Not so the party of five struggling against the blinding snow and wind.

"si slx. un a av top," Syn grumbled. The words were ripped away by the wind, incomprehensible even to Locke, who was not more than five feet ahead.

"What's that?" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Useless! We! Have! To! Stop!" Syn bellowed back.

Cal had been silent for most of the trip, but now he too spoke up, concurring. "We'll have to find shelter. Wait out the storm."

<Well, there are enough caves in this area. We could find one easily. But...>

"Do we have enough food?" he wondered, aloud.

This time it was Driel who answered. "We could last a little over a week, but it would be tight rations."

"I don't think we have a choice. We can't even tell where we're going. For all we know, we could have walked right past Narshe."

<Syn definitely has a gift for putting things in perspective.>

"So, we find a cave and wait out the storm?"

Reluctant nods. <It's probably a good idea. We're not getting anywhere...> Locke pointed to a branch in the pass the group had been following--at least, he hoped it was the branch. Syn was right; he could hardly see. "I think there's a small cave in that direction."

* * * * *

His memory hadn't failed him. The cave was still there, and still stocked with dry wood--not enough for over a week, he thought, but better than nothing.

<Well, with 5 people in this space, it should be warm enough.> In truth, the shelter was fairly spacious. He'd chosen one much larger than he would have needed alone, those years ago. Now, he was glad he had.

Cal's voice shook him out of his reverie. "How'd you know this was here?"

Locke paused only for a moment before replying. "I came across it a little over a year ago. I was searching for... something I thought might be nearby. There're a lot of caverns near Narshe. But this one is a dead end."

"I'm surprised you didn't forget about it... luckily for us."

Locke just shrugged. Then added, "We would've found someplace else."

"With firewood?"

He turned away and sat near the mouth of the cave, watching the snow pile up. Already, when they had entered, it had covered the bottom two feet of the entrance to the cave. At this rate, they might be snowed in within three or four days.

The cave was filled with various noises as five-- well, four now--people unpacked essentials. Strangely, Locke felt alone here. Staring at the hypnotic swirl of falling snow, he felt a... silence. That was the only word for it. And his mind began to drift to another silent night.

* * * * *

The door closed quietly behind him. She stood at the rail, looking out over the sea, her back to him. He watched for a moment as the wind pushed a strand of golden hair across her cheek. She turned slightly--he could see her eyes, shining a strange, pale blue-green in the moonlight--then looked away again. The moment was lost. She slowly walked away, down the stairs, toward the sea...

* * * * *

A tap on his shoulder shook him out of the daydream. "Locke?"

Driel, frowning in concern. He blinked slowly, twice. "Sorry?"

"Were you planning to eat?" She gestured toward the back of the makeshift shelter, where Alcan was busily dividing a small loaf of bread and a block of cheese. Without waiting for an answer, she turned. Locke followed her to the others, and sat. Nobody had made a fire yet... that was probably for the better. Their supply of wood was limited.

<Celes...> How long had it been since he'd thought of her? Before his sickness, probably. <I wonder where you are now?>

The meal, like all travelling food, was bland.

Locke wouldn't have noticed if it had been a royal banquet. His thoughts were elsewhere.

* * * * *

The wind rushed past his face as he sat on the airship deck, holding a stone in his right hand. Concentrating, he attempted to follow the recently-reborn Phoenix and comprehend the paths of magic the avian lord of life revealed. It was arduous work; he had never before attempted to learn magic of this power, and he knew that mastery of the life magic would take weeks, or months, at best.

But now he had the will to master it. For the first time, he was fighting for the future, rather than against the past. He felt curiously light and energetic. The stone in his hand had revived Rachel from her long sleep, if only for a short time. And she had remembered.

He glanced up at the soft sound of a footfall nearby. Celes stood not five feet away, her expression unreadable. Her long white cloak was wrapped around her body as though, uncharacteristically, she was trying to hide in it; and when she spoke, it was with a strange note of hesitation, which Locke had never heard from her before.

"Locke, I..."

"It's all right."

She nodded and sat down slowly, saying nothing. After a few minutes of silence, Locke turned his attention back to the softly-glowing magicite stone in his hand.

* * * * *

"Three kings, a knight, and a deuce."

Setzer chuckled gleefully. "Almost, my dear, but I'm afraid I win again. Three queens and two knights."

Locke looked at his hand and sighed in mock despair. "Remind me never to play cards with you two again," he joked, glancing from Setzer, who sat to his right, to Celes, at his left. "Three deuces, a page, and a seven."

The three turned expectantly to the fourth player, who was peering at the cards in a puzzled fashion. After a moment, he set them on the table and shrugged, commenting, "Ouwaaou."

Setzer rolled his eyes. "Well, you're the one who asked to play."

Locke stared at the cards... and laughed. "I think he's managed to pick up the basics," he managed to gasp, between breaths.

The others gazed at him, bewildered, then glanced at the cards themselves. Four aces and a page.

Celes grinned. Glancing at the Jidoorian clock on the wall, she added, "We must be nearly to Albrook by now... I'll go check."

Locke, still chuckling to himself, stood. "I'll go with you. I've been down here too long."

As he climbed the ladder to the deck, he could hear Setzer's faint murmur, repeated again and again: "I don't believe it... I don't believe it..."

* * * * *

Locke woke, wondering why it was so dark... and sighed, as he remembered. He looked towards the cave mouth--now buried to a depth of almost four feet--and saw that the storm hadn't stopped yet. They might be here for a while.

Syn, who was already awake and staring into the storm with a strange ferocity, echoed the sentiment. "We might be here for a while."

He nodded. "Let's hope it's not too long."

* * * * *

Metal clashed on metal as Valiant impacted on the golden armor, slicing through for the last time as Kefka's pearl creation shrieked and disintegrated.

"It's over, Kefka!" Terra shouted. "We've killed your hideous creations. Now show yourself!"

The mad, cackling laughter that surrounded them threatened to deafen them. The room seemed to spin and darken as Kefka's voice, charged now with power but still recognizable as that of the madman who had tried to burn Figaro so long ago, rang out. "Yes, it's over, you pathetic fools. Nothing can stand against me... I'll destroy it! I'll destroy it all! And I'll start... with YOU!"

A flash of light then, and Locke found himself with the other three at the pinnacle of the mountain Kefka had raised, a barren spire climbing high into the sky. High enough to break through the omnipresent layer of clouds, and burst into the warm, golden light of the sun--the light which had once shone on the world, before the fall. Before Kefka.

Now the light shone only on the madman, or so it seemed. He stood radiant before them, winged, almost bursting with the magical energies he had absorbed. Kefka was an insane angel, more powerful than any of the goddesses had been.

But Cyan Garamonde made himself equally imposing. "Thou shalt pay, villain!" he roared. "I strike for Doma... and the world!" And the battle was joined as the greatest swordsman in the world leapt at the angelic fiend, slashing viciously with Skyrender, a blade fabled to be sharp enough to cut the earth itself in two with a stroke.

It scratched Kefka, and the gloating madman's face twisted with insane rage. "You *dare*?!" he shrieked. "That does it! You're a GONER!" And at Kefka's very word, a wave of force crashed over the spire, opening gaping wounds in the four warriors. Locke teetered at the collision and barely managed to avoid falling from the spire; Terra cried out and dropped to one knee; Celes dropped her scimitar as her sword arm was sliced open from wrist to elbow. Cyan took the brunt of the blast--Locke couldn't imagine how he'd survived it at all.

A low murmuring in the background became louder and stronger, and he recognized it as Terra's voice. A swirl of prismatic sparks appeared around him, and he felt his wounds closing, his energy returning. But there was no time for thanks; the mad god Kefka was preparing another spell.

"We've got to him him quick." He leapt, rolled, and stood, slashing with Valiant as he passed Kefka. "Can't let up, or he'll be able to focus his power..." With his unoccupied right hand, he drew the pearl blade, Illumina, the Sword of Light, and approached again.

Cyan's blade flashed again, as he delivered four rapid blows. A blast of lightning burst from Celes' now-healed hand, to singe Kefka's wings.

"We need to work together," called Terra. "This isn't enough."

Kefka proved her right as he completed the spell, Fallen One. Locke nearly dropped to the ground, the life drained from his body... but Terra repeated her spell of restoration.

Celes parried a blow, and gasped, "Remember what we practised? Locke? Terra?"

Locke shouted an assent, and Terra, now in her Esper form, yelled to Cyan. "Hit him... hard!"

As Cyan unleashed yet another sword technique, the others dropped their weapons and began chanting. Terra's spell was completed first, calling a blast of lightning from the heavens to strike Kefka. Almost immediately, Celes launched a volley of icicles at him.

<This is for you, Rachel.>

"I call upon the power of the Phoenix, lord of life--wrap the villain Kefka in your flame!"

A bolt of flame immolated the god of destruction, and the four watched as their combined skills caused Kefka's body to begin breaking up. Swirls of magical energy, gone wild now that Kefka's will could no longer contain them, began eating his body away. And the entire time, he screamed. Not in pain, not even in defiance, but in sheer hatred.

Then magic began to fade, and the warriors ran for their lives to escape Kefka's crumbling tower.

* * * * *

"This way!" Setzer called, his long hair streaming behind him as he ducked aside to dodge a falling piece of metal. Locke followed across an unsteady floor, until he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.

Celes had turned back and leaned to pick something up. There was a rumble as the tower shifted positions and...

The floor fell.

<NO! Not again...>

Locke leapt, hand outstretched... and clasped Celes' wrist in a strong grip. Although he strained to lift her back to the platform, he couldn't help smiling. "I will not... let go... I promise!" he winked.

Then she was back on her feet, and the two started running towards the stairs again. The image of her eyes, staring up into his, lingered... and he decided. "Celes, I..."

She smiled. "It's all right."

He grinned as he skipped down the flight of stairs.

* * * * *

"Let's hope it stops soon, or it'll bury us in here. We'll suffocate."

Syn muttered something, shaking his head; Cal looked sorrowfully at the narrowing gap between the top of the snow and the roof of the cave mouth. Both Alcan and Driel frowned, as if wishing they could do something, but knowing they could not. And Locke sighed and turned back inside himself.

* * * * *

"Still planning on being a treasure hunter, are you?"

"Not just a treasure hunter. The _best_ treasure hunter." He sheepishly returned her smile, and added, "I wasn't joking, that time in the cave."

"I think that's what I like about you. You haven't given up your dreams."

"Neither have you, Rachel. Remember?" His smile broadened as she blushed.

"Well..." she stammered, "It's just... nobody in this village ever seems to _do_ anything! So few people ever leave. And most of the ones that do run the same trade route to Figaro or Jidoor, and never see the world. I... I don't _want_ that."

He laughed. "Come with me, then. You want to travel, you're better with knives than I am, and not much worse with a sword. Besides... umm." He stopped suddenly and looked away.

It didn't help. He swore he could feel her gaze boring into him. "Besides what?"

"Um, nothing."

"Locke..." There was an odd tone in her voice, somewhere between exasperation and amusement, he decided. The tone that infallibly became anger if it failed to produce any results.

He sighed. "Besides... I can talk to you." It wasn't exactly what he'd been about to say, but maybe it would satisfy her.

No such luck. As he glanced back at her, he caught her puzzled expression. "What do you...?"

"Merine!" he called, interrupting her. "Sascha! Loryn!" He waved at the three girls walking on the other side of the street, and jumped down from the top of the wall, where he and Rachel had been sitting. Merine smiled happily and waved back; Loryn, who had always been a little more reserved, smiled shyly. And Sascha, as usual, mumbled something that he chose to take as a greeting.

Behind him, he heard the double tap of shoes on cobblestones as Rachel gracefully jumped to the ground. With half a dozen quick steps, she closed the distance, standing next to Locke. "Hello," she greeted the three.

The five spoke for a short time--rather, Merine, Rachel, and Locke spoke while Loryn stood three paces back and listened, and Sascha alternated between gazing impatiently at Merine and studying the townspeople as they walked by--but Locke found his reprieve was to be short-lived. Merine had decided to help pick apples at Old Kerlan's orchard, and, true to form, had convinced Loryn and Sascha to help. All too soon, Locke found that he was waving goodbye.

Hoping to avoid a return to the previus topic of their conversation, Locke asked, "What is it with Sascha, anyway? Does she have any friends besides Merine?"

Rachel was still watching the three girls thoughtfully. "Maybe not. Some people have trouble making friends."

"You can say that again," Locke muttered.

As if she had not heard, Rachel continued, "Maybe she's just afraid she'll get hurt if she gets too close to people."

Locke considered that. It didn't seem to make sense--wasn't Sascha hurting herself by not getting close to people?--but he had to admit that it was a possibility. She had never seemed to make sense herself, so maybe... "Do you think she'll be like that forever?"

"Maybe. Or maybe she'll learn."

"I guess we won't know anyway. We're leaving, and she's not." He smiled at the thought of leaving the confines of Kohlingen.

"'We' again?" Rachel grinned mischievously. "What is it with this 'we'? You never did finish..."

Locke stifled a groan.

* * * * *

Locke stifled a groan. "We've only got enough food for two days. Then we'll have to leave."

"Then we'd better hope the storm dies out," said Alcan.

Driel nodded. "It doesn't seem to be snowing as hard as it was before," she added, a touch of hope in her voice.

Locke looked at the cave entrance, now covered to six feet. The snow didn't look any lighter to him...

* * * * *

He yelped and drew his arm back as the ointment was applied to the wound.

"Hold still."

"That hurts more than the cut did in the first place," he griped.

"Well, it's your own fault. Next time dodge instead of trying to parry. Now let me finish putting this on..."

"It's not my fault the sword broke," he protested. But he acquiesced. He always did, any more.

"That's your problem," Rachel scolded. "You rely too much on your sword and not enough on your speed. It nearly got you killed, fighting that mantis."

"I'm still alive, aren't I? Besides, you managed to get the gem."

"Well..."

"I knew it. You do have the spirit to be a treasure hunter." Locke grinned despite the lingering ache from the deep wound to his right arm.

Rachel rolled her eyes expressively. Then, looking back at Locke, whose expression had not changed, dhe slowly smiled. "Just... be more careful, okay?"

"Nice to know you care." He smiled roguishly.

She laughed. "You're impossible."

* * * * *

Cal shook him awake. The young ex-Imperial soldier seemed more lively than he had in weeks. "It's stopped!"

Locke blinked sleepily. "What..?"

"The snow. It's stopped!"

He came awake at that and sat up. Indeed, the snow had stopped falling. Just in time, too; less than one foot of the cave entrance was clear.

Syn's voice came from behind him. "Looks like we'll have to dig our way out. Unless you want to wait for spring." He laughed gruffly.

Driel chuckled, but her laughter faded as she looked at the wall of snow in front of her. "We'd better get to work, then."

* * * * *

Several hours later, the group of five ascended out of the cave, blinking as the sunlight, reflected from the snow, nearly blinded them.

Once they had adjusted to their surroundings, Alcan spoke. "I think we're not too far from Narshe," he ventured. "This area looks familiar."

Locke nodded. "We're probably a little too far west. It's hard to tell with all this snow."

"So," Cal finished, "We should reach Narshe if we travel north, and bear east."

A murmur of assent rippled through the group and they started moving again, after the week-long pause the storm had caused.

And even if it had been directed to a specific audience, there wasn't any chance of them hearing it. Conversation was kept to a forced minimum. Only Driel and Alcan spoke when huddled momentarily behind a building or finding refuge between drifts. All started to yearn for the safety of the cave. But they also knew that the journey was inevitable.

Yet the merchant's voice managed to reach Cal's ears, perhaps carried on the swift air currents. In any case, the ex-Imperial turned to him and shouted, "Neither have I. But doesn't it arouse your curiousity? Those up front certainly seem intent on finding her. Must be someone immensely important."

Syn faintly nodded in acknowledgement.

--

A tall man stood on a hill facing Mobliz. He bore a grim look on his face, accompanied with a numerous collection of scars. His armor was tarnished and had several score marks, but it would surely shine like new if polished. They made him look dismal and extremely weary, the latter probably evident no matter what state his clothes were in.

The hunter that looked up from tending his hounds called out, "What is your business here, stranger? I know every local face, and we don't get many travellers 'round here."

"Not to cause trouble, if that's your query," the man returned, equally mistrustful. "I seek considerable healing. If you'd kindly tell me of a good bed, I'd be much obliged."

"Well," the hunter said carefully, "the inn on the eastern edge of town has respectable rates along with comfy beds." After a moment, he added, "Or so I've heard." He knelt down to return to grooming his dogs.

Nobody else seemed to notice the arrival of the man. Most tended about their work without skipping a beat. The children took at least a fleeting interest in him, but were quickly reprimanded by their elders. The stranger made his way through the small village until reaching the inn. The building appears large and proportion. Tempting aromas wafted to his nose from what he quickly surmised to be the kitchen. That would have to wait, however.

He stepped into the front office. The woman behind the counter eyed him warily. "Good day, sir. Will you be staying in 'The Lion's Mane' tonight?"

"Yes. For three nights."

She quickly scribbled something on a thick parchment. "Ok. We have many rooms open. Oh, and what's your name again? Need it for the records, of course."

The man grinned. "Of course. I'm Aren Unne."

--

"You once lived here, correct?"

"Yes, when I was young. Most likely changed it a lot since then, though. Built new buildings, mined a bit more; stuff like that. And even the memories that exist of this icicle are faint. Don't count on me as a guide." Syn gazed doubtfully into the storm. He could barely see a few yards beyond the shelter of the cliff.

"You should still have some idea where we are," Locke said.

"Supposedly. My best guess - keeping in mind what I mentioned before - is that we're roughly south of the mines. Bunch of hills coming up that eventually lead to some houses. Follow the path down, and you enter Narshe. Do we even know if this girl is in the city?"

Driel replied dryly, "She's in the area. I know it."

Cal shouldered his pack. "What are we waiting for?"

"Let's go," Locke said.

"Onward!" Alcan said.

Syn sighed.

--

He carefully removed the heavy helm. It had gathered a large amount of dust on his journey. Now he took time to run a liquid on it, shine it up with a cloth, and replace some inner cloth that had stained. His armor still was terribly dirty, but he didn't want to tackle that problem just yet; it was in the shower, since he had no other idea where to put it.

"Uh, oh. That'll be the death of me if an arrow penetrates it." His attention was focused on a large hole on the back of the helm. "Better get it fixed."

Immediately Aren walked out of his room and across the central greene to the center of town. Shops were scattered in seemingly random placement. Tapping a passing man on the shoulder, he asked, "Do you know where to nearest smithy is? I need to get my-"

"I do not care about your armor. Leave me alone." He quickly walked away.

"But-" Aren said in protest. Other tries to inquire the location of a blacksmith also proved futile. "Guess all there is left is to search every shop."

Upon entering the first, he recieved a broom in the chest. Apparently a grocery. The second appeared to be a hardware store from the outside, but he learned it to be a cobbler when getting a shoe thrown at him. The third was right.

A large man was hammering a thick chunk of metal on the forge. Sparks flew everywhere, yet he seemed to ignore them. "WHAT ARE YE DOING 'ERE?" he shouted over the tremendous clash of metal against metal.

He darted back as another shower of sparks flew at him. "I want..." he paused, realizing that there wasn't much chance of the blacksmith hearing him. "I NEED SOMEONE TO PATCH UP MY HELMET!"

The smith laid down his hammer. "I'd be glad to. Let me see it." He grasped the small help. Aren swallowed nervously when seeing how small it was in comparison to the big man's huge palm. "Ok. Are you sure that you wouldn't rather get a whole new one? This one is kinda... small. It'll probably break soon."

He scowled. "It's held out long enough. Besides, I don't have time for this."

"Truly. It's ready to fall apart." He studied Aren for a moment. "Actually, I know of a certain one that would fit you extremely well. Go well with your build, and compliment your eyes."

The other raised an eyebrow.

"Plus, I could get it sent directly to you. Only 15,000 GP."

"WHAT?! That's crazy! I could easily get a better helmet just for..." But he knew that no one else would even let him in. "Agreed. Can you get it to me in two days?" The smith nodded confidently. "Good." Turned swiftly, he left.

--

"On and on," the merchant grumbled. "Will there be no end?"

"Wait a minute. Something's there, on the ground." Locke knelt on one knee to inspect the crimson drops on the ground. Large feathers also were scattered across the ground. After a moment's hesitation, Locke concluded, "Blood. Been here for awhile, most likely."

The only sound following this was the harsh wind. Suddenly, Driel froze. "It... it has to be Lola's! She probably came wandering here. Maybe the bird..." She couldn't bear to finish the thought. Cal looked away in shock. The otherwise lively treasure hunter stood resolutely, staring into space. The girl collapsed on the ground.

"We found her," Syn whispered.