Categories > Games > Final Fantasy 8
It was the same no matter where he looked. It had been and would be, and now was no different than weeks ago, or hours ahead.
Another grey nightmare, endless and empty like so many that had come and gone. Endless wasteland behind him, empty waters before him, and no voices, no wind. Not a whisper to answer him. He’d walk along that shore forever, calling her name, and as he walked, he would age. The name on his lips would change, but the breathless feeling never did.
Squall’s only company in this journey was the echo of his own voice, and even that seemed to dwindle as he succumbed to exhaustion and what he assumed was madness. Phantom voices teased his mind, but he’d long since stopped hoping they were real; if there was color, he stopped seeing it; pain, he stopped noticing. The only sensation he was aware of anymore was the crushing weight that finally brought him to his knees at the edge of the surf.
It began to rain. Darkness started to fall, and the tide reached for him. It was change, and amidst the grey void he’d become so accustomed to, change hurt like fire. He thought of screaming, found he’d forgotten how, but relief came either way; as the water rose and the air thickened to black, he remembered that there was an end, even if it was a tragedy.
It was as if the world had been waiting for him to find this small peace, for that’s when the light finally found him. It drifted and flickered, a single white star in the rising abyss. He used the last of his will to rescue it from the waves.
Just a feather, white and a little frayed. As his hand closed around it, every frightened name he’d shouted into the void came rushing back to him. They’d been heard, each lonely one.
For all the silence he’d suffered, what finally broke him was an answer.
He clutched it to his chest and hid his tears in the rain as the sea wrapped around him. It was cold. He smiled anyway; he’d fallen where he belonged, and if only for a few moments, his arms were full and warm.
He sheltered her light for as long as he could. They expired together in the dark.
---
Squall waited out his body’s panicked gasping. It was nothing new; he’d just forgotten to breathe again. When feeling returned to his limbs, he sat up, wiped the sweat from his face and let his eyes adjust to the darkness of his quarters.
He rested an uncertain touch on the sleeping bundle beside him, and as always, held his breath until he felt hers rise again. He sighed and settled close. Rinoa stirred when he embraced her, but only long enough to nestle into him.
She slept peacefully while he kept restless watch. He didn’t mind; he wanted to be present, conscious of everything: her shape, her warmth, the soft murmur of her voice as he combed her hair back so he could see her face. He took it all in, committing the moment in all its fragility to a memory that was just as tenuous.
But the practice was calming, even affirming; he wanted the reminder of impermanence, and the depth it lent to an otherwise fleeting present. You were here with me for a while. No one can change that.
That was enough, and never enough. He was where he needed to be and he’d fight for every moment, regret not a single one. If history saw him end alone, or following her into darkness, she would still be with him here.
Time might outlast their promise, but it could never erase them.
So he held onto his happiness, to remember in a future that wasn’t so warm. A quiet part of him still believed that future was inevitable.
Not tonight.
He nudged Rinoa’s temple, rousing her. She yawned and stretched, then retreated quickly from the chill in the air, burrowing back into him. She groaned sleepily, but she was smiling all the same.
He kept his voice low. “You’re all right?” He knew the answer, but wanted to hear it.
“Mmhm. You?”
“…Yeah.”
Seeming satisfied, she closed her eyes again. Her hand found his, then gathered his arm up between them so she could hug it like a child’s plush. “I’m here…” she murmured before trailing off to sleep.
Squall rested quietly, watching her until he, too, began to drift, finally at ease. He didn’t fear his dreams, whatever they would be; when he woke up, she would be there, and there was no future so dark it could extinguish the light he held in the here and now. He let her guide him back to the safer waters of his mind.
Even there, he could still feel the longing of the undertow.
Another grey nightmare, endless and empty like so many that had come and gone. Endless wasteland behind him, empty waters before him, and no voices, no wind. Not a whisper to answer him. He’d walk along that shore forever, calling her name, and as he walked, he would age. The name on his lips would change, but the breathless feeling never did.
Squall’s only company in this journey was the echo of his own voice, and even that seemed to dwindle as he succumbed to exhaustion and what he assumed was madness. Phantom voices teased his mind, but he’d long since stopped hoping they were real; if there was color, he stopped seeing it; pain, he stopped noticing. The only sensation he was aware of anymore was the crushing weight that finally brought him to his knees at the edge of the surf.
It began to rain. Darkness started to fall, and the tide reached for him. It was change, and amidst the grey void he’d become so accustomed to, change hurt like fire. He thought of screaming, found he’d forgotten how, but relief came either way; as the water rose and the air thickened to black, he remembered that there was an end, even if it was a tragedy.
It was as if the world had been waiting for him to find this small peace, for that’s when the light finally found him. It drifted and flickered, a single white star in the rising abyss. He used the last of his will to rescue it from the waves.
Just a feather, white and a little frayed. As his hand closed around it, every frightened name he’d shouted into the void came rushing back to him. They’d been heard, each lonely one.
For all the silence he’d suffered, what finally broke him was an answer.
He clutched it to his chest and hid his tears in the rain as the sea wrapped around him. It was cold. He smiled anyway; he’d fallen where he belonged, and if only for a few moments, his arms were full and warm.
He sheltered her light for as long as he could. They expired together in the dark.
---
Squall waited out his body’s panicked gasping. It was nothing new; he’d just forgotten to breathe again. When feeling returned to his limbs, he sat up, wiped the sweat from his face and let his eyes adjust to the darkness of his quarters.
He rested an uncertain touch on the sleeping bundle beside him, and as always, held his breath until he felt hers rise again. He sighed and settled close. Rinoa stirred when he embraced her, but only long enough to nestle into him.
She slept peacefully while he kept restless watch. He didn’t mind; he wanted to be present, conscious of everything: her shape, her warmth, the soft murmur of her voice as he combed her hair back so he could see her face. He took it all in, committing the moment in all its fragility to a memory that was just as tenuous.
But the practice was calming, even affirming; he wanted the reminder of impermanence, and the depth it lent to an otherwise fleeting present. You were here with me for a while. No one can change that.
That was enough, and never enough. He was where he needed to be and he’d fight for every moment, regret not a single one. If history saw him end alone, or following her into darkness, she would still be with him here.
Time might outlast their promise, but it could never erase them.
So he held onto his happiness, to remember in a future that wasn’t so warm. A quiet part of him still believed that future was inevitable.
Not tonight.
He nudged Rinoa’s temple, rousing her. She yawned and stretched, then retreated quickly from the chill in the air, burrowing back into him. She groaned sleepily, but she was smiling all the same.
He kept his voice low. “You’re all right?” He knew the answer, but wanted to hear it.
“Mmhm. You?”
“…Yeah.”
Seeming satisfied, she closed her eyes again. Her hand found his, then gathered his arm up between them so she could hug it like a child’s plush. “I’m here…” she murmured before trailing off to sleep.
Squall rested quietly, watching her until he, too, began to drift, finally at ease. He didn’t fear his dreams, whatever they would be; when he woke up, she would be there, and there was no future so dark it could extinguish the light he held in the here and now. He let her guide him back to the safer waters of his mind.
Even there, he could still feel the longing of the undertow.
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