Locke made it clear that Rachel wasn’t to fight. She stayed in their room each day while a group descended to deal with whatever was happening on the ground: dragons, unscrupulous characters, and sometimes a lead on one of their own comrades. On the day that they headed for Zozo, confident of finding Cyan, it was Locke’s turn to lead the party and he chose Terra as his magic user: it was a decision that he had begun to make habitually. However difficult remaining friends might have been, it wasn’t even an option when he seemed to avoid Celes at every opportunity.

The brothers made up the rest of the group, and Celes found herself left behind on the airship with only Setzer and the beasts for company – excepting Rachel, who normally confined herself to the quarters she shared with Locke, not spending much time with the others apart from at mealtimes. Having begun to see more of Rachel, Celes had become convinced that the two of them had hardly anything in common: Rachel was loud, unsubtle, tempestuous. The thought that she herself could have once reminded Locke of the girl was baffling.

Wandering the ship, she ran into Setzer in one of the common areas.

“We’re not far from Jidoor here,” he remarked by way of greeting. “What would you say to lunch? I hear there are still a few reputable establishments down there.”

Celes frowned. “Just me and you? Doesn’t this violate our agreement?”

“It’s lunch, not a proposal,” he protested. “And you broke the agreement first, if I remember correctly.”

Of course she had: with that coin, the agreement had never really stood in the first place. Setzer had never shown any romantic intention towards Celes since then, though, and she’d believed his earlier desires were forgotten. Maybe now, with Locke out of the picture, he thought he had another chance.

Her instinct was to turn him down, but she recalled how long it had been since she’d been out of the airship for anything but business, and capitulated. “I suppose it might be nice,” she said.

They walked the short distance to Jidoor, quickly dispatching a few monsters on the way. It had been some time since Celes had fought beside Setzer, and she was reminded that they worked well together: his damage output was somewhat unpredictable, but he was a decent physical attacker, so she could focus on the spells.

Setzer led her through the streets of Jidoor like a man who knew exactly where he was going, and eventually brought her into an extremely fancy restaurant, decorated to give the very best impression that no apocalypse of any kind had affected the world last year. He ordered a bottle of wine and a selection of hors d’œuvres for the two of them with the ease of somebody used to this type of lifestyle, leant back in his chair with a grin, and asked her, “How do you like this?”

She didn’t, to tell the truth. She’d never been comfortable with opulence; she belonged on the battlefield. Those banquets back in Vector after the great military victories had always been odd occasions, where Gestahl had got horribly drunk with a handful of the officers and the rest of them had looked on in discomfort.

“It’s nice,” she said, with a tight smile. “Although I don’t know if seafood is really my thing.”

“Ah, they all say that to begin with,” he replied. “The prawns will astound you.”

When the prawns arrived, though, they were grey and meagre, as was the rest, and Setzer put a hand out to stop the waiter before he could sneak back into the kitchen. “What’s happened here?” he asked, the mixture of annoyance and forced politeness bringing an odd expression to his face. “Not the sort of dish I would expect in a place like this.”

The waiter inclined his head deferentially. “I’m sorry, sir. We’ve had no catches since –” he lowered his voice – “the incident. Not many of the fish species we serve can survive in the sea now.”

“Then why the hell do you still put them on the menu?” Setzer thundered.

“People like to pretend things are still the same, sir,” the waiter informed him.

Oddly, the fact that something had gone wrong made Celes feel more at ease. “You can’t blame him,” she said, once the waiter had apologised himself again and managed to get away. “It’s our fault this happened.”

“It’s Kefka’s fault,” said Setzer, still angry.

They struggled through the assortment of bland, pulpy fish in silence for a while, until Setzer remarked, “Opera’s off, too, I heard.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “Something about a dragon on the stage, the orchestra are all trapped inside afraid to move unless it attacks them, so they’re all getting food parcels lowered down from the rafters and sleeping in their instrument cases. Well, the double bass players at least. Frightful, anyway.”

“Maybe we can do something about that,” she said.

“It’s on Edgar’s sacred list,” he replied. “Although I keep trying to convince him to give it a higher priority.” He swallowed a discoloured mussel with a pained expression and caught her eye. “Maybe you could bring it up as well, at one of those meetings of yours. Can’t hurt the cause if two opera fans make a fuss about it.”

She laughed. “I can talk to him. Wouldn’t call myself an opera fan, though.”

“My apologies,” said Setzer. “I assumed, after seeing your performance in The Dream Oath … you seemed to know the part very well.”

Celes thought back to that night, pictured the dressing room, and quickly dismissed the memory before any more details could come back to her. “Beginner’s luck, I suppose. I’ve actually never liked opera much.”

“That’s a shame. It’s one of my greatest pleasures,” Setzer said. “Opera, fine dining, trying my luck at the tables, and, of course, spending the day with a beautiful lady.”

“It sounds like we don’t have much in common,” Celes pointed out. She indicated the array of watery seafood between them. “I can’t tell any of these things apart, I don’t care for opera, and flipping that coin was enough gambling for me. As for beauty … these clothes were all gifts from Gestahl.”

“Don’t put yourself down,” he said mildly. “I do pride myself on my sense of style, but even I wouldn’t be so shallow as to call you beautiful because of your clothes alone. You do have a lovely face.”

She felt herself reddening at the direct compliment. “Thank you,” she said graciously, “but that’s hardly important, is it? You must see that there needs to be a common interest – at least something. You and I are like chalk and cheese.”

Setzer took a gulp of wine, and considered. “Huh. If this last year has taught me anything, it’s that there’s no gain in trying to force women to like me.”

“Well, of course not,” said Celes.

“You must understand,” he protested. “Darill … she was so spirited. She was unique. And I thought she must be the only woman of the sort. I thought the rest of you were passive little girls who liked to be ordered around.” He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “I had this idea that she was so special, and she was, but – I suppose all of you are.”

“Setzer,” said Celes carefully, gesturing at the restaurant around them. “This is lovely, all of it. But it’s not right for me. I’m sure there are plenty of women who’d love all this, but you’re chasing after the wrong one.”

He grinned. “Yes. I can see that. Well, it was worth a try.”

“You’ll make someone very happy someday,” she told him.

“Kind of you to say so. I suppose we can be friends, then?”

“Of course,” she said.

There were only two seats left at the table, and Edgar took the one that wasn’t opposite Locke and Rachel, probably deliberately, so Celes was forced to watch the two of them gazing into each other’s eyes and generally acting like idiots throughout the meal. Locke’s hand was bandaged, probably because of the dragon Edgar had mentioned, and Rachel kept holding it and stroking it and cooing about her “poor baby” as if Locke were six years old. Celes busied herself with her stew, trying not to catch the eyes of either of them, or of Sabin or Edgar, who looked, respectively, murderous and amused. As soon as she could excuse herself, she went to the bedroom she shared with Terra and sat on her bed staring through the porthole at the dusk sky as its colour faded from orange to grey.

Terra came in a little later to fetch some warm clothes for the evening. “We’re playing cards,” she said to Celes. “You should join us.”

“Maybe later,” Celes replied, as Terra headed out again. If they were playing cards, “we” probably meant Setzer, and hence probably didn’t mean Locke, but she didn’t fancy taking her chances. Then again, avoiding him was usually quite easy, as he and Rachel spent most of the time in their room, and fortunately, that was on the other side of the ship.

However, that situation changed with the arrival of the next member of the group, Gau. After what Edgar described to Celes as “a long, emotional session on the Veldt,” the boy was brought to the airship by Cyan and the twins and insisted on sleeping in the same room as Sabin, even though he and his brother shared the smallest of the four bedrooms. At that time, Celes and Terra had the biggest – there’d been a lot of unnecessary chivalry when it was just Celes, the twins and Setzer on board, and that was the way things had ended up. Now that there was a group of three, though, it made sense for them to take the biggest room, so they swapped with the girls, and Celes found herself, lamentably, sharing a wall with Locke and Rachel.

Hearing anyone having sex constantly in the next room would have been annoying, but its being Locke was a special punishment. Of course, Celes had once dared to imagine that the circumstances of her finding out what sort of noises he made during the act would be quite different, but even though there was a wall between them and even though she thought she might actually hate him by this point, being able to hear him was undeniably arousing, which was particularly uncomfortable to admit.

There was a way he moaned, where the sound caught in his throat and then came out all in a rush: it reminded her of the noises of frustration he sometimes let out during battle, when he was tense from the effort of aiming his dual knives at an enemy. It had been some time since Celes had fought beside him, but she could recall that sound and the look of concentration in his eyes, the way he stood poised, his agile limbs throwing up spiky shadows on the ground; the confident smile when he landed a hit or snatched a treasure; how he bounced on the balls of his feet while he waited his turn to attack; how he turned to Celes next to him – she had always been next to him – and grinned when each monster was defeated.

No, she didn’t hate him. She couldn’t.

So this was how it went most nights, now: Celes lay in bed, annoyed and turned on by what she could hear from next door. Terra never mentioned it, and seemed entirely unaffected, which was typical. Celes pleasured herself, sometimes, under her blanket, and despite much effort to avoid succumbing to fantasies, pretended that it was Locke touching her instead of her own tediously familiar fingers.

Running into him around the ship became even more uncomfortable than it had been already: he was more attractive than ever. Where he had once tried to avoid Celes as much as he could, he was now starting to make banal remarks to her about such things as the weather, which was always the same now anyway, foggy and dusty and too hot. Responding to him was difficult; she felt like an awkward schoolgirl, and it didn’t help that Rachel was always there too, clinging onto Locke like a succubus, staring at Celes with challenging eyes while she failed to construct a sentence about how cloudy it was.

Time passed, and Shadow joined them.

Celes knocked on the door, and Sabin answered. “Good evening,” he said, with the usual friendly smile. “Everything OK with you?”

“Not too bad,” she assured him.

“Did you want a chat? I feel like we haven’t spoken properly in ages.”

It was true, and she felt guilty about it, but she shook her head. “I was looking for your brother.”

Sabin raised his eyebrows. “A bit late for strategising, isn’t it? The war never sleeps, I suppose. Did you check the engine room? He’s in there most nights, even though Setzer wishes he wasn’t.”

“Thanks,” she said. “We’ll talk soon. I just need to speak to Edgar tonight.”

“You know where to find me,” he told her.

Edgar was indeed in the engine room, lying on the floor and fiddling with some kind of pipe above him. He was so absorbed in the activity that he didn’t realise Celes had entered until she was standing over him.

“General,” he said, seeming unfazed by her entrance.

“What are you up to?” she enquired.

He used the pipe to pull himself into a sitting position, grinned, and brushed a lock of hair out of his face, leaving a smudge of oil there instead. “I’m looking into making some improvements to the machinery. Our dear pilot is convinced that any modification would be an atrocity, but I do hope to convince him.”

Celes sat down on the floor next to him. “Maybe he wants to keep it how it is because of Darill. Honour her memory.” She shrugged. “That would be my guess, anyway.”

“I didn’t think of that. You’re probably right. How tiresome it is when men get hung up on their dead girlfriends.”

“Wow,” she said. “That’s harsh, even by your standards.”

“But I’m sure you agree,” he replied.

She sighed. “On that note …”

“You’ve been thinking about my suggestion.”

“At least pretend you weren’t expecting it,” she grumbled.

Edgar threw his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m sorry. I’m just so used to being right. Being king does that to you.” His voice took on a smoother tone. “So you’re up for it?”

“Yes,” said Celes. “I think maybe I do need a distraction.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “Those two … I honestly don’t know what’s come over Locke. I thought he was decent.”

“He is,” she protested instinctively.

Edgar gave her a look that was somewhere between exasperation and sympathy. “Forget it. Are we doing it in here, or do you have a better suggestion?”

She was taken aback by the way he spoke, with sudden bluntness and euphemism at the same time. “In here?”

“I’m afraid so. I’ll admit I was thinking about how this might work earlier, and this seems to be the only place we won’t get walked in on. Your room’s out, so’s mine, unless we can engineer Sabin and Terra spending the evening together. Also, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting quite turned on thinking about doing it in here.”

“No, that’s just you,” she said firmly. “But I suppose there is nowhere else.”

“Great,” he replied, starting to unbutton his shirt before hesitating. “You have, um, done this before, haven’t you?”

She couldn’t help laughing at that. “Please. I was one of the few women in the army. The guys were queuing up as soon as I reached majority.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said, and moved on to his trousers.

Sex with Edgar was how she might have imagined it if she had taken the trouble: satisfying but not overly exciting, more successful than most of her first times with the various officers of her regiment who’d offered her their services when they were in the field. Celes had had enough such encounters to know what she wanted, and Edgar too had had enough of them to know what she meant when she communicated it to him, so she had the pleasant experience of seeing her needs met, which hadn’t always been the case on previous occasions. He barely lost his composure during the whole thing, murmuring “Oh yes, that’s lovely. Gorgeous,” as she let him slip inside her, and even when he came, he was still almost as controlled, save for a short, shuddering intake of breath before he quietly proclaimed “Fantastic,” and dotted Celes’ jaw with kisses. He had the decency to continue to see to her desires after he was spent, too.

When they were done, Edgar stroked Celes’ hair and gave her a tired smile. “That was rather special, General,” he said. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I think I needed that.”

“It’s my pleasure to provide,” he assured her. “And I’d be happy to offer my services on future occasions.”

She snorted. “Of course you would.” Then she inclined her head to let it rest on his shoulder.

After that, Celes and Edgar began to meet in the engine room regularly. They matched each other well, she had to admit; they soon got to know what suited the two of them best, and pursued the act with earnest passion, creating an easy familiarity in their moments of intimacy. On the one occasion that, sore and exhausted after battle, Celes accidentally moaned Locke’s name, Edgar took it in his stride, pulling out of her discreetly and wrapping his arms around her instead while she wept in guilt and embarrassment. “Shh, it’s OK,” he murmured, cradling her head against his chest. “You’re alright. I’m here.”

Their encounters in the engine room strengthened their bond outside it, too. Celes had always been a match for Edgar’s quick mind and knack for military strategy, and as the two of them worked together to plan the group’s next actions, their new connection charged the activity with intensity and made the process even more impenetrable to their comrades. They began routinely placing each other on their own combat teams, too, Edgar’s machinery working well as a complement to Celes’ magic: it soon became common knowledge that whichever of their companions made up the rest of the team would hardly be able to get a look in.

After some time, though, the bond between the two of them began to fade. Locke and Rachel had seemed to stop having sex quite so frequently, and that, coupled with Celes’ residual guilt about the nature of her relationship with Edgar – mostly due to the fact that when things reached their climax, she still couldn’t help imagining that it was someone else inside her – meant that they began to see each other less and less often; eventually, they ceased to meet in the engine room at all. By the time Strago rejoined the group, they had resumed a more distant relationship, mostly limiting their contact to business matters.

Locke must have taken some notice of Edgar after all, because his arguments with Rachel became far less frequent, or at least less detectable, after that. Now that the entire group had reunited, attention was beginning to turn to preparing the assault on Kefka, and everyone was out fighting as often as they could manage it.

Celes devised a training regime for herself and the other magic specialists, and the four of them went out together each day, swapping their equipped magicites around every hour or so to learn as many spells as they could. The rest concentrated on physical combat, going out in groups to beat down all the monsters they came across at whatever random locations Setzer was able to land the airship.

Celes was determined to push her group, and they were usually the last to get back to the airship each evening: learning those spells took time, after all. She was surprised, therefore, when one night they returned and one of the other parties was still absent: Sabin, Edgar, and the moogle.

Dinnertime came around, and the rest of them picked at their food distractedly; Setzer made a valiant attempt at some lighthearted conversation, but nobody else could muster the effort to engage with him. When dinner was over, they continued to sit at the table in silence.

Eventually, they heard the distant noise of somebody boarding the ship, and Edgar and Sabin emerged from the darkness, the latter cradling a small white body in his arms.

Terra leapt to her feet. “Is he –”

“He’s fine,” said Edgar grimly. “Just knocked out. We ran out of magic power and lost most of our items.”

As they came closer, Celes noticed the shared look on their faces: eyes widened slightly, mouths pinched, as if something awful had happened. They sat down unsteadily, and Sabin laid Mog on the table, whereupon Terra set to work with some healing magic.

“Sirs,” said Cyan, “are you quite alright?”

The brothers exchanged a glance before Edgar answered.

“We were fighting a monster,” he began hesitantly, “some frightful thing with about a hundred teeth, and it –” He broke off and shuddered.

“It swallowed us,” Sabin supplied.

There was a silence. Celes eventually broke it, ineloquently, by muttering “What?”

“Exactly that,” said Edgar. “One moment we were fighting it, and then – well, it got me first. Snatched me up in its jaws and I went right down its throat –” he stopped abruptly again and clamped a hand over his mouth.

Sabin began to run his fingers through his brother’s hair in concern, and there was another silence, until the recently revived Mog said, “But we made a new friend, kupo!”

“That’s right,” said Sabin, gently lifting his hand away from Edgar and gesturing into the darkness behind him. The others started in surprise as a mysterious figure stepped out of the shadows and raised an obscured hand in greeting. “Um, everyone, this is Gogo. Gogo, everyone.” Edgar would have performed the introduction much more competently, but he didn’t look like he was up to it.

The rest of them introduced themselves, and there followed some discussion about where Gogo would sleep. Most of the men were now sharing one room, as it had been thought proper to let Strago and Relm have one to themselves, so there were now three rooms of two and one of six, which was awkward but had seemed the best way of dividing the group. There was hardly the space for a seventh bed for Gogo, who might not even have been male anyway – nobody was quite brave enough to ask. The discussion turned out to have been unnecessary, though, when Gogo admitted to being quite happy without sleeping at all.

Relm in particular was outraged by this. “You don’t sleep? Ever?” she exclaimed suspiciously.

“I do not require it,” said Gogo, unperturbed by the somewhat hostile tone of the question. “But if it makes you feel more comfortable, I am happy to spend the night in a bed.”

“No, it sounds like it’ll suit us all much better if you don’t,” said Edgar faintly. “Now if everyone will excuse me, I’m going to go and lie down.”

The rest of them soon departed too, and Celes made for Sabin as he slowly stood from the table. “Sounds like you had an awful time today,” she said.

“You could say that.” He smiled shakily. “It was just so unlike anything that’s happened before. The fights weren’t so bad, but we were covered in this stuff – its spit or something, I think – and it really did a number on all of us, but especially Edgar. He could barely handle any of his tools, and he dropped half our items off the side of a bridge.” He shook his head. “I honestly didn’t think we’d ever get out of there. I thought I’d never see any of this again – never see you again –” He broke off and gulped.

She saw the pain in his eyes, and suddenly, impulsively, stretched upwards and kissed him.

He returned the kiss, but when they broke apart, he shook his head. “Celes. Don’t worry about me. This isn’t what you want.”

“No,” she protested. “I think – I think it is what I want.” The more she considered it, the more sure she was. Nobody else was so kind to her, so genuinely concerned with her wellbeing. Nobody – almost nobody else had trusted her from the moment they first met.

“Don’t do this to me,” he said. “I can’t bear it.”

“Sabin,” she murmured. “Put your hand in my pocket.”

He frowned at her.

“Do it,” she urged him.

He slowly reached in, met nothing, and realised. “The bandanna.”

She nodded. “I got rid of it. That’s not important anymore.”

He leant down and kissed her again, and then held her to his chest. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he breathed into her ear.

Celes couldn’t help thinking about how long she’d wanted it too: no more than about two minutes. But this had to be right: logically, it made so much sense. “Can I take your shirt off?” she asked to distract herself.

He gave her the space to unbutton it, and she pulled it slowly across his arms before casting it aside and starting to rub her hands over his bare shoulders.

“Um, Celes,” he said as she did so. “I need to tell you – I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“You’ve never been with a girl?” she asked, trying and failing to keep the surprise out of her voice – he was almost thirty, after all.

“Never,” he confirmed. “They all used to go for Edgar over me, and I was too focused on training to care about it much after that.”

The first part of the sentence had awoken her guilty conscience, and she braced herself: she had to say it. Now that she knew this was his first time, she owed it to him.

“Sabin, I need to tell you something,” she said desperately. “I – I had a thing with your brother. Edgar.” She cursed herself internally – of course his brother Edgar, what other brother did he have?

“A thing,” he echoed carefully. “What sort of a thing?”

“A … sex thing,” she confessed. “For maybe a couple of months. Around the time Relm and Strago got here.”

He stiffened under her touch. “Wait – what? You and Edgar were –”

“Meeting up for sex,” she replied apologetically. “In the engine room.”

Sabin took a step back, and now there was no physical contact between them at all. “I –” he began, and stopped. Then he tried again. “I don’t think this can work. I – misjudged you.”

“Sabin –”

“Don’t.” His voice came out all harsh, and she flinched. “I can’t – that means – oh god. I thought you might have done it with Locke, that would have been fine, but – not him. My own flesh and blood –”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Nobody has ever understood what it’s like to be a twin,” he said in a rush, before grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor and walking out.

Celes stood for a moment, stunned, before returning to her own room. When she got there, she couldn’t help glancing at the bandanna, which she’d left on top of her bag for safekeeping before going out to fight for the day.

Terra was right: there was nowhere else for Celes to go, so she decided Mobliz wouldn’t be the worst option: she’d spend some more time with her best friend and try to work out what she intended to do with her life in a world without magic and apparently, more jarringly, without conflict.

On the day that everyone was to leave the Falcon, they gathered for a ritual farewell. If Celes had ever had the optimism to believe they might get to this point when she woke up in the ruined world, she would certainly have thought they would all be the best of friends: nothing like this.

“Right, you bunch of bastards. Get off my ship,” Setzer joked, but nobody really laughed.

Locke and Rachel left the airship with barely a word of goodbye to anyone. Edgar and Sabin were generally much friendlier, of course, hugging Terra and most of the guys as well, but when they reached Celes, they were distant. Edgar shook her hand briskly and said, “Until next time, General”; Sabin merely nodded and mumbled “See you.” Then Edgar, with a cautious eye on Celes, placed his hand on his brother’s back and led him away; that was the last she saw of them.

Celes went with Terra to Mobliz, and got used to the banal, magic-free existence that they took up there. Despite Terra’s initial excitement at becoming fully human, she found it difficult to cope as the change sank in; on numerous occasions, Celes came upon her struggling to light a fire, forgetting she could no longer use her bare hands. Then the realisation that the magic had gone would hit her again, and Celes would have to calm her as she sat and wept. Rebirth was so often accompanied by death.

As Celes had expected, looking after the children wasn’t her favourite activity, and she busied herself instead with organising the trade routes into the town, ensuring everyone had fresh supplies and standing up to the various merchants who had decided they could rip them off because nobody in the whole place was older than twenty. She became, somewhat boringly, an expert in wholesale prices.

Terra kept in touch with most of the others by letter: with all her diverse correspondence, something arrived almost every week. There were letters from the brothers in Figaro, from Cyan who was valiantly trying to rebuild Doma, from Shadow in Thamasa – Celes had never understood how Terra had managed to get close to Shadow of all people, but somehow she had – or indeed from Setzer, who was anywhere and everywhere. Setzer exchanged a few letters with Celes as well – he wrote about the very dull-sounding balls he had begun to frequent, and she informed him of the trends in the vegetable market – but that was it.

Terra caught sight of Celes staring absentmindedly at the envelope of a letter she’d received from Edgar one day – always identifiable from the overly elaborate handwriting – and remarked as she sat down to read it, “You should write to Figaro too. They’re always saying they’d love to hear from you.”

“I’m sure they’re just being polite,” said Celes.

“They always ask after you,” Terra insisted. She flicked through the sheets of the letter and stopped somewhere around the fifth. “Do send our love to Celes as always,” she read out. “Is she still the scourge of the mercantile profession? Men have come here begging us to accept payment for taking their carrots away, and there are rumours that it’s all her doing.”

Celes smiled despite herself: she could almost hear Edgar’s voice in those words. “How long have they been saying that?” she asked before she could restrain herself. “Sending their love.”

Terra smiled knowingly. “Since we got here,” she replied. “Every letter.”

“But you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

Celes had always assumed that Terra hadn’t picked up on exactly what had gone on between her and the others on the Falcon, but she wasn’t sure of that anymore. “How much did you know?” she asked eventually. “When we were all on the airship –”

“Well, I was a bit distracted by all the esper energy floating around the place,” said Terra. “But I knew something was going on. You were sleeping with one of them for a while, right? I assumed Edgar, but I was never really sure –”

“What?” Celes exclaimed, her face hot. “How did you find out about that?”

“Oh, so it was Edgar?” Terra remarked in a tone of mild interest. “We shared a bedroom, it was obvious enough.” She paused. “That whole time was a weird one. We were all so on edge, I’m amazed none of us killed each other. And you carried around that bandanna all the time. Where did that get to?”

Celes retrieved it from her pocket and looked down at it.

“Oh,” said Terra softly. “Even now …”

She nodded miserably, and Terra gave her an encouraging smile. “Well, we all acted like idiots back then. Some more so than others.” Her gaze drifted back to the bandanna in Celes’ hand.

Celes put it away again, and sighed. “I was just as bad. I was awful to Sabin. I kept things from him and I lied to him and I led him on, and I didn’t realise he was in love with me until it was far too late –”

“That’s right,” said Terra. “I remember that. He was pretty cut up about it.” She beamed suddenly. “But he’s much happier now, I think.”

“That’s good,” said Celes, and she meant it. She still couldn’t bring herself to write to the twins, though.

Some time later, Terra was reading her latest letter from Edgar and Sabin, when she suddenly raised her eyebrows and fidgeted in her chair.

“What is it?” Celes asked, looking up from her calculations.

“What’s what?” said Terra innocently.

Celes rolled her eyes. “Don’t be like that. What is it in the letter that’s making you all shifty?”

“Nothing. Well, er, some news, I suppose,” said Terra. “Um, Locke and Rachel broke up.”

“Oh?” she managed to reply.

“Yeah.” Terra looked back down at the letter. “Actually, it was quite a long time ago – not long after we all left the airship, it seems like. But Edgar’s only just found out about it. He thinks Locke was trying to keep it secret.”

“Wow, OK,” Celes said, leaning back in her chair and attempting to process the news. “Some ‘person worth protecting’,” she muttered.

“What’s that?”

She grinned ruefully. “That’s what Locke said. When we were all having our big love-in for Kefka. That was his reason.”

“Oh,” said Terra. “I don’t think I even remember what I said.”

“I don’t either,” Celes admitted. “Or what I said. I remember thinking it was pretty weak, though.”

“Hmm,” Terra replied, and looked back at the letter. “Anyway,” she went on, “Edgar thinks Rachel’s still in Kohlingen, and he says Locke’s based in South Figaro now.”

“South Figaro?” Celes echoed.

“Yeah. That’s how he found out about the whole thing. He was down there for some state function and ran into him. He says he thinks Locke would never have told him otherwise.”

“That is kind of odd,” she admitted.

“You’re telling me,” said Terra. “So what shall I tell them you said about it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, they’re very eager to know your reaction,” she explained.

Celes was at a loss for words. “Are … are they actually? Or are you bluffing?”

Terra smiled inscrutably.

More time passed. Celes picked up a pen a few times, but could never get much further than Dear Sabin or Dear Edgar: she knew she wouldn’t be able to write a single thing without commencing with a sincere apology, and she had no idea how she was supposed to express that in writing. She let them hear from her via Terra instead, and received their news in the same way, learning with interest about the way Figaro was handling its reconstruction activities and the fact that Gau was having to suffer the ignominy of taking elocution lessons from the king’s chancellor.

One morning, they received a rather heavier envelope than usual, and when Terra opened it, five thousand gil spilled out.

“They’ve invited us to stay,” she said, once she’d scrambled through the coins to reach the letter itself. “Look.”

Celes glanced down at the letter. As the General is still intriguing us with her mysterious silence, it said, we wondered whether she might be more amenable to a visit in person. To put it bluntly, it’s been far too long since both of us saw both of you, and I’ve installed some more equipment in the castle that I’m desperate to bore you about, so do come as soon as you can. The money is for the journey, if you don’t both manage to charm your way around the world without paying for a single thing, which would hardly surprise me.

Terra was grinning at Celes when she looked up again. “How about it?” she said.

“I don’t know,” said Celes. “Don’t you have to look after the kids? And someone’s coming to reopen the armour shop next week, I need to make sure that goes smoothly.”

“We’ll go the week after, then,” said Terra decisively. “I’ll write back straight away.”

“Terra …” Celes sighed. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“You want to apologise to them, don’t you?” Terra persisted. “The longer you delay it, the worse it’ll get. They’re giving you the chance.”

“Fine,” said Celes.

They both woke late the next morning, and only Celes was still eating by the time they arrived at breakfast. She flinched at the sight of Sabin, gulped down the rest of her porridge and left the table hurriedly.

“What was that about? Did something happen between you last night?” Edgar asked as he took the chair she had vacated.

Sabin hadn’t wanted to have this conversation so soon, but he steeled himself and said, “Why didn’t you tell me? About you and her?”

Edgar paused, and then replied, “You know she’s still in love with Locke, don’t you.”

He nodded and looked down at the table while Edgar reached for his hand. “Hey,” he said softly. “I’ll always be here for you. Don’t forget that.”

Sabin nodded and squeezed his brother’s palm.

Three weeks later, Edgar was back in South Figaro for the planned state visit. He’d lost surprisingly little sleep over Locke over the intervening time: there were other, more banal matters that he had had to prioritise. It was all in the business of being a king: there was no point worrying about more than one thing at a time – that would be enough to send a weaker man to an early grave.

When the formalities were over, he left his men at the pub and made his way to Locke’s lodgings alone. It was probably risky for the king to venture out in the evening unaccompanied, but he was one of the world’s most skilled fighters now after the training the whole group had undergone in preparation for Kefka, and he felt confident enough that he could take a gang even without any of his tools.

No gangs revealed themselves, though, so he made his way up to Locke’s room and knocked on the door.

There was a dull sound, a suspicious eye at the crack between the door and its frame, and eventually Locke opened it. “You came,” he said.

“Of course,” Edgar replied. “I said I would, didn’t I?” He followed Locke inside and sat on the one chair; Locke took the bed, watching Edgar carefully.

“Are you feeling any better?” Edgar asked cautiously.

“A little,” Locke conceded. “I’ve just about managed to convince myself that you’re not about to attack me. So that’s a start.” He let out a shaky laugh.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” asked Edgar.

Locke shook his head. “I can’t. I’m not ready to talk about that.”

“About Rachel,” Edgar guessed.

“Yes.” He hesitated. “Please don’t make me –”

“Fine, I won’t,” Edgar replied. “But I’ve got to be able to help you somehow. Maybe I can get you out of this awful place. Why are you in Figaro anyway?”

“The library,” said Locke, with a little reticence. “There’s books I need, and someone told me Figaro has the best library. Although I’m yet to see why.” He looked at Edgar with reproach, as if the poor quality of the town’s public services were his fault.

“Ah.” Edgar chuckled a little in embarrassment. “I see. You seem to have misunderstood … the town library’s nothing to speak of. I imagine your informant was referring to the one in the castle.”

Locke pressed both hands to his face.

“You can come and stay,” Edgar ventured.

“You can’t honestly think I’d –”

“No, listen,” he interrupted. “We’ve got a whole wing we don’t use. I’ll leave you alone and I won’t tell anyone you’re there. Not even Sabin.”

“He really does have it in for me,” said Locke miserably.

“No – he doesn’t have it in for you – he –” Edgar sighed and tried again. “You know what he’s like. He acts before he thinks, sometimes.” Locke and Sabin had that in common, he thought to himself.

“That night he went for me –”

“He lost control,” said Edgar. “He wouldn’t normally have – it was just because of how he felt about Celes –”

He regretted saying her name as soon as it came out, but Locke lifted his head with a sombre expression. “Have you heard from her?” he asked. “Is she safe?”

“I haven’t heard from her directly. We didn’t leave the airship on the best of terms,” Edgar admitted. “But Terra tells me about her when she writes – it sounds like she’s fine.” He paused. “You still have feelings for her, don’t you.”

“All that time,” Locke conceded. “As much as I tried to move on – when I had Rachel back and I knew it was one-sided anyway – I still couldn’t let go of her –”

“Wait,” said Edgar, catching up with what Locke had said. “One-sided? You thought she didn’t feel the same way about you?”

“I know she didn’t,” said Locke quietly.

Edgar shook his head in impatience. “You’re wrong. I can guarantee it. She loved you. And I suspect she still does. I think that’s part of why she won’t write to me.” He and Sabin had been encouraging her to do so for weeks via their letters to Terra, but nothing had so far come of it.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Locke replied.

“Well, I hope I can convince you someday.”

“You won’t.”

The discussion seemed to have made Locke a little more like his old, argumentative self, so Edgar resumed the previous topic. “Come and stay,” he insisted. “Whatever books you’re looking for, I’m sure we have them. I promise I won’t bother you.”

“Fine,” said Locke. “It’s not as if I can refuse royal orders –”

“It’s not a royal order,” Edgar interrupted, slightly irked. “If you’re that against it, I won’t make you. But it sounds like you really need these books.”

“I do,” said Locke.

“See you in the morning, then?” Edgar asked.

Locke nodded.

The royal party stopped by Locke’s accommodation on the way out of town, and Locke emerged from the building squinting in the sunlight. Edgar called out to him from his coach; there was another behind carrying everyone’s belongings, and most of the guards would accompany them on chocobos, following the usual protocol.

Locke looked a little apprehensive as he climbed into the coach and squeezed onto the seat next to Edgar; he still didn’t seem entirely comfortable in close quarters with the man that he had for some reason thought was about to attack him until only recently. Edgar pressed himself into the corner, hoping to assuage Locke’s unease by putting some distance between them. Not much could be gained in the limited space, though, and he found himself staring closely at Locke’s face for want of any other view. At such proximity, his exhaustion and despair were obvious.

“I’m assigning you a nurse,” said Edgar.

Locke glowered. “I’m just coming for the books,” he argued. “I don’t need coddling.”

“I’m afraid I must insist,” said Edgar. “What you do out here is your business, but I’m not having you getting ill in my castle.”

Locke fell silent again, so Edgar took that to mean the protest had been withdrawn.

They drew up to the castle, and Edgar disembarked from the coach with instructions to the servants to escort Locke to the unoccupied wing privately; he, meanwhile, greeted the staff who had been awaiting his return and strode back to his own quarters.

Over lunch, Edgar watched Sabin with anxiety. How could he reconcile his friend and his brother? Locke, who had been his only companion in the dark years after his father had died, and Sabin, whom he loved more than anyone. He was ready to make amends with Locke – he knew something had been going on on the airship that none of them had figured out – but getting Sabin to come around was going to be much more challenging. He’d forgiven Celes for leading him on, but this was something quite different.

For a few days, all he heard of Locke was via the nurses. The girl Edgar had asked to keep an eye on him gave him regular reports: the guest was resting and taking his potions, and he seemed to be recovering something of his usual vitality. Eventually, around a week after Locke’s arrival, a servant approached him with a message: “His Majesty’s guest would like to speak with His Majesty in the library.”

Unfortunately, the missive was delivered at a time when Sabin was with him, and he challenged Edgar as soon as the servant had departed. “His Majesty’s guest? Who are you keeping here?”

“I’ll tell you later,” said Edgar hastily, and hurried down.

Locke looked much better when Edgar found him; he was even smiling. “I didn’t expect to have to call for you,” he said. “Thought you’d be on my tail before this.”

“I can respect your privacy,” said Edgar, who couldn’t help grinning at the sight of his friend acting something like his old self.

“Anyway, I’ve worked it all out,” said Locke, gesturing at the array of books and papers before him.

Edgar listened as Locke explained. So espers couldn’t really revive a person, but instead put their own spirit into the body and reanimated it, in a way; once somebody was gone, not even magic could truly bring them back. Rachel had died years ago.

“And you’re happy about that?” he asked, trying to understand.

Locke let out an incredulous laugh. “Of course not! I’m devastated! But you see, it means none of that was her. It wasn’t her that convinced me you all hated me. She had me thinking you were all trying to do me in. I had this idea that going after Kefka was some kind of suicide mission: you were all sending me in first so I’d get the worst of it. So you see why I couldn’t trust any of you – not even you.”

“You thought I was in charge of the whole thing,” Edgar mused, thinking back to their time on the Falcon: he was the one who had planned most of the group’s strategy. He and Celes – and he knew which of them Locke would have blamed.

Locke nodded sadly. “After we came off the ship, she – er – some things happened. Anyway, it made me realise that the way I’d seen everything back then might not have been exactly right. So I tried to convince myself that you weren’t trying to have me killed, but it was still difficult. With this, though –” He looked down at the books in front of him. “It makes sense now. I can see none of that was real. I’ll be able to relax again. I might be able to sleep at night without worrying that someone’s going to break in and attack me.”

Edgar understood, now: it had been similar for him after his father had died. The constant feeling that the people he was closest to were conspiring against him; the suspicion that if he let his guard down for an instant, his safety would be compromised. For months, he’d insisted all his meals were thoroughly tested for poison. Then, a few short years afterwards, he’d met Locke, and his new friend had helped him get over the final stages of that paranoia.

“I’m so sorry,” he managed to say. “I wish I’d known. When we were on the ship –”

“You couldn’t have done anything about it,” said Locke resolutely. “I was so desperate for things to go back to the way they had been with her. I thought I could love her like I had before and then everything would be fine.”

Edgar nodded. He wasn’t the only one who had struggled during those first years of their friendship: Locke had been grieving too. Back then, finding a way to get Rachel back had been his sole focus. Edgar had helped him recognise some of the pleasures that remained in life. In those days, they’d supported each other when neither had had anyone else.

He gazed at his friend’s face, lost in thought, until there was a sound behind him – the noise of someone big trying to be discreet.

“Oh no,” Edgar breathed. “Sabin?”

And indeed, his brother stepped out from behind a shelf. Edgar stepped between him and Locke automatically. Sabin’s fists weren’t raised – that was a good sign – but they were clenched, and his face was red.

“How much did you hear?” said Locke.

“All of it,” said Sabin, looking at Edgar.

“So you know what he went through,” he said.

“I know what we went through. What Celes went through,” Sabin replied. “Look, I know you two were close, all those years I wasn’t there –”

“Sabin!” Edgar exclaimed. He felt Locke’s hand on his arm.

“It’s not like that for me,” Sabin went on. “I can’t just forgive him.” He turned towards Locke. “You broke her heart.”

“I thought she didn’t feel that way,” Locke argued.

“Were you blind?” shouted Sabin.

“I was misled,” he replied through gritted teeth. “You could have set me straight if you cared about her so much. But I suppose you were just waiting for the chance to stick it in –”

“Stick it in?” Sabin echoed, appalled. “That’s – you’re looking at the wrong person there –”

Edgar felt Locke’s eyes turn on him, and met them reluctantly. “She needed comfort,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “I was taking her mind off things. It was only because you and Rachel were going at it so much –”

Locke groaned in frustration and ran his hands through his hair. “I was so stupid!” he cried. “I threw it all away with her and I let that thing convince me it was Rachel and that it was the only person I could trust. I fucked it all up and I made all of you hate me. I made Celes hate me …”

“No,” said Sabin, stony-faced. “She never really hated you. She loved you all along, even though we told her you didn’t deserve it.”

Locke shook his head.

“I think she still loves you,” Sabin went on, a trace of bitterness in his voice. “Even now.”

“I told him the same,” Edgar murmured, “but he won’t accept it.”

Locke shook his head sorrowfully. “I can’t. Don’t you see? I was told lies about her. I never asked her myself. I’m not basing what I think her feelings are on secondhand speculation anymore. I can’t do that.”

Sabin sneered. “You’re nobler than I thought.”

“Please,” Edgar moaned, as Locke’s expression shifted to anger again. “Both of you. Don’t fight.” It was supposed to be a happy occasion, being together with the two men he loved the most for the first time in months, and with Locke finally ready to open up to him again. The hostility between the two of them was giving him a headache.

“We’d certainly be fighting if you weren’t here,” said Sabin, rubbing his fists together.

Locke paused, but then touched the knife at his belt. “Sure. Bring it on.”

“Stop it,” Edgar pleaded, making sure he was still positioned between them, but then a thought occurred to him: maybe he should let them settle things physically. It had always helped Sabin to express himself using his fists, and neither of them would have had a good fight since Kefka. But Locke probably wasn’t yet at his full strength after the time he’d been having, and Edgar didn’t fancy the idea of the two of them in close combat: Sabin was six inches taller than Locke and almost twice as heavy.

“Fine,” he said eventually. “If that’s what it’ll take for you to be civil to each other, then fight. But no fists. Swords and heavy armour for both of you.”

Sabin seemed to be about to protest, but Locke said, “No problem.”

Edgar accompanied the two of them outside, flagging down a couple of servants on the way and arranging for them to bring out the necessary equipment. He forced Sabin to walk in front, putting distance between him and Locke: he didn’t want this starting in one of the castle corridors.

They alighted on a patch of dusty ground and were shortly joined by the two servants, who had succeeded in bringing out the armour and weapons in a small cart. Edgar moved to Sabin’s side as he donned his helmet.

“I thought he’d be more angry with you,” Sabin remarked. “For sleeping with Celes.”

“You weren’t angry,” Edgar pointed out.

“I’m your brother.”

“And the closest thing he has to one,” said Edgar. “Just don’t – just remember that, OK? When you’re out there.” He nodded towards the expanse of sand separating them from Locke. “You mean more to me than anyone. But I care about him too.”

“You care about everyone,” Sabin grumbled, and strode forth.

Edgar watched anxiously as the two began to spar. Neither was used to heavy swords and armour, and it showed: they were slow and hesitant. Sabin was trying to use his sword more like a staff, thrusting the whole thing towards Locke with both hands. Locke waved his around in the air ineffectually. Edgar resigned himself to waiting for them both to tire themselves out – it wouldn’t take long with this setup.

Sabin finally succeeded in driving the whole weight of his sword against Locke’s ill-fitting breastplate, and Locke staggered backwards. Sabin drew back too to catch his breath, and Edgar watched with increasing trepidation as Locke frantically undid the straps of his armour and cast it and the sword aside, retrieving two knives from his waistband instead and stepping forward again with a grin.

Edgar debated how to intervene – he couldn’t let the two of them face each other with such a mismatch in protection – but Sabin threw down his sword and began to cast off his own armour as well, soon facing Locke with his bare fists and a confident expression. “That’s more like it!” he shouted. “Come on then!”

The two of them began to circle each other, clearly much more at ease now. Edgar was worried – he’d thought the armour would give both of them some protection, and now they didn’t even have shields. He watched uncomfortably as Sabin parried the thrusts of Locke’s knives with his bare hands and slammed bleeding fists into Locke’s chin. Locke managed a few slashes across Sabin’s forearms before Sabin got him right in the nose and Locke fell back onto the ground, hands pressed to his face to stem the flow of blood, his knives on the ground. Sabin drew back in triumph, but Locke jumped forward again and gripped the bottom of Sabin’s vest, pressing his head into his stomach. Sabin shoved Locke upwards and delivered another punch to his face, and he fell back again, staying on the ground this time.

Edgar sprinted forward. Sabin was panting and his arms were soaked in blood up to the elbow, but he gave Edgar an exhilarated smile as he approached. “How about that?” he said.

He ignored the question and looked down at Locke. “God, Sabin,” he said. “He’s out cold. Did you really have to –”

Locke’s eyes opened and slowly fixed on Sabin above him. “Good fight,” he said weakly.

Edgar could barely prevent himself from rolling his eyes: they were typical men, both of them. And all the worse for him that this was apparently the kind of person he enjoyed spending time with. “You both need to go to the infirmary,” he informed them, as the two servants moved in discreetly to clear away the discarded armour. Edgar assisted Locke in getting to his feet and let him lean against him while they returned to the castle interior. Sabin brought up the rear, having probably realised that Edgar wouldn’t be too pleased if he went first and got blood all over the door handles.

When they arrived at the infirmary, Edgar helped Locke into a sitting position and turned to Sabin. “You can explain,” he said, and walked out.

He returned to his quarters in irritation. Sabin had always believed that a good fight would settle an argument, and Locke wasn’t too dissimilar, but it was something he had never empathised with himself – he’d been known to shout and argue, yes, but physically hurting someone was something different. He busied himself with some paperwork in an attempt to take his mind off it.

Sabin came in not a lot later, with a clean shirt on and his arms swathed in bandages. “Alright?” he greeted him.

Edgar looked up unamused. “How’s Locke?”

“I broke his nose,” said Sabin proudly, “and they say he’s concussed.”

“Marvellous,” Edgar sighed. “Just when he was getting better.”

“You’re really worried about him,” Sabin remarked.

“Of course I am,” said Edgar. “I know he was cruel to all of us, but he was having a pretty terrible time himself. We all made mistakes back then.”

“I know,” said Sabin. “I just – it’s not fair on Celes. That’s what matters. None of that should have happened to her.”

“He still loves her,” Edgar murmured.

“And she loves him. Don’t you think?”

“I’m sure of it,” he replied.

Sabin smiled sadly. “So what can we do about it?”

“Mr Cole, your majesty,” announced the butler the next day at breakfast, and Edgar exchanged a surprised look with Sabin before Locke walked in, clutching a bag of ice to his face.

“Wow, you look awful,” said Sabin in delight.

“Thanks,” Locke retorted. He sat down gingerly at the table. “Only just escaped the infirmary. They wanted to keep me in overnight to observe me.” He said it like it was an inconvenience.

“I should think so too,” said Edgar, casting a worried eye over Locke’s bruised and swollen features. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he replied, glaring at Sabin, who grinned and said, “You’re welcome.”

“I’d argue with you,” said Locke, “but they said I should try not to move my jaw too much.”

Edgar allowed himself to relax a little: the tensions of the previous day seemed to have given way to nothing more than an exchange of repartee. If they were sniping at each other like this, the fight must have been good for both of them. “So you’ll be quiet? That’ll make a nice change,” he ventured, and was rewarded by a laugh from both Sabin and Locke, although it turned into a pained wince in the latter case.

“Anyway, we were talking last night,” said Sabin, “and we decided you owe us a favour.”

“Was letting you bash me around not enough?” Locke asked wearily.

Sabin smirked. “That was your payment for using our facilities. This is your apology for not accepting our help before.”

“We’re going to bring Celes here,” Edgar took over gravely. “You’re going to sit down with her, and listen, and maybe even believe her when she says she’s still in love with you.”

“Edgar,” said Locke, suddenly looking distraught. “I can’t possibly do that. Don’t make me hurt her again. Just let her move on. She deserves better.”

“She deserves what she wants,” said Sabin, “and as much as I hate to admit it – she wants to be with you.”

“I can’t accept that,” said Locke.

Edgar sighed: they were going around in circles. “That’s why you need to hear it from her.”

Locke shook his head. “No. Even if I get the chance to talk to her. She’ll still have to sit there and look at me –”

“We’ll wait until your face is fixed,” Sabin suggested.

“That’s not what I meant. I can’t just sit there and wait for her to tell me she’s in love with me. That’s not fair on her.”

“Then we’ll disguise you,” said Edgar.

Both Sabin and Locke looked startled by the suggestion, and Edgar felt a little surprised himself; the thought had come to him from nowhere.

“We can wrap you up in some shawls,” he went on, talking through the idea to see how it might work, “and you can pretend to be – a visiting traveller –”

“Like Gogo,” Sabin supplied.

“Yes!” Edgar exclaimed, his mind racing now. “Exactly!” He cast an eye over Locke. “Gogo was a bit shorter, I think, but if he stays sitting down – that would be believable, wouldn’t it? That Gogo would be coming to visit?”

“Oh,” said Sabin, catching up with Edgar’s half-formed sentences. “We dress him up as Gogo? Right!”

“Hang on,” Locke cut in. “You’re trying to deceive her now? Trick her into thinking I’m not there and then get her to say she –” He broke off with a gasp of pain and glared at the two of them instead, rubbing his jaw.

Edgar frowned in sympathy. “It’s the best solution,” he said. “She won’t know you’re there, so she might actually come out with it without being upset by seeing you first. You’ll hear what she has to say first, and then you’ll be able to talk to her alone.”

“I don’t like it,” said Locke.

“So what’s your suggestion?” Edgar asked.

“Drop the whole thing. Let her move on.”

“And make sure both of you are miserable for years,” said Edgar.

Locke rolled his eyes. “It won’t be years.”

“It was years for you before,” said Edgar. He noticed Sabin flinch a little at that: maybe he had overstepped the mark.

“That was different,” said Locke. “Rachel was dead. I – we loved each other. It wasn’t a case of me behaving awfully to her and making her turn against me.”

“She –”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

Sabin spoke. “You owe us this. This is the easiest we can make it. You come in here disguised, you get to hear how she really feels without upsetting her, and then you get the chance to sort things out with her.”

“You want to see her,” Edgar prompted.

“I – what I want isn’t important. It’s what she wants that matters,” said Locke.

“Yes,” Edgar persisted, “and as you won’t believe us about what she wants, this is your only option.”

Locke opened his mouth, winced, clutched at his jaw again and then spoke. “I need to go and lie down,” he said. “But I’m not happy about this.” He stood and turned to leave.

Edgar watched with concern as he shuffled out, and then turned to Sabin. “Was it really worth doing that to him?”

“Absolutely,” said Sabin earnestly. “Means I don’t start wanting to kill him every time I look at him anymore.”

“Honestly,” Edgar sighed. “What happened to talking things through? Can’t anyone have a mature discussion these days?”

“We can’t all be king,” said Sabin.

Edgar smiled at him gratefully. “Do you think it’ll work?” he said.

“Worth a try. Got to be better than – like you said. Them just avoiding each other for years –”

“I hope so,” said Edgar.

Sabin clapped a bandaged hand onto Edgar’s shoulder. “We’ll make it work for them,” he said.

Edgar and Celes had issued some order to stay in groups during training – there were some fearsome monsters in this part of the world – but Locke managed to give his assigned partners the slip on most occasions. They would be glad of it anyway. He fought fiercely, concentrating on learning to defend himself; he certainly couldn’t rely on his comrades to protect him when it was increasingly evident that they were hoping to do just the opposite. He wore himself out most days, returning to Rachel sweating and sore, and she would either take him in her arms or turn away according to her whims.

When the time came, and they entered the tower, Locke led his group without much interaction. The old man and the girl were raving, as usual, and Shadow didn’t care to make any decisions for himself. So Locke led the way and was first into battle. He’d been given a surprisingly good sword when all the weapons were pooled, but he suspected those in the other groups had better ones.

Then they all faced Kefka, together, and Locke listened while Terra made some impromptu speech about hope and having things to live for. Strangely, he began to recall the affection he’d once felt for her as she did so, thinking back to when they’d first met and all this had started. She’d been so helpless, and he’d rescued her and set her on the path to becoming the confident young woman who challenged Kefka now. And despite the fact that he was sure she hated him by this point, he still felt she was worth it. So when it seemed to be his turn to contribute his own source of hope, he looked at Terra, who had spoken last, and said, “A person worth protecting.” There wasn’t much else he could think of.

The battle got underway soon afterwards. Edgar and Celes marshalled everyone into an order and Locke ended up fifth, which surprised him: he had expected to be first again, so Kefka could dispatch him quickly. But when the first four went into battle and Terra cast reraise spells on them all before turning towards the hideous creatures she was supposed to be fighting, he understood: by entering fifth, he wouldn’t benefit from the same level of defence.

Terra was the one who fell, when they had almost reached the top of the pillar – fortunately, it wasn’t fatal, but she clearly had no strength to fight. Locke filled her position as planned, and tried his luck at stealing from Kefka – whatever he ended up with might help him defend himself. It turned out to be a megalixir: it would help all of them defend themselves, then. Locke scattered the gleaming droplets over the whole group and tried to ignore their looks of surprise.

And then, not long afterwards, Kefka was defeated, and they had to get out of there. A raging wind had kicked up from nowhere, and Locke’s hair fluttered into his eyes as his bandanna flapped free. He ignored the piece of cloth as it began to flutter away, but Celes, of all people, jumped after it, losing her footing on the trembling ground. Locke, instinctively, grabbed her as she began to fall, and let go as soon as he could: the feeling of her in his arms was unbearable.

“Are you crazy?” he managed to exclaim. “You almost got yourself killed for that?” He could hardly hold her gaze any longer, and hurried on, trying to forget about the interaction.

They reached the exterior of the tower. The other members of Locke’s original group were nowhere to be seen now; Shadow had dashed off somewhere and the other two, after a moment’s hesitation, had followed him. It seemed, at least, that Locke wasn’t going to be assassinated. But there was still the matter of returning to the airship. He managed to grab hold of the crane as it passed him, and began to grapple his way up the rope.

Edgar had made it up before him, and stood on the deck of the Falcon looking down at Locke as he climbed up, his expression inscrutable. Locke’s heart sank as he realised this was the end. Edgar was going to unhook the rope, and Locke was going to fall right back down into the tower. From this height, with the progress he’d made, it would kill him. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on ascending as fast as possible; if he got to the top before Edgar expected him, he might not have time to unfasten the rope and let Locke fall.

It paid off. Locke reached the top, and Edgar stretched out a hand as if to help him pull himself onto the deck; Locke ignored it, knowing it would be a trick, and hoisted himself aboard, ignoring Edgar and making straight for Rachel.

She threw her arms around him and kissed him passionately, before drawing back. “You did it,” she breathed. “You made it out of there.”

Locke had been the one fighting, but Rachel looked tired and ill; he studied her face carefully. “What’s wrong?” he murmured.

She shook her head. “I was just worried about you. But you’re safe. And Kefka is gone.”

He nodded and kissed her again.

They maintained their embrace for some time; Locke was dimly aware of the events happening around them – something involving Terra, and magicite. Edgar was making a lot of pronouncements that Locke managed to avoid listening to. He stroked Rachel’s hair as she leant against him, and gazed at her in concern: she looked awful. Her skin was beginning to take on a grey tinge, her eyes were dull, and her voice had receded to a hoarse whisper.

“We need to get you out of here,” he told her. “Get on dry land.” She nodded.

He took her hand and made for Setzer, who was having a jocular conversation with Cyan and the mimic. Setzer frowned when he saw Locke, and the joy vanished from his face. “What do you want?” he snarled, looking both of them over.

“Rachel’s sick,” said Locke, bristling. “We need to get off this ship. Take us to Kohlingen.”

“All in good time,” said Setzer.

Locke fumed, but there was nothing he could do about it: he could probably take Setzer in a fight, but the others would certainly join in on the gambler’s side. He took Rachel back to their room instead, and held her close in bed. “It’s OK,” he assured her. “We’ll be down there tomorrow. You’ll be fine.”

She nodded, and nestled closer to him.

The next day, things were the same: at least they hadn’t got any worse. Rachel was still weak and pallid, and Locke stayed with her in their room, making sure she had enough food and water. All the while, he could feel the rumbling of the airship’s engine as it continued to move: Setzer clearly had no intention of stopping yet.

Finally, a few days later, the engine’s vibration mellowed to a soft hum. Locke coaxed Rachel out of bed and led her into the common area, where he found the rest of the group assembled at the table.

Something was wrong. Setzer and Cyan seemed happy enough, and the wild boy was up to his usual mischief, but Edgar and Sabin looked uncomfortable. So did Terra, and, when Locke dared sneak a look at her, Celes – and even the moogle seemed anxious, his whiskers twitching.

“Ah,” said Setzer, as Locke and Rachel approached. “Here he is. We’re at Kohlingen now, so you’re welcome to leave.”

Locke gave a brief nod of farewell and led Rachel down the stairs.

Setzer had lied: they were a considerable distance from Kohlingen, almost at the other end of the desert. A strong wind was blowing and sand swirled in their faces. Locke clutched Rachel’s hand as they battled their way towards the town, cursing Setzer internally; he’d always been a stuck-up prat. They hadn’t got on, even in the Blackjack days.

Rachel was faltering, and Locke looked at her in concern. “Are you having trouble?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Locke – I’m sorry –”

He hoisted her over his shoulder and continued: they had to get to Kohlingen, and then everything would be alright. He could feel her breathing against him; her breath was shallow.

“It’s OK, Rachel,” he murmured as they continued. “We’ll get there. We’ll go to Kohlingen and everything will be back to normal and we’ll be able to go treasure hunting like we did in the old days. We’re nearly there now, just hold on.” He was babbling, he knew, but it was out of fear; something was badly wrong.

“Just a bit further,” he went on. “I’ve got you, and we’re going to get home and then you’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you.”

Her breathing had become even shallower; he couldn’t hear it at all. That was when he began to panic. He set her down on the sand, trembling, and began searching his clothes for a phoenix down, or a potion, anything. But he had nothing: he’d left all the healing items back on the Falcon, now that there was no more fighting to be done. He ran his hands through his hair in desperation and dropped to her side. “Rachel,” he sobbed. “Rachel, please.”

He studied her face, and it seemed different, somehow. More like how she’d looked years ago: earnest and loving and maybe even happy. She’d looked quite different on the Falcon, he realised.

He brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes with a shaking finger.

“Locke,” she said, and he drew back, shocked to hear her speak.

“Give your love to the one who now dwells within your heart,” she went on. “Love her, as you loved me.”

He moaned in frustration. What did that even mean? “I love you,” he gasped desperately. “I love you, Rachel –”

But her eyes were closed, and she was still again.

He felt himself stand up, barely in control of his own body. She was dead. He felt like screaming, but nothing came out. Instead, he knelt down in the sand again and began to scrabble out a hollow with his bare hands. Dead people were buried, right? That was what happened, when someone died –

He went on, barely conscious of what he was doing, until he had scraped out a sizeable pit in the sand. Then he lifted Rachel over his shoulder for a final time, let her slip down into the recess, and kicked the sand back over her body. Soon, there was no trace of her.

He still felt numb. Kohlingen still lay ahead, but he couldn’t go there without her: she had been the only thing about that town he hadn’t hated. He turned east, instead, and made for Narshe.