Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Sublime ❯ One-Shot

This is my first Final Fantasy fanfiction, and just as a warning, I wrote this piece for English class, so there are some technical changes. For example, I know calling Leviathan is way overkill to counter Fire. However, my teacher does not. Some of the mistakes were on purpose for the sake of this assignment. I've never actually played the game, though, so please excuse any other errors. So without further ado, please read and review!

 

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VIII is property of Square Enix. I am merely borrowing their creative genius.

 

Sublime- adj. 1) characterized by nobility; majestic 2) of high spiritual, moral, or intellectual worth; not to be excelled, supreme 3) inspiring awe, impressive

n. 1) an ultimate example

v. 1) to sublimate (change from solid to gas)

 

Quistis Trepe had good posture. No one would dispute that little fact. Always, she stood tall, with the air of confidence and grace. Chin up, eyes forward, back straight. It was no different this time as she walked briskly down the twisting hallways of Balamb Garden, pale arms clasped around a manila folder. Her standard-issue black boots touched the ground rhythmically. Solidly. Soundlessly. Of course her steps were silent. Force of habit, one would suppose. After all, alerting an enemy of your presence could get you killed. Standard SeeD protocol. Five years of training had drilled it into her mind. Five more years as an official SeeD had made it instinct. Quistis neared a group of SeeD cadets. The graduating lot, she supposed. Halting, they turned to her and bowed.

 

“Instructor Trepe,” they greeted, ever polite. Quistis acknowledged them with a nod and walked past, aware of their lingering eyes. She was Quistis Trepe, the youngest person ever to be made SeeD. She was Quistis Trepe, the youngest Instructor in the history of Balamb Garden. She was Quistis Trepe, the person who saved the world at age eighteen. Of course they'd look at her, at least until the novelty wore off. She had set more than enough records.

 

“Quistis Trepe, please report to the Headmaster's office immediately,” the PA blared. Fifteen year old Quistis got up calmly from her table, ignoring the curious eyes of her classmates. She knew what they were thinking. Trepe, in trouble? She carefully kept her face devoid of emotion, slipping on easily the mask of composure they had all been taught to wear. Under interrogation, hide your emotions and do not speak. SeeD protocol #39. It was another lesson that she had mastered.

 

“Instructor Brevitt.” She managed to make it a statement and a question, an order and a request to be excused. The Instructor nodded once before resuming his lecture on the History of Junctioning.

Leaving the classroom, she walked down the hallway, her gait silent and steady. When finally the door of the Headmaster's office loomed before her, she readjusted the position of her glasses with one hand, raised the other to the door and gave it three even raps.

 

“Come in,” the Headmaster called. Quistis complied, slipping into the small and cluttered room. Headmaster Cid Kramer sat at his desk, focused on some mundane piece of paperwork. The surface of the desk was strewn with stacks of various forms and letters and charts.

 

“Headmaster.” Cid looked up from the violently pink form.

 

“Quistis! You're just the person I wanted to see,” he greeted jovially, before ducking down to open a drawer. The sound of shuffling papers followed.

 

“That is what I assumed from the PA announcement, yes.” Quistis allowed herself a wry smile. Here was the commander of Balamb Garden military school and the founder of the SeeD program. Here was the man in charge of the greatest mercenary force in the world, and yet he chose to spend his days inside this closet he called an office. Quistis winced as a pile of paper collapsed over his desk.

 

“Found it!” Cid held up a white envelope, triumphant. Quistis was still focused on the paper landslide that engulfed his desk. Her hand twitched, reaching out to straighten the stack. Her mind raced with ways to organize his paperwork: numerically, alphabetically—forwards and backwards—, by color, importance… she could even have every sheet cross-referenced. “Oh, don't worry about that.” Cid's eyes twinkled with amusement as he handed her the envelope. Quistis pulled her hand back sharply, and then reached out for the envelope, hiding a vicious flush. Removing the letter, she read it silently, her eyes racing over the words, absorbing and drinking them into her soul.

 

Dear Ms. Trepe,

 

Congratulations on passing your SeeD exam. Your results are as follows:

Written examination: 100%

Field examination: 98.5%

It is an honor to welcome you to the ranks of SeeD.

 

Cid Kramer, Headmaster

Balamb Garden,

Balamb Island, Balamb

 

She read and re-read the words. She had known she had passed as soon as she took the test. After all, she was Quistis Trepe. As much as she had anticipated the outcome though, having the actual letter of confirmation in her hands was something quite different.

 

“That's quite an accomplishment, young lady. You are the youngest person ever to be initiated into SeeD. Congratulations!” He withdrew another packet from his desk, this one large and wrapped in tissue paper. She took it, her eyes questioning.

 

“Your uniform,” he supplied. Slowly, she opened the parcel, revealing the glorious navy fabric. Tracing one finger lovingly over the gold detailing, Quistis Trepe smiled.

 

The silence shocked her from her reverie. The Training Center was empty. She had expected to see at least four students in here, polishing their weapons combat or casting skills, but there was no one in sight. Briefly, she shrugged her shoulders and walked on. She would not complain about the solitude, but an uneasy sense of loneliness pervaded the room, intensified by the harsh fluorescent lighting on the empty, worn sparring rings. Despite its vacancy, the air still held a subtle tang of sweat, tears, and blood.

Ten year old Quistis' eyes widened as she drank in the sight. Countless SeeD cadets dodged and danced before her as blades screeched against blades and magic lit up the room. Gunblades, rapiers, staffs and shurikens cut deadly patterns in the air.

 

“Fire!” someone cast. She watched in stunned silence as the fireball hurtled towards a young man, trailing blue-green magical residue.

 

“Leviathan!” A great blue serpent appeared before the man, twisting itself in a shield around its summoner, lighting up the room as the firelight reflected off its liquid scales. There was a violent hiss as the flames slammed into water. Quistis flinched back from the scalding steam. When the air finally cleared, she stood there, eyes still closed, absorbing the atmosphere of hard work and accomplishment. A warm hand clasped her shoulder. She spun and faced the Headmaster.

 

“Amazing, isn't it?” he asked with a proud smile. “That was the GF Leviathan.”

 

“GF?”

 

“Guardian Force, magical elemental beings. Leviathan is the water dragon,” Cid explained patiently.

 

“Will—will I learn to use one, too?” Quistis' hands trembled at the prospect. To learn to wield a Guardian Force…

 

“In time, you will, Quistis. Welcome to Balamb Garden.”

 

Her lips twitched. Cid had not lied. In her last years of training, she had indeed acquired her own Guardian Forces. Her face suddenly darkened. Her GF's had been with her for seven years. They were more than tools. They were friends. Curiosity flashed across her mind, and she found herself unconsciously reaching for Shiva. Shaking her head sharply, Quistis turned her thoughts to the task ahead of her. Crossing the Center, she stepped into a Junctioning chamber.

 

“Identification and purpose,” the mechanical computer voice ordered.

 

“Quistis Trepe, SeeD 145684, preparing to de-junction,” she replied, monotone.

 

“Proceed.” Panic seized her. Was she insane? What was she doing? Could she really let them go? What? Why? She crushed the onslaught with a mental hand. She was Quistis Trepe. There was no room for doubt. Ever.

 

“De-junction: Shiva.” Quistis refused to let her voice tremble. Her GF's confusion and irritation flashed across her consciousness as the Ice Queen slipped out of her mind. An icy blast down her spine confirmed that Shiva was indeed offended. Quistis shuddered as the last of the GF left her mind. Her head ached and the void in her frontal lobe that Shiva once occupied was almost tangible. Soft singing drifted into her mind, indication the wispy Siren's presence. Gentle questions floated back and forth across her consciousness. Quistis forcibly ignored them, bracing herself against the walls of the chamber. She was Quistis Trepe. Untouchable. Unshakable.

 

“De-junction: Siren.” Ever calmly, the ethereal Siren faded from her mind. Only the lack of song in her mind proved that the GF had ever been junctioned to her. Then the headache hit, and doubly so this time. Quistis massaged her temples vigorously before straightening herself. Gritting her teeth, she retraced her footsteps back to the hallway and continued her trek. The GF's had been with her through countless battles and missions. Their absence left her strangely empty, as she had grown used to Shiva's smart quips and Siren's quiet melodies. She had paid for their powers though, with memories. Feet on autopilot, she struggled to conjure the image of her childhood at the Orphanage with Matron/Edea-turned-Ultimecia, the first one she had regained since she stopped using her GF's two months ago.

 

There was water. An ocean, most probably. She was standing on the beach, watching her friends. Selphie and Irvine, the ever inseparable pair, were running through the waves, screaming with laughter. There had been a sandcastle. Whose? Squall's? No, the silent boy was clinging to “Big Sis” Ellone's hand as she stood next to Matron, who was observing them from a ways back. No, it had been Zell's. Yes, Zell had been the one to meticulously pile and shape the sand into turrets and towers. And Seifer, the wanna-be Knight, had knocked it down. There was a fight…yes, she was sure there had been a fight. She had run to them as fast as her little legs could carry her and had tried to separate the two. Someone had cheered them on, a spectator, most probably Irvine.

 

“Stop being so bossy!” Seifer—no, Zell—had said.

 

“Bossy little Quisty! Bossy little Quisty!” Irvine christened her.

 

Her mind hit a wall. Quistis' eyebrows knit together. And then what? And then, thirteen years later or two years ago depending on how one looked at it, in the aftermath of the Sorceress Wars, she found out that Matron was Edea Kramer, Cid's wife, the host of Ultimecia, the Sorceress who had tried to destroy the world. She found out that Selphie, Irvine, Squall, Seifer and Zell had grown up together at the Orphanage long before they came to Balamb Garden and saved the world as SeeDs…Well, that wasn't completely correct. Seifer had never made SeeD. He left to become Ultimecia's Knight and, in doing so, destroyed Trabia Garden.

 

And therein lies a whole other can of worms! Quistis mentally kicked herself and yanked her thoughts back to the original topic. Now, where was she…Two years ago, she found out that SeeD had been created because Squall had used Time Compression during the final battle with Ultimecia to go back in time to warn Edea about the future. Everything that happened before she came to Balamb Garden was lost to her. Hyne, her head hurt. She refused to wince at the lightening bolts that danced inside her skull, trailing behind the whirlwind of her thoughts. Shiva and Siren were gone, and with time, the memories would come back. Quistis clenched her hands. They had to.

 

“GF's fuck with your mind, Trepe. They screw with your memories and make you dependent on them. And you don't even know you forgot. Despite what the textbooks say, GF's don't save people, Instructor. They destroy them. I don't rely on others to fight my battles.” The end of Seifer's cigarette glowed in the night. Quistis frowned and coughed as he exhaled the acrid smoke.

 

“Stop that. You should quit smoking, you know.” She ignored the well-disguised challenge in his statement. He blew another puff of smoke in her face.

 

“Hell, Trepe. Why do you trap yourself behind SeeD and Garden?” Seifer's voice took on gravelly tone. She started slightly when she felt his fingers barely brush her hair before he dropped them listlessly back to his side. “You shouldn't be locked up behind rules and regulations, Quisty. You should be leading Garden, not the other way around. You should be flying. You were always so much better than Puberty Boy and Chicken Wuss. So much better than all of us.”

 

She didn't comment and left her face carefully blank. Plucking his cigarette out of his hand, she threw it over the railing. “Smoking is bad for you. It damages your lungs and your liver. It also, as you so eloquently put it, `fucks with your mind'.”

 

“I'm already legally dead. Besides, if it really bothered you, you'd leave,” he stated without inflection. “Or kill me,” he added as an afterthought. She remained silent. “You could always arrest me. Hyne knows I'm wanted across three continents for the crimes I committed as Ultimecia's Knight.” Again, Quistis had no reply. “It's what you're supposed to be doing.” She turned away, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. For once in her life, Quistis Trepe did not play by the rules.

 

Quistis turned a corner, almost plowing into Selphie and Irvine. The Trabian girl and the Galbaldian gunslinger regarded her with obvious shock. Selphie was the first to recover. Jabbing her still stunned boyfriend in the ribs, she blurted, “Hyne, Quistis! You're wearing civilian clothes! Your hair, it's down!”

 

“I know,” Quistis replied dryly, dodging Irvine's wandering hand. He was unaffected by her glare.

 

“Please, fair lady, just this once, have dinner with me!” he pleaded. Quistis rolled her eyes.

 

“Once a flirt, always a flirt,” Selphie sighed. Giving Irvine a mock pout, she proceeded to clobber him over the head. “Even if he does have a girlfriend…Say, Quistis, how would you like to join the Garden Committee this year? We're organizing the Graduation Dan—”

 

“Oh! Look at the time!” Quistis glanced quickly at her watch. No matter how much one liked Selphie, no one, no one, wanted to suffer being on the Garden Committee. Gesturing to the folder in her arms, Quistis excused herself from the pair and resumed her steady, paced walk down the hallway, oddly conscious of the shifting of her jeans on her thighs as she moved, or how her cotton T-shirt fluttered with the breeze. Civilian clothes, indeed.

 

Quistis Trepe awoke at precisely 6:00 AM. Slipping out of bed, she touched her toes ten times before reaching for the navy SeeD uniform. Hook, button, and zip, on went the skirt, followed by the crisp blouse and then the jacket. Reaching toward her nightstand, she grabbed her glasses from on top of a large brown book. The spine was well-worn with use and age, but the pages were kept meticulously smooth and crisp. The cover was stiff and clean, clearly embosses with the words SeeD Manual of Rules and Regulations. Placing the spectacles over her sapphire orbs, Quistis then proceeded to pick up Save the Queen, her beloved whip and primary weapon. Coiling it into an even circle, she clipped it's comforting and familiar weight to her waist. 6:07 on the dot. Perfect. Walking to her bathroom, she brushed her teeth vigorously for exactly five minutes before washing her face. Removing her brush from the medicine cabinet, she wrestled her blond hair into its perfunctory fishtail, leaving two wide tendrils down in the front to frame her face. After making sure her bathroom was spotless, Quistis went to breakfast. She didn't bother to check her reflection in the mirror. It was not as if the face that would stare back at her ever changed. Her routine certainly had not.

 

It changed today, she noted. Funny how Save the Queen's absence felt heavier than its presence ever did. She halted in front of the Headmaster's office. Readjusting her glasses, she raised her hand and gave the door three even raps.

 

“Come in,” a voice called. Quistis complied, opening the door to reveal Squall hunched over what used to be Cid's desk.

 

“Commander.”

 

“Quistis,” he acknowledged, as concise as always. Striding over to his desk, she presented him with the manila folder and turned to leave.

 

Squall opened the folder, eyes widening as they registered the papers. Resignation forms.

 

“Quistis!”

 

She spun at the door, meeting his gaze.

 

“Tell them I'll write.”

 

Without another word, she walked away, only this time, her steps weren't quite so even.

 

FIN~

 

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