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deemoyza_archiveChapters: 2/?
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Rating/Warnings: General Audiences / No warnings apply
Character(s): Selphie Tilmitt, Original Characters
Summary: While studying the history and manufacture of Estharian aircraft, Selphie comes across her own name in an article about a deadly revolt in a mining town, not long after the overthrow of Adel. Shocked, she travels to the town, hoping to piece together clues about her past, and to dig up just one memory of the people she loved so long ago.
Notes: Part 3 of the Esthar Chronicles series
Chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
Normally, the cold didn't bother Selphie. She was Trabian, through and through, and she thought nothing of traipsing through Trabia Garden in her little yellow dress or standing in the snowfields in the dead of winter, daring the weather to do its worst. She'd lived with the cold all her life; she knew it intimately, like a close friend or a sibling, and, like a close friend or a sibling, it had never really hurt her.
Until now.
The coldness in this room wasn't like that of the Trabia. It wasn't a part of the natural world at all, not a part of herself. This cold was sterile, right down to its smell. Selphie curled in on herself, vaguely aware that she was sleeping in an awkward, half-seated position, and aware of a symphony of tiny noises around her: slow, even breathing; soft, high-pitched beeps; the barely perceptible buzz and whirr of electronic equipment.
It was all so quiet, so rhythmic, that, if it weren't for the cold, she'd have fallen deeper into sleep. As it was, she resisted waking up, willing her brain to dive back into dreams and let her forget this strange, cold room.
Footsteps punctuated the sounds around her, and Selphie turned her head from them, curling tighter, and flinched when a warm hand touched her shoulder.
"Selphie," someone whispered, shaking her gently. "Wake up. You're going to hurt your neck sleeping like that. Selphie, come on."
Selphie groaned, torn for a moment between sleep and warmth, finally choosing the latter. She opened her eyes and saw bedsheets in front of her, and a long figure lying beneath them. She sat up and turned her head gingerly, wincing at the crick in her neck, letting awareness return.
No wonder it was cold, no wonder it smelled sterile: this was a hospital room. Or something like it. The infirmary at Odine Laboratories. And Irvine was lying on the bed before her, still sedated from the tests the lab had run on him. That must mean the hand belonged to …
"Welcome back, Selphie." Quistis smiled down at her, clipboard in hand. "You must have been pretty tired, to fall asleep here. You didn't even make it to the couch."
"Yeah, a little." Selphie yawned. "But more bored than anything. It's no fun watching someone sleep."
"I know. Perhaps you'd like to call it a day? The sedative we gave Irvine was pretty strong; I doubt he'll wake up today."
"But I wanted to surprise him. Welcome him back to the land of the living." Selphie stretched, then frowned. "He will come back, right?"
"Absolutely. His vitals are great, and his brain activity is normal, for his condition. He'll be the same Irvine when he wakes up." Quistis looked at him. "A little wiser, though, I hope."
"I wouldn't count on that, Quisty." Selphie and Quistis shared a laugh. "So, is it really all right for me to leave? I won't be missing anything?"
"I can't make guarantees, but, as I said, Irvine probably won't wake up today. Besides, visitor hours end soon, and I don't believe you've even had anything to eat today, have you?"
"A few snacks."
"How does a home-cooked meal sound, then?" Quistis smiled and pulled a note from among the papers on her clipboard. "You have a standing invitation at Retta's. Once she heard you were in Esthar, she asked me to invite you. She seems to have really taken to you."
"Of course! I'm awesome." Selphie brightened, taking the note from Quistis. Directions to Retta's apartment were written on it, along with a suggested time of arrival. It would be nice to have a meal with a lively family, after spending all day with an unconscious Irvine. Selphie nodded and stood up, then collected her belongings and moved toward the door. She stopped in the doorway and gave Irvine one last look.
"Big dummy," she said with a sigh. "Thanks for taking care of him, Quisty."
"You're very welcome. It wasn't as difficult as I'd feared it would be. He's behaved pretty well, considering how he usually acts." Quistis placed a hand on Selphie's back and guided her through the door. "Come on, I'll walk you out."
The trip through Odine Laboratories was long, and quiet. Quistis didn't have much to say, absorbed as she was in the papers on her clipboard, and Selphie was still fighting the lingering fog of sleep. They said farewell in the lobby, and Quistis promised, once again, to take good care of Irvine.
The dry, warm air outside the laboratories was a relief, and Selphie felt her body thaw out and come to life once more. She quickened her pace when she reached the skyway and headed for the nearest lift station. The sunlight was growing golden when she disembarked the lift closest to Retta's apartment, and the first streetlights had already come on by the time she rang the buzzer.
"Who is it, who is it?" Selphie could hear Retta's two sons clamoring on the other side of the door. One of them pushed a button inside and a panel above the doorbell slid aside to reveal a camera. Selphie grinned and waved at it, and the boys cheered.
"Yay, it's Selphie! Selphie's here, Mom, Selphie's here!"
"Then let her in!" Retta called back.
"Okay! I get to!" "No, I get to!" "Me!" "No, me!" The boys' arguing was accompanied by a fumbling sound, followed by a loud click. The door swung open, and the boys beamed up at Selphie.
"Heya, Selphie," Rostan, the older boy, said. "How're you doin'?"
"You know me, I'm always good!" Selphie stepped into the apartment and breathed in the smells of cooking meat and spices drifting out of the kitchen. Her mouth began to water, and she was suddenly very aware of her nearly empty stomach. "And you guys? Have you been behaving?"
"Of course! Hey, you should see the model airship me an' Paden are building with Dad. Wait a sec, I'll go get it!"
As Rostan disappeared down the hall, Paden asked Selphie if she had any new stories to tell them.
"You bet," she replied, Irvine's predicament immediately springing to mind. "And it's got a super-duper important lesson, too!"
"Good. Maybe they'll listen to you." Retta stepped out from the kitchen, her long dark curls pulled back, an apron tied around her waist. She smiled. "Welcome, Selphie. I'm glad you could make it."
A librarian at the library near the edge of the city, where Quistis had studied during her sabbatical, Retta and Selphie met when Quistis finalized her move to Esthar, and hit it off straight away. Retta had a no-nonsense, motherly nature, complemented by a generous mischievous streak and genuine curiosity about the world—and people—around her. She and her family had even visited Balamb on vacation and allowed Selphie to play tour guide for an afternoon. Though Selphie had promised to return the favor during her trips to Esthar, she'd never had enough time to, until now.
"I wouldn't miss this for the world!" Selphie said. "When Quisty passed along your invitation, it made my day… well, what's left of it."
"How's your friend doing? Quistis told me he was in pretty rough shape at first."
"Yeah, he went totally bonkers! But they took care of him at O. Labs, and he's sleeping off the sedative right now. Quisty says he'll be fine. Just a case of natural stupidity." Selphie shrugged and shook her head. "Anyway, how are you doing? How's Haren?"
"Doing very well, thanks." Haren, Retta's husband, exited the kitchen with a bowl of food, which he set down on the dining table. "It's good to see you again, Selphie. How are MogMog and the, er, Mach Chocobo?"
"Ahh, you remembered!" Selphie clapped at the mention of the nicknames she'd given Balamb Garden's airships and launched into a conversation about their condition and maintenance while Retta brought out more food, and the boys brought out their model airship.
It was a lively evening, with good food and pleasant company, and Selphie found herself juggling several conversations throughout—about herself and her friends, about the history of Estharian airships, about her experiences as a pilot and a SeeD. She enjoyed being the center of attention among this talkative and curious family, especially after spending a day in near-isolation at Irvine's bedside, and as she continued to talk and laugh and tell stories, her heart grew light, and the last of the infirmary's chill dissipated.
"And that's why you pay attention to labels, okay?" Selphie finished recounting Irvine's unfortunate experience to Retta's sons, who watched her through wide eyes. "If something's marked as belonging to the lab, especially if it's marked as still being tested, just turn it in. You might not have someone around to put your insides back together when something goes wrong."
Paden made a face, but Rostan leaned forward. "Your insides?" he asked. "Is that what happened to Mr. Irvy?"
"Uh-huh. Luckily, I was there to patch him up. But, let me tell you, intestines are not pretty!"
"Well," Retta interjected brightly, before either of the boys could press Selphie for a detailed description, "that was quite an informative story! I hope you two have learned something from it. Now, who's ready for dessert?"
Over dessert, the conversation turned exclusively to airships, with Haren mentioning his collection of books and articles on the subject, and the boys trying to stump Selphie with airship trivia. When she not only answered their questions correctly, but also elaborated on those answers, the boys grinned.
"Wow," Rostan said, "you got a hundred percent! Perfect score for the Airship Lady!"
"Uh-uh," Paden said, shaking his head. "Selphie's not the Airship Lady. Miss Quistis is."
"Oh, yeah. I forgot." Rostan chewed on his lower lip, thinking. "I guess Selphie can be Airship Lady Two."
"Or maybe something else," Selphie offered, smiling. "There're lots of titles for someone like me: Airship Master, Airship Guru, Airship Goddess…"
"Oh, oh, what about queen?" Paden asked, bouncing up and down. "Selphie can be the Airship Queen!"
"Heeey, I like the sound of that! I'm gonna have to get myself a crown."
"Leave that to us!" Rostan said. He and Paden excused themselves from the table and disappeared into their room.
"They really are crazy about you," Retta said, clearing the table as Haren excused himself, as well. "You seem to have a way with children."
"I got a ton of practice at Trabia Garden," Selphie replied, helping Retta, despite Retta's protests, "keeping the junior classmen in line, and all. Sometimes they'd get scared or lonely. A lot of them were orphans—most of them, actually; nobody chooses to go to Trabia—and they'd have nightmares or miss their families, and I would tell them stories to cheer them up. I even gave them my old teddy bear when I left for Balamb." She shrugged. "I don't like seeing anybody sad, especially kids, so, I put myself in their shoes and learned to think like them. I guess I never lost the habit."
"Garden seems to have a lot of orphans."
"Yeah. There are plenty of students with surviving parents, too, but I guess it's just a convenient place to put those of us without a family. It makes more money than a regular orphanage, and when we become SeeDs, we pay Garden back." Selphie frowned, handing a stack of plates to Retta. "And I guess it makes it easier," she said quietly, "in case we don't come back from a mission."
"Nothing makes that easier," Retta said, sternly enough for Selphie to look up. Retta's mouth was drawn tight, and her eyes were moist. "There's always someone who will miss you. I've told Quistis this, and I'll tell you: relatives are determined by blood; family is determined by bonds, and you have a family, among your friends, and here, with us. Don't you forget that."
It was Selphie's turn to fight back tears, and she was only moderately successful. She threw her arms around Retta, rattling the dishes in Retta's hand, and thanked her profusely. She was still doing so when Haren returned, his arms full of books.
"Looks like I missed something," he said.
"You sure did," Selphie replied, sniffling and turning around. "Retta just made me an honorary family member."
Haren smiled, seemingly unsurprised by Selphie's announcement. "Glad to have you!" He sat down at the table and spread the books before him, motioning Selphie over. They were all books on Estharian aircraft, and he invited her to borrow whichever ones she liked. He also had several folders full of articles, dating back to before Adel's reign, which he handed over with her chosen books.
"There's a story behind every airship," he said. "It's not just about the pilot or the military. It's about the people who made them, the people who keep them running. They're not glamorous jobs, but they are noble ones."
"Their families," Selphie said, nodding and flipping through the folders. "Think I'll find MogMog's ancestors?"
"Possibly."
"I wonder who made Mach Chocobo. And, of course, the Ragnarok." She smiled. "Thanks, Haren! These'll keep me busy for weeks."
"Take your time. I have plenty more, when you're finished with those."
"Don't overload the poor woman," Retta said, returning to the table. "I'm sure she has other things to do."
"Not really," said Selphie, stacking the books neatly. "Aside from training, most of my life at Garden revolves around airships now. Besides, I need something to keep my mind occupied while I wait for Irvy to wake up." She started at the sound of her name and turned to find Rostan and Paden running toward her, yellow construction paper flapping in Paden's hand.
"Here ya go, Selphie," he said, extending the paper toward her. "A crown."
It was indeed a crown, cut into uneven peaks and taped together, decorated with crayon-drawn jewels and the words "Airship Queen" in childish lettering.
"It's beautiful!" Selphie exclaimed. She reached toward it, but Rostan snatched it from his brother's hands and shook his head.
"No-no-no! We have to crown you," he said. "Lean forward… hey, Mom, Dad, stand up! This is a momentous occasion!"
Behind her, Selphie heard Retta and Haren slide their chairs back and rise, laughing softly.
"All right," Rostan continued, setting the crown on Selphie's head, then backing away slowly so he wouldn't knock it off, "I now pronounce you Selphie, Airship Queen!" The entire family clapped, the boys cheered, and Selphie's heart filled to near-bursting.
So, this is what family felt like.
"Long live Selphie, the Airship Queen!"
"Airship Queen?" Quistis read the crown the next morning, in the lobby of Odine Laboratories.
"Indeed, Miss Quistis," Selphie replied, straightening it on her head. "I was crowned last night!"
"Retta's sons?" When Selphie nodded, Quistis laughed and bowed her head. "I defer to your authority, your majesty."
"No need for that, Airship Lady. You rank high in my court!" Selphie shifted her messenger bag, heavy with Haren's books, and became serious. "So, how's Irvy?"
"He woke up last night."
"What? I thought you said he wouldn't! I thought you said I wouldn't miss anything!"
"It was after visiting hours. And you didn't miss anything. He was groggy and disoriented and went back to sleep shortly afterward."
"Oh. But he's okay, right?"
"Of course." A small grin played across Quistis' lips. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you. You're the first person he asked for."
"What?" Selphie's cheeks grew warm, though she couldn't explain why. It wasn't so out of the ordinary for a guy to come out of sedation asking for his best friend. Was it?
"He was calling your name when I arrived. He said he had that nightmare from Time Compression…"
"The one where I die." Selphie frowned. That explained it. The visions all of them saw coming out of Time Compression after defeating Ultimecia plagued them to this day. They seemed to be tailored to each of them, based on their worst fears. That Irvine's worst fear was losing Selphie made her feel both appreciated and, strangely, guilty.
"I assured him you were alive and well and would be here this morning. So, shall we go?"
"Yeah, let's! I still have to give him a lecture for landing himself here in the first place!"
As they walked through Odine Laboratories, people stared at Selphie's crown. Some smiled, some bowed, and a lady in the elevator even curtsied. Selphie was delighted by this reception, and mentioned to Quistis that she'd never expected people there to be so silly.
"Our jobs can be stressful," Quistis answered, "so we seize moments of levity where we can."
"You like to have fun, just say it," Selphie said, flopping onto the couch in Irvine's room.
"Okay, we like to have fun. We are still human, after all." Quistis checked Irvine's monitors. "He's doing really well," she said, smiling at the still-sleeping Irvine, "and should be ready to go as early as tomorrow."
"Great to hear!"
Quistis nodded to a book sliding out of Selphie's bag. "I'll leave you to your reading, then. Irvine should come around soon. He might be disoriented at first, but just give him a few minutes, and he'll be fine."
"Right! Thanks, Quisty!"
Quistis left, Selphie settled in, and time passed slowly. Even with a book open across her lap, Selphie felt each minute, each second tick away in her bones. She tried to read, but couldn't concentrate, wondering when Irvine would finally wake, wanting to give him a big welcome, and maybe the verbal equivalent of a smack to the head, so she settled for browsing through the pictures and captions, instead.
She was looking at a diagram of one of the Ragnarok's predecessors, when she heard it. Faint, hoarse, but definitely Irvine's voice.
"Sefie," he said. "You're here."
She started at the sound and turned toward him. Her reprimand died in her throat as she looked at his droopy eyes and disheveled hair, and was replaced by relief flooding her chest and drawing a wide, stupid grin across her face.
"Hey, Irvy, glad you're back!" she said.
And she meant it from the bottom of her heart.
Though she was glad to keep Irvine company at O. Labs, and she was more than happy to fly him back to Deling City—and finally lecture him along the way—Selphie was relieved to return to Balamb Garden. Resuming her routine meant resuming her usual schedule, which allowed her to set aside decent chunks of time to start on her borrowed books and articles.
She sat cross-legged on her bed one evening, a pen and notepad at her side, ready to scribble down the tiniest bit of new information she found, and turned her attention to the folder of articles. They were all from local Estharian news sources, but not, Selphie was surprised to discover, all from Esthar City. In fact, many of them showed photographs of buildings with snow-covered roofs, nestled in mountains that looked very similar to those of Trabia. Mining towns, she gathered from the articles, where ores for airship materials were sourced. Their economies completely dependent on airship production, they were hit particularly hard by the fallout from the worldwide signal interference caused by the launch of Adel's tomb.
This became brutally evident when Selphie reached the articles dated to the time of Adel's overthrow. Work shortages, food shortages, economic depression. Tensions between neighbors, between regions, between civilians and Esthar soldiers, even local ones. Over and over, she encountered stories about riots, about rations, about resentment. Selphie's chest tightened as she read through them, the fear and anger of the situations within still palpable over twenty years later.
She was about to set aside the articles to clear her mind, when an oddly positive headline caught her eye. Miracle Child Survives Riot, Destruction of Home. Well, that was a silver lining. She pulled out the article and started to read.
She'd only gotten several lines in when her eyes widened, and her heartbeat quickened.
The death toll from Wednesday's riot stands at 37, including the deaths of Capt. Alden Tilmitt and most of his family.
Tilmitt. Selphie swallowed hard and took a deep breath. It was a coincidence. It had to be. She couldn't be the only Tilmitt in the world. In fact, she wasn't even sure Tilmitt was her original last name.
As rescuers dug through the rubble, the article continued, a few lines down, they made a surprising discovery. Somehow, Capt. Tilmitt's three-year-old daughter, Selphie, survived. Selphie was suffering from exposure, but quickly…
Selphie threw the article away from herself as if it was a venomous creature and scrambled backwards on her bed. No, it couldn't be. She must've read that wrong. She was tired, that's all, and her eyes were playing tricks on her. Slowly, she stretched forward and drew the article toward her with her fingertips. She blinked and shook her head and read again.
Somehow, Capt. Tilmitt's three-year-old daughter, Selphie, survived.
…three-year-old daughter, Selphie…
…Capt. Tilmitt…
Selphie Tilmitt.
Selphie stared at her name in this long-forgotten article, and felt her eyes fill with inexplicable tears. Some of them overflowed, onto the article, puckering the paper and smearing the ink.
"No, no," she whispered, trying to dry it, but kept whispering the words to herself long after the article was out of danger. No, no. What did this mean? How could this be? She knew she had a family, in the biological sense, but she'd never given any real thought to who they might be, or where she might be from. To her, they were just shadows, and she could project whatever attributes she wanted onto them. Perhaps they'd been kind, perhaps they'd been rich. Perhaps they'd been busy, perhaps they'd been dismissive. Perhaps they'd been fun, just like her, and positive and resilient and caring. If there ever was a silver lining to being an orphan, Selphie had found it, in that she was able to recreate the family she'd lost in her own image.
But now, they were real. Very, very real, and very, very gone. They had been alive, with dreams and wants and feelings of their own. They had laughed, they had cried, they felt love and fear and pain.
They had held her in their arms.
And she didn't have a single memory of who they were.
She thought she understood loss, after losing her friends at Trabia. But this was a different feeling, altogether. It was grief, it was loneliness, it was regret. It was a cold, clawed hand reaching into the pit of her stomach and scraping her hollow.
Somewhere, somebody—several somebodies—had loved her, very much. And she couldn't even remember their names, or their faces, or the warmth of their hands.
The tears returned, this time with loud, gulping sobs. Selphie clutched her pillow to her chest and buried her face in it, trying to muffle her cries, trying to remember what it felt like to be a toddler clinging to her mother, trying to recall just a snippet of her father's voice.
Nothing came.
Of course.
Those memories would have been fuzzy even if she'd never junctioned a single GF. After junctioning several over the years, they were probably irretrievable now.
Eventually, her tears subsided, and Selphie flopped back onto the bed, spent. She would definitely need to investigate this. She would need to find out if she even was the Selphie Tilmitt mentioned in the article, or if her outburst right now had been for nothing. She needed to call Retta, call Haren, find out what they might know, find out how to reach this mining town, if it even still existed.
She needed to do so much, but as her thoughts swirled through her mind, drowsiness overtook her. She curled in on herself, still hugging her pillow, and drifted into dreams of shadowy faces and warm, loving arms.
Chapter 2
Selphie hated flying as a passenger, especially in an unfamiliar airship. She preferred to know all the details of her flight, from the weather forecast down to the airship's maintenance history, and, in the event that something went really wrong, she wanted to spend her last moments trying to fix it, not worrying that she would end up dying in such a lame way.
But the worst part about sitting in the passenger's cabin was the boredom. The world seemed so much bigger, and emptier, when she wasn't catching glimpses of it between checking gauges and screens. Now, hour after hour, horizon after horizon, she had nothing to do but stare out the window and fight the urge to rifle through the file folder on her lap.
She'd read the first article in the folder at least ten times, and pored over the others line by line, searching for some clue, some confirmation or refutation that she was the Selphie Tilmitt mentioned therein. Finding nothing of the sort, she called Retta, and the two of them spent more than an hour going over dates and locations, while Haren thumbed through stacks of old articles in the background and promised to gather any relevant information he could. Still coming up empty, Retta suggested Selphie visit Esthar, to collect whatever Haren managed to find, and conduct further research firsthand. Selphie agreed and requested several days of leave from Garden the following morning; by the end of the week, she was on her way.
As the blue shimmer of Esthar City crested the horizon, Selphie's stomach tightened. The answers she was looking for were in there, somewhere, she was certain. She was less certain about what she would do once she found them. She had no real plan, no definite direction for her research, just an overwhelming desire to know. To know where she came from, who she came from, regardless of whether she might—or, even, could—reconcile that information with who she was now. Like how sometimes, a cut didn't hurt until she noticed it bleeding, the blank space in her memory hadn't bothered her much until she realized what she was missing, and the combination of loss, regret, and resentment was quickly becoming unbearable.
Even with directions, even though she'd visited the library where Retta worked several times before, the trek there from the airstation took Selphie the better part of an hour. At each wrong turn she gritted her teeth, picked at the folder, and muttered another colorful remark. By the time she recognized the storefronts surrounding the library, her shirt was damp with sweat, the folder was crumpled and dog-eared, and her patience had long since evaporated.
"Finally!" she said, trundling through the second set of doors into the air-conditioned library. "You Estharians sure like to hide things, don't you? Anyway, Retta, thanks for letting me—hey, you're not Retta!"
"An astute observation." Argider smiled at her from the front desk, where he was processing a stack of returns. "Hey, Selphie. Long time, no see. How've you been?"
"Eh, all right, I guess. And you?"
"Pretty good." He glanced at his watch. "You just missed Retta. She stepped out for lunch, but she'll be back soon. She told me to expect you."
"Really?" Selphie dropped the folder on the desk with a sigh and watched him scan in another book. "Did she tell you anything else? Anything about research, or newspaper clippings, or stuff Haren found?"
"Can't say that she did." Argider frowned. "She's been uncharacteristically enigmatic these past few days. She told me she's helping you gather materials on airship history, specifically the raw materials used in construction, but she didn't go into detail."
Selphie grinned. It was unlike Retta to keep developments to herself, especially one as dramatic as this. Selphie could only assume that Retta had remained tight-lipped about the whole situation out of respect for her privacy, and in turn, Selphie's respect for Retta increased tenfold.
"She did ask me what I knew about a town called Mosden, though," Argider went on. "I only know it's a mining town in the Viennes, about a half-hour train ride from where my sister lives. I offered to do more research, but she thanked me and said that wasn't necessary."
"Sister?" Selphie's brows shot up, her pulse quickening at the possibility of an unforeseen—and easily mined—source of information. "You have a sister? Way out there? Is your family from there, or something?"
"No, her husband is. He works for the mining company, and she joined him up there after they were married."
Selphie's shoulders drooped. "Oh. Bummer. I was hoping you could help me out."
"Help you out?" Argider slid the stack of books aside and leaned forward, arms crossed on the desk. "Look, maybe I'm just nosy, but I'm not a fan of mysteries. Why the sudden interest in Vienne mining towns? It can't all be for the sake of airship history; once the ore is shipped out, their role in the process is complete."
"You're right." Selphie picked at the corner of the folder. "My interest is a little more… personal." She slid out the article and handed it to him. "I hate mysteries, too, especially when I don't know what to do to solve them!"
She watched his expression change from confusion to disbelief as he read the article.
"Am I reading this right?" he said, tapping the paper. "This is you!"
"Yep, as far as I know! Surprised the heck outta me, too! It was in with a bunch of old articles Haren lent me. I couldn't find anything else about it there, so I asked Retta for help. I wonder if she found anything."
"I'm sure she did. We have a lot of resources here you wouldn't have access to in Balamb. Census records, military records, government IDs, news archives." Argider was smiling again, his eyes bright with curiosity. "We could probably pull up a fair bit of info ourselves, before Retta even gets back." He angled the computer monitor toward Selphie and positioned his hands on the keyboard. "So, where'd you like to start?"
Selphie elected to start with the basics, and as Argider read off trivia about Mosden – population, elevation, precipitation, and the like – she stared at the accompanying pictures. Snow-covered trees, rugged mountains, modest buildings of wood and stone – it looked similar enough to Trabia to bring a pang of nostalgia to her chest; it looked similar enough for her mind to classify it as home.
"Not jogging any memories?" Argider asked.
"Nope. Not that there are many memories to jog. GFs ate them all."
"Yeah, Quistis told me about that side effect. Even without that, though, you were pretty young when those riots were happening. It's hard for anyone to remember that far back."
"I guess you're right." Selphie stared at the pictures for a few moments more, before stepping aside to allow a patron to approach the desk. When Argider finished checking out the patron's books and wished him a good day, she resumed her spot, a new set of questions gnawing at her mind.
"Where does your sister live?" she asked.
"Tupina. It's not a big place. A lot of small, family businesses; in fact, the mine is the only big company there."
"What are the people like?"
He arched a brow. "Uh… regular people, the same as you'd find anywhere?"
"You know what I mean! I'm not asking if they have two heads. I just wanna know what they're like… who they are, as a community."
"I'll admit, I don't visit often, so I'm not an expert. But the people I've met there are generally pleasant. Hard-working and tough… they have to be, what with their jobs and the cold."
"You might as well be talking about Trabia." Selphie chewed her lip. "I wonder if I'd feel at home in Mosden. Like, would something just click inside me, somewhere? Would it feel like coming back after a really long trip?"
"I don't know. Are you going to find out for yourself?"
"I'd like to. Someday… soon. But I don't want to go in totally clueless. I want to have at least an idea of who these people are, and how I fit into their town, if I still do, at all."
Argider exhaled slowly, and neither of them spoke for a while. Selphie ran her finger along the edge of the desk, eyeing the folder and looking up whenever someone passed by the doors, hoping it was Retta. Finally, the sound of typing drew her attention back to Argider, and she noticed him squinting intently at his computer screen.
"Yeah, the glow from those things can be pretty harsh," she said. "Sometimes, if I'm working on something for a long time, I'll even use sunglasses."
"What?" He turned to her, perplexed. "No, it's not that. I just thought I'd try another avenue in your research. Newspaper archives. The word 'riot' is disturbingly common for that time frame, even when narrowed to Mosden. Your last name, on the other hand…" He clicked a link and scrolled down, and his eyes widened.
"You found something."
"Yes."
"Well, show me! C'mon!"
"Are you sure you're ready?"
"Pssh. I've been trying to research this for nearly a week! Of course, I'm ready."
"It's your father. His photo."
Selphie's breath hitched in her throat, and her enthusiasm waned, run through by chilly tendrils of apprehension. It's your father. Three words, three very normal little words that implied a degree of familiarity, as if she had known her father in life, as if she had one retrievable memory of who he was, what he looked like, or what he sounded like. As if she hadn't stumbled across his name in a decades-old article less than a week ago and didn't even know who he was until she read her own name a few lines down.
He had become too real from that discovery alone. Curious as she was to see his face, to search for any resemblance to her own, Selphie wasn't sure she could handle that. She didn't know if she could look into eyes that she should be able to recognize, and see only a stranger, instead.
"His photo," she repeated. "His face. I dunno about that. Maybe…"
"Some other time?"
"Yeah. Thanks for finding it, though."
"No problem."
Their conversation fell into another lull, though Argider kept typing and scrolling, his curiosity evidently piqued even more by what he'd found. Selphie fiddled with the folder, lifting and dropping the cover, and noticed her hands were shaking. She balled them into fists and pressed them onto the desk, and felt the trembling move up along her arms, growing into a full shiver. She frowned—she was cold. Selphie Tilmitt, proud Trabian, was shivering inside a building in Esthar. What was wrong with her?
She took a seat on the bench next to the desk and tried to hide her discomfort. Nothing was wrong, she assured herself, only a little shock. Too much information, too many possibilities, too quickly. Was this how Squall had felt, she wondered, when Laguna revealed that he was his father? Selphie hadn't understood Squall back then—who wouldn't want a father as fun and energetic as Sir Laguna?—but she felt she was beginning to, now. You don't just open those holes in your past and in your heart when you've spent your whole life trying to patch them up. You're not suddenly part of a family because of titles or genetics.
Retta was right, family was determined by bonds. Blood and genes and titles just made you relatives.
Lost in her thoughts, Selphie didn't see Retta approach the library, and jumped when the doors slid open and Retta strode toward her.
"Hello, Selphie!" she said, bending down to hug her. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here when you arrived. I hope Argider didn't give you too much trouble."
Selphie laughed awkwardly and blinked, pulling herself back into reality. "Oh, no. In fact, he's already started helping me with my research."
"Really… so, you told him?"
Selphie nodded. "Your gag order has been lifted, Retta."
Retta let out an exaggerated sigh. "Thank goodness! I thought I was about to burst, keeping that to myself." She walked behind the desk, deposited her purse, and retrieved another folder, tapping the cover. "Haren and I have done a bit of research ourselves: archives, databases, records. I have names, birthdates, military records. I even have an address."
"An address?"
"Of where the Tilmitts used to live." Her eyes softened as Selphie tensed. "Don't worry, I'm sure they've built something else there by now. But this can be useful to nudge some memories out of the other townspeople, assuming you wish to ask them questions."
"Assuming she still wants to go there at all," Argider said, looking from Retta to Selphie. "I know you said you'd like to, someday, but this is a big step. You need to be prepared."
Selphie swallowed hard. Argider was right. If she couldn't even bring herself to look at Alden Tilmitt's photograph, how was she going to bear learning about him, and the rest of her family, from people who'd known them for years? If she was going to solve the mystery of who she was and where she came from, she needed to inure herself to shock.
"Argider," she said quietly, "can you pull up that picture again? I think I probably should have a look, after all."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
Retta motioned her behind the desk while Argider pulled up the article. It was another one from Mosden's daily newspaper, dated several days before the one in Selphie's folder. Soldier, Family Killed During Revolt, the headline read, and the subhead continued with details: Capt. Alden Tilmitt, 28, Among Dead After Last Night's Riot. Argider scrolled down and Selphie held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut, then cracking one open to see a photo of a man in a military dress uniform. Slowly, she opened her other eye and let the picture come into focus.
Alden Tilmitt was unremarkable, as far as looks went, but the collection of badges and ribbons pinned to his coat told a different story of him as a soldier. He was fair-skinned, with close-cropped brown hair and thin lips set into a stern line. But what leapt out at Selphie were his eyes: bright green and slightly downturned, they were nearly identical to the ones she'd seen in the mirror her whole life. She needn't have worried about not recognizing her father's eyes; seeing her eyes on someone she didn't know was far more disturbing.
Argider glanced over his shoulder. "You okay back there, Selphie?"
"Uh-huh." She took one last hard look at Alden's photo, then turned away from the gaze that was at once impersonal and far too familiar. "You guys see it, too, right?"
"The eyes. Retta?"
Retta nodded. "I'd say this makes a decent case for you being the Selphie mentioned in the article," she said, each syllable gentle and deliberate, as if she was speaking to a frightened child. "That's what you originally wanted to know, correct?"
"Yes," Selphie replied.
"All right, then, now that the answer to that seems likely, I have to ask you another question: do you want to continue? If you're satisfied with what you've found, you don't ever have to open this folder. It's up to you, and whatever you're comfortable doing."
Selphie bit her lip and sucked in air through her nostrils. Retta's voice was so soothing, her offer so understanding, that Selphie had to fight the urge to run into her arms and cry and forget she'd ever read that stupid article to begin with. She could wipe it from her mind, maybe junction three or four GFs back at Garden to make sure it was gone for good, then go on with her life of airships and SeeD missions and Garden Festivals.
But would her questions really just disappear? She'd be lying if she said she hadn't idly contemplated the possible answers for most of her life. And those eyes… her eyes, Captain Alden Tilmitt's eyes… there was no erasing what she had seen. Her father's eyes would haunt her reflection forever, and she'd never truly be herself again, unless she finished what she'd started.
She sighed, then faced Retta and held out her hand. "I'd like to look at the folder, please. I'm going to see this through."
Alden, twenty-eight. Luzia, twenty-seven. Bartley, five. Gerlinde Josten, sixty-two.
Father, mother, brother, grandmother.
Names Selphie should recognize, ages that should have increased. She dutifully recorded them in the notebook beside her and moved on to the next document. Read, jot, next. The process became mechanical, and she gradually distanced herself from it, scribbling notes as if she was studying for a test, nothing more.
School diplomas, military certificates, a certificate of marriage, census records—and her own birth certificate. So, Retta had found proof, after all; no wonder she was content to let the mystery rest. That Retta hadn't immediately told her annoyed Selphie, but the feeling soon dissipated beneath a wave of gratitude. As it was, the confirmation settled like a rock in her chest. She couldn't imagine hearing it for the first time in casual conversation.
As she had done with the rest of the information in the folder, she filed it away in the back of her mind and moved on. Slowly, a story began to emerge from the pieces she had, bare-bones, but coherent.
Alden was born and raised in Mosden and transferred back there as part of a security unit after serving several years in Esthar City. Luzia appeared to be a homemaker during her final years, but records showed that she'd worked at the mine—in the mine—since she was sixteen. They married in April, two years before Bartley was born. They would have celebrated their anniversary a few weeks ago.
Selphie tapped her pen against her thumb, causing the little Moomba charm on its end to dance, and pored over the collected minutiae in front of her. It seemed that for every answer she uncovered, twenty more questions sprung to mind. Who were these people, beyond the dry facts filled in on forms, beyond their occupations and identification numbers? Who were they at home, with each other, and with Bartley and Gerlinde and her? Were any of their personalities anything like hers, and what, besides her father's eyes, did she still carry of them, in unknowing defiance of the violence that took their lives?
And why, she wondered, cursorily estimating the distance between the Vienne Mountains and Edea's orphanage, was I taken so far from everyone who knew them? How did I end up in Centra, of all places?
As much as she appreciated the information Retta and Haren had gathered, it ultimately amounted to mere framework, little more than a few lines on a family tree. If she wanted more answers, she needed to ask the people who had them. She needed to visit Mosden herself, to see if anything clicked, either inside of her, or in the story she was piecing together.
She set aside her pen and stretched, then pushed back her chair and walked out the stiffness in her legs toward Retta's desk.
"I take it you found quite a bit of information," Retta said, looking up from a book she was reading. "You sat there for over three hours."
"I didn't want to miss any details." Selphie leaned on the desk and rubbed her eyes. "Thanks again for finding all that stuff. I only wish it hadn't made me even more curious."
"Is that necessarily a bad thing?"
"Only if I can't follow up. So… what's the best way to get to Mosden?"
"Patience." Retta angled her monitor toward Selphie and pulled up an Estharian government webpage with the header, Travel Regulations. "The main mode of transport between here and the communities north of the Mordred Plains is a subterranean railway—"
"An underground train?" Selphie perked up. "Awesome! How come I've never heard of it?"
"The same reason you'll need patience. Access to the railway is tightly controlled, and as a foreigner, you'll require an official pass issued by the government to travel on it."
"All right, where do I pick one up?"
"It's not that simple." Retta printed out a few pages and handed them to Selphie. "There is, as usual with things like this, a process. Fill out this application. Argider and I can vouch for you, so go ahead and enter our information in the 'Sponsorship' section. Once you submit your application, if approved, you should receive a pass in about a week or two, which is good for the following thirty days."
"Red tape?" Selphie deflated and draped herself across the desk. "Can't I just go to Sir Laguna for one of these?"
"He'd only be able to sponsor your application. The pass itself must be issued by the Interior Transportation Commission." Retta chuckled and picked up her book again. "Look at it this way, Selphie: the wait will give you the chance to make the proper preparations for your trip. Time to ask for leave, to come up with questions and refine them, so you can get the most out of your time in Mosden."
"Yeah, and die of curiosity in the meantime."
"Nonsense. If it were possible to die of curiosity, I wouldn't be here now. Neither would Argider. Or Quistis, for that matter."
Selphie pouted, struggling not to smile but finally giving in. "Okay, I get it. It's so hard to wait, though! I have all these questions, more than I had when I got here. I have no idea what I'm going to find in Mosden, and I kinda want to get it over with and find out already, you know?"
"I know. I also know that if you don't get that application filled out and turned in now, your wait is going to be even longer."
"Oh. Right." Selphie started back toward the table where she'd been sitting, then stopped and turned around. "Thank you, Retta. You and Haren and Argider. Thank you all so much for helping me. No matter what I find, no matter where I end up, I'll never forget this!"
"I still can't believe Cid approved your request," Rinoa said, sitting on Selphie's bed and watching her shove clothes and toiletries into a duffel bag. "After what happened with Quistis, I figured he'd be wary of any of you heading to Esthar for more than a few days."
"That's why I didn't tell him that." Selphie punched down her clothes and laid another pair of jeans on top. "As far as he knows, I'm going to Trabia to see my friends. And as far as I know, you're the only one who knows the truth, so I'd better not come back to a bunch of weird rumors."
"I wouldn't do that!"
"Promise?"
"Of course."
"Not a word, not even to Squall. Especially not to Squall. If you absolutely have to blab, tell Angelo. She won't talk."
"She can't."
"Exactly."
Rinoa leaned back on her hands and stretched her legs out in front of her, alternately raising and lowering each one. "And if you don't come back?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh no, nothing bad! I mean, what if you meet someone… or maybe even a whole family out there…?"
Selphie grinned. "I see Cid's not the only one with trust issues after Quisty's little stunt." She sat down and flung an arm around Rinoa's shoulders. "Rinnie! You don't have to worry about me. I'm not going to move to Mosden. I just wanna find some answers there. I wanna find out who I am. I'll definitely come back; I can't abandon one of my best friends, especially in a place like this!"
"I guess that was a silly question."
"Totally. But it's nice to know I'd be missed if I ever did decide to leave."
"So, how are you getting to Mosden?"
"The looong way. Boat to Dollet, airship to Esthar, and from there… Retta's arranged some transportation for me." Selphie stood up again and looked at her duffel bag, hands on her hips, as if willing the contents to fit. She resorted to holding them down with her elbow as she coaxed the zipper closed.
"Yikes. What time are you leaving?"
"0600 hours."
"Double yikes." Rinoa chuckled sheepishly. "In that case, do you mind if we just say our goodbyes now?"
"Of course not! Come here!" She pulled Rinoa into a tight hug. "I'll miss you. And Angelo, too!"
"Safe travels, Selphie. And let me know the minute you get back; I'm eager to hear about what you find!"
"Will do!" She watched Rinoa leave, then flopped back onto her bed. "Assuming I find anything worth sharing."
Two weeks of leave, an official travel pass, a few names and dates and random facts—not the most robust toolkit for the task ahead of her, but if anyone could make do with whatever she had on hand, it was Selphie Tilmitt. She fished her packing checklist from her pocket and read through it several more times to make sure she wasn't forgetting anything important, then glanced at the clock on her nightstand in time to see the minute advance.
A mixture of excitement and trepidation, not unlike the rush she felt on the battlefield, rose in her chest.
21:53.
Eight hours, seven minutes remaining.
No turning back now.
The Esthar railway station was sleek and immaculate, like everything else in the city center. It was also eerily quiet. Selphie's and Retta's footsteps echoed in the hallway leading to the platform, and the absence of chatter or announcements or even cheesy music therein created a tomb-like atmosphere. When they reached the platform and Selphie saw that they were not, in fact, the only people in the station, she gave a sigh of relief, and released the tension in her shoulders she hadn't even realized was there.
Before her, a handful of travelers, some in the customary white robes and headdresses, others in more casual wear, wheeled suitcases and carried duffel bags and nodded in acknowledgement of one another but did not gather or talk. They each sought out a place on the benches lining the platform, pulled out a book or a magazine or a computer, and waited.
"All right, this is it." Selphie jumped at the sound of Retta's voice. "You kept your pass handy, right? You'll need to show it to the conductor before boarding, and again to the station staff in Mosden."
"Got it!" Selphie tapped her shirt pocket. "How long do you figure the trip will take?"
"Argider said he gets to Tupina in about three hours. Mosden is closer, so I'd say about two-and-a-half. You'll be there by this afternoon." She smiled. "Are you nervous?"
"I hate to admit it, but a little. What's wrong with me? I'm a SeeD! I fight monsters and bad guys and time-bending sorceresses. I shouldn't be worried about some measly trip!" In the silence, her voice carried farther than she thought it would. Several travelers looked at her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.
"I mean," she went on, in a lowered voice, "it's nothing compared to everything else I've been through, right?"
"And it's nothing like anything you've done before. It's perfectly normal to feel apprehensive." Retta rummaged through her purse and pulled out a box of cookies and a small blue notebook. "Here, snacks for the trip—" she handed over the cookies—"and this. I know you have your computer and plenty of notebooks for your research, but this one is just for your thoughts and feelings."
"Like a diary." Selphie flipped through the notebook and smiled at the tiny cartoon Pupus on the bottom of each page.
"Precisely. I don't want you to get so caught up in your research that you ignore what you're thinking or feeling. Whatever questions or emotions you have, jot them down here. And, if that's still not enough to get everything out, feel free to call me, anytime. I mean it."
"Thanks, Retta. You're too good to me!" Selphie hugged her as the train entered the station and glided to a stop.
"Not at all. I only want you to take care of yourself, okay?" Retta patted Selphie's back. "Now, go on, before you get left behind."
Selphie nodded, then jogged to the train. She handed her ticket and her pass to the conductor, who seemed oddly unsurprised to have a non-Estharian passenger, then made her way inside and selected her seat, waving to Retta as the train pulled out.
She was dismayed to discover that most of the journey consisted of speeding through a tunnel, and therefore, that the view from her window consisted of darkness streaked by a narrow band of artificial light, and a muted reflection of the train's well-lit interior. After about an hour of flipping through the railway's complimentary magazine front-to-back and back-to-front, she tossed it onto the empty seat beside her and turned to the window, trying to follow the stream of light with her eyes, trying to pick out individual fixtures. This passed only the next few minutes, until her eyes went crossed and she was forced to look at her reflection, instead. She smiled at it, and began giving herself a quiet pep talk, but stopped abruptly when the image of her father's face overlaid hers, beginning at the eyes.
She swallowed a shout and quickly sat back in her seat, facing forward and grasping for the magazine. The image faded from her mind's eye as she read about the latest developments in Estharian home technology, but for the remainder of the journey through the tunnel, she could feel Alden Tilmitt staring at her, through the years and the distance, demanding recognition.
At last, the train emerged into sunlight, slowing as it approached a range of rugged, snow-capped mountains. It passed between them, plunging the car into shadow for a few minutes, before cresting a hill to reveal a small town ahead. The automated announcement confirmed that this was Mosden, and Selphie cast curious glances out the window while she gathered her belongings. As in the pictures Argider had shown her, the town was a collection of modest buildings in a bland palette of grays and browns, accented here and there with bright shutters and blooming flowerboxes. A woman walked along one of the streets, a bag of groceries in each hand, and on a playground, a group of children had organized a game.
Yet the train continued past the town to a small outdoor platform a considerable distance away, where Selphie was the only passenger to disembark. A pair of Estharian soldiers flanked the platform, and as the doors hissed shut behind her and the train pulled away, one of them approached her.
"Welcome to Mosden," he said in a tired monotone. "May I see your pass, please?"
Selphie handed it to him and he studied it, then motioned the other soldier over. They both continued to scrutinize the card, turning it over and tilting it in the light to check for the official hologram overlay.
"Is there a problem?" Selphie asked.
"Not really. Just wondering what a non-Estharian is doing all the way out here."
"Research."
"Oh yeah? On what?"
"Airship materials."
The soldier scoffed. "Good luck with that. The security at the mine is tighter than a drum. Unless you've got clearance already?"
"No, but I'll manage." Selphie reclaimed her pass.
"Whatever you say, lady." He jerked his thumb toward the town. "Town's about a ten-minute walk from here. Hotel and a few food joints are on the main street. Have a nice day."
Selphie made a noncommittal sound as the soldiers resumed their posts, then began walking toward Mosden. That was certainly not the reception she'd expected. While she hadn't expected flattery and celebration—no one even knew who she was, after all—she'd expected something a bit more genial, a welcome laced with a little less suspicion.
The early afternoon sun warmed her face, but a cold breeze reminded her that spring came late to places like these. Beyond the climate and topography, however, Mosden felt far less like Trabia than Selphie had hoped it would. It wasn't just the mini-interrogation at the platform; there was something different in the air here, a palpable tension that radiated out of town and across the countryside.
Suddenly, Esthar and Balamb felt worlds away, Quistis and Retta and Rinoa like people she'd known long ago. She trudged forward, trying to understand the anxiety pulling at her insides. And when she did understand it, when she learned its name, the feeling only intensified.
As much as she enjoyed others' company, Selphie was still proudly independent, and no stranger to occasional solitude. But on this rugged landscape, headed toward a town full of strangers she used to know, her solitude contracted, until it molded against her like a second, invisible skin, isolating her from everything and everyone else.
She was alone.
For the first time she could remember, Selphie Tilmitt was completely alone.
