—staring until his vision started to shift, until his face became something else, something his but not-quite-his.

Edgar’s.

He saw Edgar’s differences; his well-groomed eyebrows, the barely noticeable variation in the shape of his nose, and the faint lines that had formed in the corners of his eyes—no doubt from constant smiling and schmoozing as part of his role as king. The feeling was strange and surreal, Sabin thought, looking at your own face and seeing someone else’s.

But isn’t he who I am, now?

Marta shared her plan with the people of Pinehill the next morning, and much to her surprise—though not to Sabin’s—the group was on board with leaving. Sabin let Marta speak, but voiced his support; Marta told them it’d be best for a king to travel and rally more people to his side, rather than stay put in the remnants of the village.

“I told you it’d work out,” Sabin said to her, as they packed what little they had. “Wasn’t that bad, right?”

“No,” Marta said. “It’s just so hard to leave home.”

It wasn’t hard for me, Sabin thought, and it hurt.

Time was a blessing on their side, and they arrived at Albrook just past dusk the next day. The town wasn’t in the best of shape—there was rubble, and some destroyed structures—but the majority of buildings still stood. There were people in the streets; leaving shops with bags of goods before they closed for the evening, sitting on benches in what remained of the grass in a wilted town square. There were chocobos in stables. There was life.

When the group entered the outskirts of the town, people stopped and stared. Women scooped up children and rushed away, and a few of the men drew the weapons they carried, eyeing the group of outsiders curiously. Sabin opened his mouth to speak, but Marta was one step ahead of him.

“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Marta said to the crowd of suspicious locals. “We’re from Pinehill, just east of here. Please, our homes were destroyed.” She motioned to Sabin. “And His Majesty, King Edgar of Figaro, has joined us.”

“Greetings!” Sabin boomed, waving.

The men lowered their weapons as recognition showed on their faces. “Are you King Edgar?” one of the men asked, still hesitant.

“I am,” Sabin nodded. “And even if you don’t believe me, I can assure you we’re no threat. There aren’t many of us. Please, let us stay.”

After the group had eaten a real, hearty meal, bathed, and been provided with fresh, clean clothes, Sabin and Marta stood on a balcony behind the inn at the edge of town, looking out over the flatlands. The night made the sky feel almost normal; the strange colors of the daytime washed over with the normalcy of dark. Almost normal, at least; the sky was so polluted that the stars were barely visible, just muted pinpricks of dull light.

“It’s still kind of pretty, isn’t it,” Sabin said quietly.

“Is it?” Marta asked. “I’m not sure…”

“Did you notice the sunset earlier?”

“Not really. Had a lot on my mind.”

“I know. Sorry. More important things are going on. You’ve done great, by the way,” Sabin said. He put a hand on Marta’s back. “I’m proud of you! The way you’ve handled everything. I told you you could do it.”

Marta shrugged. “I tried. I wouldn’t have done it without your encouragement, though. We’d probably still be in Pinehill, just waiting to die. I didn’t want to leave. But… you were right.”

“A big ol’ broken clock is still right twice a day,” Sabin said, and Marta laughed. He pointed at the sky. “Hey, look over there.”

The moon became visible, bright and clear, as the smog clouding the sky temporarily opened up.

“Now that’s pretty,” Marta said. For a moment, shadows of scattered trees stretched long and strange over the flatlands before them, and then the moon was swallowed by darkness once more.

“Watch the sunset tomorrow,” Sabin said. “You won’t be disappointed. The way the colors layered themselves… It was nice, somehow. Like a strange fire.” Fire. Terra. “But in a good way. You’ll see what I mean.”

He hunched forward, leaning his elbows on the railing, and turned his head to look at Marta. “Listen, what I’m trying to say is that there are still some beautiful things in this world… and not just the moon, or the weird sunset. There are still other people alive. We can still build connections. The sun keeps rising. Every time we laugh, even. It’s beautiful all over again. And who knows what the future holds? Look at Albrook, here. They’re doing just fine, all things considered. There’s hope for the world.”

There’s hope for what I’m looking for.

Marta was silent, looking out at the sky for a few more seconds before she turned to him, looked him in the eye, and leaned closer. Sabin’s heart sank as he knew what was about to happen, how deeply he was about to disappoint her. She moved to kiss him, and he pulled back a little too quickly, causing hurt to blossom on her face. Oh no… she must think I find her revolting, he thought. Which is not the case at all…

He had indeed grown fond of her, enjoyed the time spent with her and found her pretty. But it wasn’t right to kiss her when she thought he was someone he wasn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, no matter how deeply the loneliness of the new world had already sunk into his bones.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t…” He put his hands on her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye.

“I’m not Edgar,” he said.

She stared at him in silence.

“I’m Sabin.”

Marta furrowed her brow. “Oh,” she said, and the disappointed realization in her voice caused Sabin’s stomach to drop. “Oh,” she repeated.

“I’m sorry,” Sabin said, “I’m so sorry. You were just so happy, and I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, after what you did for me. I wasn’t trying to be deceptive. I just wanted to help you.” He braced himself for a bad reaction, for her to storm off, for him to be run out of Albrook for lying. But she only sighed, and smiled sadly at him.

“Sabin,” Marta said quietly, “I can’t say the thought didn’t cross my mind, that it might not be you. Uh, him. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the others doubted it as well. But I did truly believe it, for a while. I just needed something…” She smiled. “I have to admit, though, that we’ve all seen the portraits. And he came through on a tour of the southern continent, once. I feel like he’s the type who wouldn’t cut his hair. And he was not this beefy.”

Sabin laughed, hard. “Oh, for sure he’s not! He’s tall, but that’s about it. I could throw him.”

“And word went around that he was quite the flirt,” Marta added. “Hence I thought for certain I’d get a kiss tonight,” she said with a sheepish smile.

Sabin laughed softly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “And Edgar’s all bravado, by the way. Actually not that suave around women at all, when I really think about it…”

He’s lonely, is what Sabin didn’t say. I think he’s always just been lonely.

“Something tells me you’ll be leaving,” Marta said, after a short silence.

Sabin nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Marta winced at the words.

“It’s tempting to stay here, but… I have to go. I owe it to Edgar, and my friends. Plus, who knows who else I can help out there.”

“You’re kind,” Marta said. “You’ll change the life of everyone you meet. I know it.”

Sabin laughed. “Maybe. Let’s hope it’s for the better.”

“It will be.”

They stood in silence for a moment, both staring at the sky.

“Are you going to tell them?” Sabin asked. “About me?”

“Eventually,” Marta said. “But like I said, I think some of them might already have a feeling you’re Sabin. Besides, I can always just pretend you tricked us. I mean, you kind of did,” she teased, punching him gently on the shoulder.

Sabin shrugged comically. “Oops. Listen, it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want to upset you! Plus, I can’t say it wasn’t kind of funny. Me, being a king… it’s just not right. I can only imagine the look on Edgar’s face if he ever comes through here,” Sabin said. Or maybe it’s when he comes through here. “When you welcome back a guy who’s never met you. He’ll have no idea what’s going on.”

“Maybe you’ll be with him,” Marta said. “And then you can explain. It’ll be another story you share. That you can laugh about together.”

Sabin nodded. He imagined Edgar’s face, what he might say—They thought you were a king? Hah! Go back to the gym!

“You’re right,” Sabin said to Marta. “When I find him, we’ll come back and visit, and confuse everyone. It’ll be fun.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a minute before Marta spoke. “Well Sabin, I’m exhausted. I hate to end this, but I need to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning before you leave?”

“Yes. I’ll be up early. But first I’ll be eating breakfast. A lot of it!”

Marta laughed. “Be careful you don’t eat them out of everything. I saw the destruction you caused at dinner.”

In the early morning, Sabin insisted on little fanfare, quietly saying his goodbyes to the former people of Pinehill.

The people of Albrook provided him with a chocobo, saddlebags laden with provisions for his journey, and Marta was the one who walked with him past the border of the town.

“So what is your plan?” Marta asked him, looking down at her feet as they walked. Dust kicked up around them, and Sabin waved some of the floating grit away from his face.

“Dunno,” he said. “Wander. Town-hop. See what’s become of things. I’ll see what I can find.” He sighed. “And this time I’ll be Sabin. I mean, he’s a pretty cool guy too, no?”

Marta laughed. “He sure is.”

Albrook was now a fair distance behind them, and Sabin knew it was time to say goodbye. But—

“This isn’t a final goodbye, you know,” he continued. Marta looked up at him, hopeful. “I’ll come back, I promise. Might not be for a while. But you haven’t seen the last of me.”

Marta hugged him tightly, and he wrapped his arms around her in turn. They stayed like that for a few seconds until she pulled away. “You better,” she said. “Don’t die out there.”

“Me?” Sabin laughed, hoisting himself up into the chocobo’s saddle. “You saw me pull through back there. I think I’m indestructible. And so are you! I can tell.”

“Maybe,” Marta shrugged with a grin.

“Well…” Sabin sighed heavily. “You’d better get back.”

“I suppose I should.”

“I’ll see you around.”

Marta smiled. “You too.”

When Sabin turned to look back a few minutes later, Marta turned too; a coincidence, or fate, or maybe some strange connection. She waved, and he waved back, and then continued on his way.

He left Marta and her people behind, determination overriding all of the other emotions swirling in his heart. I’ll keep moving, he thought. I’ll do what I can for the people I meet. But I can’t settle.

He thought of Edgar, out there somewhere in the world. His friends, wherever they were. My family, he thought. I have my family to find.