who → squall. what → a promise unkept. when → now. where → time compression; awakening; the world that never was. status → complete. warnings → very long and twice as angsty. _____
Wet. It was raining. The drops of water hit against his skin, his jacket, his gunblade. Puddles splashed underneath his feet, his gloved hand held him steady as he walked along the concrete wall. Clouds swirled and thunder growled and the water still poured down. Endlessly. It seemed to fall endlessly. Everything seemed to be endless here, wherever "here" was. It was dark; shadows crept along the buildings and taunted him from the corners. His mind was foggy, clouded like the sky, his breath was hot in the cool air. And while he pushed his body forward, with his head inclined downward and his eyes half-open so that all he saw were his shoes, he didn't appear to be fully conscious. Walking like a puppet with broken strings, Squall Leonhart could feel his strength, his will, and his stamina ebbing away as the moments passed by.
"I'll be waiting."
He had been there. In the time compression, he had been there for what had felt like years. Lost, it had seemed, because he hadn't believed in himself fully. The weakness he had tried so hard to bury, the self-doubt, all crept up and he had paid the ultimate price for his folly. Because he had been so unwilling to face his own fears he couldn't keep his promise. He couldn't make it to that place, couldn't make it back to her. She was probably running, looking all over for him. Over the mountains, through the cities, the Gardens. She was probably scared and confused, afraid that he might have forgotten their promise. But he hadn't; it had been in the forefront of his mind, right in front of him so close and yet so far away. He tried to reach out, to grasp it in his hands, but felt it slip from his fingertips.
"You'll find me."
But he couldn't find the place, and he couldn't find her. He was one hell of a joke; some knight he had been. He had promised to protect her, to always be at her side, and instead, there he had been. He had wandered aimlessly, stumbled over his own feet trying to find her. When he had finally found the edge of that desolate wasteland and his limits, he couldn't take it anymore; couldn't be strong for her anymore. Defeated, he had slumped to the ground, his weakness washed over him and drowned him in his own self-pity. He had no idea how long he sat there as he allowed himself to feel pitiful and weak as ever.
"I promise."
Something had caught his attention while he had sat there, wallowing. Something bright, something that broke through the dull colours that surrounded him. In his pathetic weariness, he turned his gaze skyward in time to catch the sight of a single feather as it fluttered gently toward him. He held his hand out, close to his chest because he was so weakened by his lack of confidence, and watched it until it had found its way into the palm of his hand. Fingers had clutched it then, enclosed it in darkness while everything around him seemed to fade away in an instant. He had been standing then, the skies orange as if there was a sunset yet there was no sun; the ground covered with green-coloured plants and the yellow flowers. That place—no—their place. Had he finally made it?
Squall didn't realise he had been standing at the time. All he knew was that this place was where he needed to be, where he had promised Rinoa he would be. And there she was, before him just a few feet away. She stood there motionlessly, albeit her duster blowing slightly in the wind with the loose flower petals. He'd made it; he'd kept his promise. The faintest ghost of a shadow began to make its way across his lips until it became fully visible, his eyes seemed to lightened as the smile made itself known. It felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and now they could go home back to their friends and laugh about all they had just been through. They could go back to their lives.
More water, another puddle. He tripped over nothing, his feet deciding they enjoyed dragging along instead. His eyes became fixated upon the ripples that were sent through the clear liquid. Squall stared blankly down at his own reflection, at the man who had failed in protecting the only thing that had been worth protecting than his own life. No—he had no right to be called a man. He was merely a clown dressed up like one, wearing the mask of adulthood while he remained content in the body of a child. A scoff escaped his lips, weak as the puppet it came from, and he continued to trudge forward, walking deeper into the vast unknown that he had come to.
"Rinoa!"
Squall had called out to her, his voice still weak. No answer came, and his smile faded only slightly. Perhaps she hadn't heard him? Again he called out for her, his voice cracking the tiniest bit. This time, it had seemed she heard him, and she turned to face him. And then something was wrong; something Squall was unable to comprehend even in the slightest. Her face was distorted beyond recognition; a trick of the light? Maybe just his eyes being too weak to register? But no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't able to focus on her face, to make out any part of her features. Almost as suddenly as his arrival in this strange place did he begin to see faces. Countless faces, so many that he could hardly keep up with them.
The ballroom, the balcony, the Garden; Deling, Timber, Esthar—
Space.
"I promise," over and over again—
There was shattering glass, and she was gone; the blackness had taken her.
All of the images were too much for Squall to bear, and he once again felt his strength, his will to go on, vanish as if it were sucked from his very being. He was weak, he had failed and it was a foolish hope to think that he hadn't. He had been close again, very close, and he had let her go all because he was too pitiful to keep his promise. It had seemed so simple at the time, to make such a promise. He had made it with the intention of keeping it, and he had failed. He was no lionhearted knight; he was a wretched fool.
He had allowed the darkness to take him then, and he sunk into the oblique depths of unconsciousness. There was no concept of time, there had been no telling how long he had remained like that. It could have been days for all he had known.
And then he was falling. Falling through more of the sickening oblivion. Slowly did his eyes open, vision unfocused and hazed, even more so in that surrounding black. Squall felt himself turned over so that he landed on his feet, only to have his legs give out and he thus found himself on the ground. He had barely caught himself, his hands had landed against the solid ground just before a bright light, quite possibly the brightest Squall had ever seen, blinded him momentarily. He had shot backward, arms immediately having moved as if to defend his eyes from the white that contrasted in opposition to the void all around. Feathers, far too similar to the one Squall had caught, danced all around him and he had found himself staring blankly at them as they did.
There were shadows all around this place, and he felt the emptiness that came from them. They laughed at him without making a sound, mocking him and choking him with the thick air that surrounded this place like a palpable fog. Loneliness dominated this place, the same as it had in that barren wasteland in the time compression. Was this a part of his punishment for failing her? Was she angry with him? Or was she still waiting? Was she searching? Was she scared? The questions plagued his mind and made heavy his heart, and he could do nothing to cure himself of the poisonous guilt that wreaked havoc on his body.
The feathers dispersed into the vacant dark, his weary gaze had watched them as they did. His head turned downward with his eyes, and he saw the same image he had seen just moments before this indescribable desolation. Yet where there was an orange hue to everything in his fragmented memories, there was a lush green floor, with flowers and their petals swaying slightly in the non-existent breeze. But Squall could not allow himself to become immersed in his own silly hopes again. He wouldn't allow himself to be fooled once more. He pushed himself away from the ground, pulled himself upright so that he stood on his tired legs again.
Don't be afraid.
The voice came from nowhere, echoed in his mind so that it forced him to look around with confusion and alarm etched in his features. It seemed to bounce off invisible walls, and still Squall could not pinpoint just whose—or what's—voice it was. Was this another part of the time compression? He felt his defenses drop, although they dropped unwillingly, as if even his subconscious was reluctant to trust what the voice from nowhere said.
You have a promise to keep.
"Rinoa..." Squall said breathily, feeling some of his strength reclaim itself at the thought. The voice continued, asked him if he could step forward, and he was relieved to know he could no matter how tired he was. The ground was still made of the same lush green, the flowers still swayed, and the SeeD couldn't help but to take some sort of comfort out of the knowledge that he might be closer to Rinoa than he was before. Maybe he had been setting himself up for more disappointment... but the thought had little effect on him. His mind was set; he would do whatever it took to find her.
You have a long road ahead of you.
'Don't I always?'
Your power comes in different forms.
Before Squall responded, or fully comprehended what had been said, pillars similar to those of Edea's Orphanage appeared seemingly from the ground. There was his gunblade, hovering just inches above the white stone. On the other pillar was a small chain necklace with two rings that came together and apart again as it too hovered. Rinoa's necklace, the one that held both her mother's wedding ring and Squall's Griever ring he had given to her. Was this a joke or something? Did the voice expect him to choose between Rinoa and his gunblade?
Choose your strengths; not your feelings.
"I can't. I can't choose... don't ask me to choose," he said in response. No answer but silence came, and Squall had stood there and stared at the two items with an incredulous look. What did it mean to choose his strengths? It felt as if he were being asked to choose between himself and Rinoa... was that it? Was that what it wanted him to do? But no matter how long he pondered the question, no matter how much he mulled over in his mind, he knew that he had to make a choice in order to find Rinoa... and if this was what it took...
He stepped forward then, and walked toward the two pillars with a slight drag in his steps. He stopped a few feet away, in between both columns as he faced his own dilemma. Rinoa would want her necklace back... for when he found her. But, if he couldn't protect Rinoa when he found her, his mind argued, then he truly was a failure. That, more than anything, shook him to his very core and made him feel the sick twist of his gut. With his mind made up, Squall moved forward, reached out and grasped the hilt of his gunblade with the burning resolve of determination settling itself in his heart.
A gasp of pain slid from between his lips as Squall brought the gunblade down on the last tiny Heartless. His hand shot up to grasp the left side of his ribcage, eyes closing as he tried to shut out the pain. It felt as if every move he made set fire to his muscles and made stiff his joints. He slumped forward slightly as he continued to walk, choosing to direct himself to the nearest wall so that he might lean against it for support. This was what he deserved, he knew that. But why would that voice had given him the choice of a weapon or Rinoa's necklace? Should he not be defending himself? The searing pain distracted him from his questions, his heart pounding in his ears. His other hand, still gripping the gunblade, hit against the wall and it was all it took for him to drop his weapon. The clank was muffled and hardly registered in his mind, but the feel of the communications device within his pocket had caused him to glance down at it.
For whatever you choose, something must be lost.
The voice echoed just seconds before the pillars, and Rinoa's necklace, disappeared without a trace. Squall paused only a moment to wonder if he had made the right choice, but his attention was pulled more so toward the flight of stairs that had appeared from the darkness and seemed to lead to a higher level. Where this path would take him, Squall knew did not know. All that was known to him was the need to find his way back to her, and to see her face again—to remember what he had forgotten. As he trudged up the stairs, he felt his courage returning to him little by little, his mind was so heavily focused on his desire to find Rinoa.
By the time he reached the top of the stairs, he took note that this second level appeared very similar to the first, if only in shape and size. Instead of the grassy field of flowers he had seen, there was instead a solid, almost marble-looking floor that lay underneath him. Decorated in a style similar to that of Winhill's decorations, Squall made out the images of his friends. Zell, Quistis, Irvine, Selphie, and even Ellone. All but Rinoa were there, their faces encircled with decorative swirls, each one of them accompanied by their signature weapons. The entire floor was accentuated with orange and red hues, each of their faces bright with a smile. It was almost warming to see those smiles, even if they weren't really there.
Squall diverted his gaze from the painted faces of those he cared for and turned his attention to a small chest that sat mere feet away. He willed himself forward, and was perplexed to find what looked like a miniature computer. He turned it around in his hand for a moment, studied it out of curiousity before he finally closed the chest and slipped the device into his pocket. When he turned, he found himself faced with yet another flight of stairs. Under the impression that there would be yet another 'clue' of sorts for him to find, Squall made no hesitation as he climbed the steps to the next level. However, when he reached the top and glanced down at this particular mural, he was unprepared for the impact that it had upon him.
This area was no different than the last two in size nor shape. Inside this circle was another mural, a painting of someone who meant more to Squall than anything else in the world—Rinoa. The image had shown her standing upright, with two widespread angel wings at either side, her head bowed slightly and her eyes closed. Behind her was the image of Griever; the silver lion stood out among the black space behind the two. Her facial expression suggested she was peaceful, though the blue, black, and silver tones gave the image a melancholy appearance. As beautiful as the picture was, Squall couldn't help but to feel a certain emptiness emitting from it.
So heavily immersed in his thoughts was he that he had barely a moment's time to react to the sudden attack from behind. The assault surprised him, made him stumble and nearly fall to the ground again. Squall turned in time to see his assailant, and it took more time than he had to realise that it was indeed a solid shadow. Less than a few seconds later, with his gunblade drawn and his senses ready for battle, he realised that he was surrounded by at least five other shadow-creatures. While he considered using magic against them, he realised that they could very well be able to absorb any spell he threw at them... and thus, he spent the next minute or two battling those things the old fashioned way.
As relatively simple as they were for someone of his caliber, Squall found it hard to get used to their style of attack. They seemed intent on slicing him apart with their claws, something that was hard to avoid when they all attacked in a group. Despite the minor injury he sustained, he was still able to claim victory over the things. With their dispersion (in a rather unfamiliar manner), Squall had taken a moment to gather his breath. It didn't take long, however, for him to notice the rather conspicuous dual-door that appeared in the center of the platform. And although its presence was moderately unnerving, Squall could not find it within himself to be reluctant in his approach nor did he hesitate when he pulled the door open slowly. As he understood it, Rinoa was waiting on the other side...
Clearly, that was yet another foolish assumption he had made. Squall decided this as he slid down the wall of the building, his back pressed firmly against the cold concrete. When he had come through that damned door, he had ended up in this empty city. It felt as if there was nothing but misery to be had here. Nothing but turmoil and strife to suffer through for as long as one remained. Rinoa had been no where to be found and Squall could not oppress the feeling that he had once again been made a fool of. Not that it seemed too hard to do lately, he thought bitterly. So there he sat, holding the computer device in one hand while the other rest against his ribcage. Where he wanted to just close his eyes and go to sleep, and hope that when he opened them again everything would be back to normal, he knew he could not. He needn't bury himself deeper into his own disdain. Instead, he opted to carefully open the computer and watch as the screen illuminated in the darkness.
Maybe someone, somewhere, would have answers... and maybe, just maybe, he would find what he was looking for.