Eden's Chosen - Part Five

It was always something of a wonder to land at the Esthar Airstation. There was just something about strolling down the Ragnarok's ramp and watching the wonders of the hidden city unfold before him. One moment his vision was occupied by the standard and familiar sights and sounds of the cargo hold of the Rag, the next he had descended just enough to be treated to the sight of the large, translucent blue ring that circled the landing pad the Rag was assigned to, the ring radiating a soft blue light of its own that was so like what lit the rest of the city. Almost immediately the hum and low buzz of the sounds of the Ragnarok's systems running through post-flight checks faded into the faint, musical chimes that announced an arriving flight. By the time his feet touched true Esthari territory there was the standard welcoming party sweeping through the doors of the distant ring, looking almost like they were floating with how perfectly they strode, always keeping the hems of their traditional robes just short of brushing the ground. Nida had tried wearing a set of the robes when he had been on his 'vacation' in the city, only to find that for all the poise and predatory grace that came with martial training didn't quite translate into the same kind of elegance the Esthari people seemed to possess to a child.

“A pleasure to see home?” Squall asked, his voice low, almost conspiratorial, as he passed and slowly made his way toward the advancing party.

“More your home than mine,” Nida countered, speeding up to take his proper official place a half a step behind Squall. Luckily their little play at Nida's role in this trip hadn't called for Nida to carry Squall's bag for him, leaving the only recently awoken SeeD to only his own duffel and weapon. Squall, of course, looked easy and comfortable carrying his bag, but what was to be expected? Leonhart was the son of the President, had a suite waiting him at the Presidential Palace, and had his own store of clothing and uniforms here to account for everything he might need. Nida, on the other hand, had packed more than just what little clothes he had: his pending meetings with Odine and Veringas and then trip to Winhill had called for him to drag along his ruined uniform, several reports and sets of notes on what he remembered, and even his tambo somewhere near the bottom of his bag. Not that his personal possession took up much room, but Nida couldn't help but worry that what he had with him was all he was going to get. What, after all, were the chances that his landlord had just taken everything left in his apartment and sold it? Had he remembered to set up an automatic payment for the rent? What if someone had broken in?

“Neither of us are from here,” Squall answered, his voice breaking through the anxiety that had quietly been taking hold of Nida. “Winhill is your home, and Garden is mine.”

“We're both Garden kids,” Nida countered just as easily, though he knew it was different. He had a family he had remembered from before the time when he became a weapon. Squall had a man he had only come to know recently, stories about a mother who had loved him, and very little memory of his past. Then again, Squall had a family now. Had the 'Orphanage Gang,' had a father, and even had a sister who had known his parents in a way he didn't and who was able to share what she knew. Nida... He had an empty home too full of memories, a grave stone, and more questions that he could even begin to fathom about who he really was and where he was from.

“Yes,” Squall agreed, much to Nida's surprise. “When there is nothing else, we have that.”

It was all the time they had for chitchat as the Esthari greeting party swept into easy hearing range and flowed gracefully into deep bows.

“It is our honor to welcome you back to Esthar, Sirs Leonhart and Nomura,” the man in the lead, dressed in the deep purple of a government official, greeted them. “A vehicle has been prepared to deliver you to the Presidential Palace, and has been equipped with light refreshments to ease you after your no doubt long journey.”

“Sir?” Nida asked just under his breath.

“Almasy didn't tell you? You were knighted after you disappeared,” Squall responded, and the tone of it told Nida all he needed to know. It hadn't been a happy thing in Squall's opinion. No, it had been assumed by Esthar to be a posthumous honor. Wonderful. Apparently Odine had presumed he had killed Nida when the SeeD forces had been unable to find him. Worse, it meant Nida was going to have to deal with more formality than he had never known as a 'simple' SeeD and war hero in Esthar. Knighthoods, after all, were few and far between thing in a country that was still touchy over their part rule by Sorceress Adel.

“Wonderful,” Nida all but threw his head back as he groaned, no where near subtle about his distaste. Squall, for a shock, gave the littlest twitch of his shoulder that could only mean he was amused by the display, for all that the Esthari were trying to hide their shock at his behavior.

“We're running a bit ahead of schedule...” Squall observed after a moment, and as Nida looked back at the Esthari they shifted uncomfortably before him. Well, something told him that whatever Squall said next was going to be positively interesting.

“Yes, that would be an accurate statement,” the lead man acknowledged even as he seemed about ready to start chewing at his lip over the nerves that came with Squall giving someone the hard kind of look that they were now. “The President...”

“Has meetings between now and when I am scheduled to meet with him. I checked with Minister Seagill on the flight. I was informed, in no uncertain terms, that the President's meetings are too important to be interrupted. We'll pay for the driver to catch a ride wherever he wants, and will use the vehicle ourselves.”

With that Squall strode past the gaping Esthari group, leaving Nida torn between falling over from the laughter threatening him or stumbling after Squall and reveling in the short escape from whatever was expected of him. In the end it was duty that had him dashing to close Squall's growing lead, all but holding his breath to keep from laughing. Squall, of course, was far from fooled as he reached Squall's side just in time to hold the door for him with merely a smile.

“You enjoyed that,” Nida accused as he followed Squall through the door and past the customs checkpoint without breaking step as he flashed his SeeD credentials.

“Yes,” Squall admitted as they strode across the narrow ring. This time he didn't even give Nida a chance to make the door first to hold it, letting any illusion that they were here for official duty slip as he held the door open instead.

“You're a terrible role model,” Nida laughed as he slipped through the door and led Squall toward the sleek Esthari car waiting on the edge of the road.

“I never asked to be one,” Squall countered easily as he opened the driver's door and turned the fully of his icy glare on the driver.

Strangely the driver didn't flinch at the look. Instead he met Squall's gaze levelly, sighed, shook his head, and slipped easily from the vehicle. As Squall slipped in the driver even went so far as to hold his hand out, foot tapping impatiently. Nida found himself staring at the exchange as Squall pulled a rather large gil bill from his pocket and hand it over to the driver. The man nodded in satisfaction, picked up the bag Squall had abandoned as he climbed into the car, and then moved to Nida, staring at the duffel he was still carrying. After a moment Nida handed the bag over to the man, who promptly went to place both in the trunk. All Nida could do was round the car in a daze and climb in to the front passenger seat. Almost as soon as he had the door closed Squall pulled away from the curb.

“What...” Nida started to ask, only to have Squall make a satisfied sound in the back of his throat.

“He remembered me,” Squall answered the mostly unspoken question.

“You do this regularly?”

“It's better than sticking around and letting them harass me, or getting hauled in to experience more of King Loire than is strictly necessary when he's already intending to take me out to dinner.”

“You've got dinner with him tonight? No problem, I miss the pizza...”

A simple shake of his head was enough to stop Nida in his verbal tracks, leaving him staring at Squall in confusion.

“Unfortunately, I refuse to have to deal with my father alone tonight. Someone else can live with his stories tonight,” Squall insisted.

“But he's your...”

“Doesn't matter,” Squall answered shortly. “You're joining us for dinner. That's an order.”

“Wonderful. You always come up with the worst ones.”

Squall didn't respond, leaving Nida to stare through the window, waiting to see just where they were bound. Not that he focused on the sight all that much. In fact they were driving for several minutes before Nida realized that he was growing increasingly familiar with the landmarks around them.

“You know where my apartment is,” he observed at last, earning a small nod from Squall. Now there was something he hadn't expected. Yes, Squall had been able to reach him because of having his comm redirect to the land-line in the apartment, but he hadn't let anyone know where he was staying in his down time. He had meant to recover there in private. To overcome the memories of war that hadn't left him alone while he stayed at Galbadia Garden. There had been too much there that was familiar, even if it was different. There had been people who had known what he had done in the war. There had been people asking Seifer for stories about all the battles he led under Zell to help protect Galbadia. There were the whispers when he passed older students and SeeDs about how he had been the one to kill a Galbadian SeeD named Joshua who had been a Zebalgan leader. And there had been the dreams.

Not, of course, that Esthar had managed to take many of those away. But there had been things here that had helped. There had been things that weren't here that helped even more. It had been, for what little time he had managed to be free of Garden and SeeD, to be a home. Now, as with that middle of the night call from Squall that had dragged him to Odine's lab, that space was going to be invaded.

“Of course,” Squall answered, his voice having just the slightest hint of amusement to it. “While the Esthari officials checked the city and the military the area outside of the city right after the incident, SeeD came in to do their own investigation a bit later. Irvine and Seifer searched your apartment for any clues, though we didn't expect to find anything. Seifer also took care of personally interrogating Odine.”

“Oh god,” Nida found himself all but whimpering at that revelation. There was a tension between Odine and Seifer that there wasn't between anyone else in the higher levels of SeeD. Everyone else had been kept away from Odine's experiment with controlled miniaturized Time Compression bubble for various reasons that had to do with ability to understand the experiment, their patience, or just how they personally felt about Odine. Seifer, on the other hand, had been kept away because Odine wanted to use him to study how becoming a Sorceress Knight affected a person, and felt that the best way to do it was to take Seifer apart piece by piece. Seifer, on the other hand, was kept away from Odine because he had more than once referenced a willingness to take Odine's 'clown-head' from his shoulders if he so much as touched a needle in his presence.

“A sentiment I can understand,” Squall agreed. “I smoothed things over later, but Odine, needless to say, took a few weeks off of work after that encounter.”

“I understand,” Nida sighed as the vehicle turned and pulled at last into the almost tiny parking structure near his apartment. The people who lived in this part of the city tended to prefer the transit tubes to their own vehicles, meaning Squall had the pick of almost the entirety of the ten vehicle lot. “Seifer was always something of a...”

“Problem,” Squall finished for him as he pulled into a spot and parked. “He's better now than he was when we were kids. Some of that is really recent.”

It was an oblique sort of compliment, but Nida couldn't help but smile at it. Leadership, that had been the core of the change. And he had helped to put Seifer in the position to let leadership mature him. Not that he could take anywhere near half of the credit. After all, without Squall none of it would have been possible.

“Well, I suppose I should check to see if there's anything left,” Nida said after a deep breath. “Would you mind wait...”

“Yes,” Squall cut in as he turned off the vehicle. “We've got time before I'm expected. I'll help.”

The look on his face, though almost completely blank, had enough there for Nida to see that Squall wasn't going to budge on this topic. Just what he needed, Squall looking through the scattered remains of the life he'd been literally taken from. Pieces he'd always meant to clean up and process before returning to the life of a mercenary. There were things here he hadn't meant to share with anyone. It was bad enough Seifer and Irvine had just marched through it. Then again, he was certain the reason it was those two was because they had insisted, mostly to protect one of his few secrets, one they both possessed. Ironically enough, Squall had known anyway. So, really, what was the point of hesitating? It wasn't as if anything had been outwardly readable about it in the first place.

“Let's hope it's all still there,” he whispered to himself as he pushed the door open.

* * * * * *

“Nice place.”

Nida didn't respond to the off-hand comment, in part because he had no clue just how to do so. As the first through the door into what was still—thankfully—his apartment, there was no chance for him to look at Squall, to read the subtleties of his expression to come up with some hint as to just what was meant by the comment. Instead he heard the comment as he was kneeling by the door, removing his shoes as he always did. Once that was done he stood and moved into the small space that was his Esthari studio apartment. The place was as attractive as he'd left it, but that mostly due to the fact that his SeeD training had made him the kind of man who left a place neat, and the pre-furnished state of the the apartment meant that everything miraculously matched everything else.

“It's not home,” Nida countered as he strode purposefully for the closet in what passed for the bedroom area. “Have you ever spent much time in Winhill?”

“No,” Squall admitted, and there was a tired edge in his voice that made Nida think he regretted it. It was a shame. Since the war Nida had been in a position to know that the people of the village desperately wished to know more of their 'lost son' as they sometimes referred to Squall. The fact that Squall hadn't taken the chance to visit was a shame. Of course, he didn't know the place as home, and the place that had been his home was the residence of a woman a bit older than them that was an 'outsider' as Winhill saw her.

“You should. They'd welcome a chance to know you, Squall. Raine was... Loved. You'd be amazed by the stories they tell about her, as well as Ellone and her parents,” Nida said as he started to dig through the closet for the variety of boxes and bags he'd left in there when he'd 'moved' in. They would be important for the whole packing everything out, and so long as they were going to waste some time here, well, he might as well start packing.

“You've heard stories...”

The way Squall trailed off was enough to pull Nida pull himself out of the closet a bit sooner than he expected, his hands burdened with bags and boxes. It didn't take long for him to find what Squall had done with himself, after all, the bed Squall was siting on was only a few feet away. Almost immediately he dropped his armload and moved to sit next to Squall. Already he regretted telling him about the stories, because Squall, well-controlled Squall Leonhart, was staring down at his feet, his hands folded in his lap. It was a type of break in his normal composure that Nida hadn't seen before and wasn't sure how to deal with.

“You should come with Kiros and me to Winhill,” he said at last, not sure what else he could say. “While I'm looking for the diary, Kiros can...”

“They don't like him,” Squall interrupted, sounding strangely certain. “They never did. Thought he was sort of suspicious, especially since he took Laguna away.”

Nida was left to stare at Squall in confusion. “What... How could you even...”

“Ellone's powers. She showed us when Kiros arrived in Winhill to get Laguna. They were already suspicious enough of Laguna, but they took him in stride for Raine's sake, and Ellone's. And because of how he helped them. They won't talk to...”

Squall stopped short when Nida finally found himself unable to hold back his laughter. Of course, the look that he earned for the escaping chuckle was one that was probably meant to be betrayed, but there was an uncertainty to it. But of course there was. Squall hadn't been to Winhill since the war, except for his short trip in to fetch Nida and Seifer after their little unauthorized trip that led to the death of one Zebalgan Council member and the capture of another. There was clearly a part of Squall that wasn't sure whether he should be hurt. A part that wanted to be told that he was wrong.

“Think about it, Squall. Winhill was a town that was terrorized by Adel in her attempts to capture Ellone. One attempt killed her family. Another finally succeeded and grabbed a sweet little girl that was loved, if feared to some degree. Kiros helped Laguna avenge her family. Since then Kiros has been the village's main point of contact with Laguna, which we did have before you opened them back up to the world just so you know. Maybe they are less open with him than they would be with someone like me who grew up there and left, but they don't hate him. In the grand scheme he probably comes just below me on the desirably scale. And you, well, you rank higher than either Kiros or myself.”

“But you're one of them,” Squall pointed out, and Nida again found himself chuckling, this time a little bitterly.

“You're a son of Winhill. You were born there, and cared for there until your mother passed. That wasn't immediate, just so you know. I, on the other hand, came later. I was never one of them in that way. Think about it, Squall. The village I came from, the place I lived among the Zebalgans, it was destroyed by Adel's forces. And please, I can see you're going to say something, so just don't, okay? I know what you think, the timing is off. I said it was five when the village I was born in was destroyed, and it was Adel. Except we're the same age and... Yeah, not everything that was caused by Adel happened in her lifetime, and there were things done in her name after her sealing. Supporters of the Sorceress that continued her work after what Laguna did. They were responsible for the destruction of my home, so I would still count myself as a war orphan. But because of that I didn't come to Winhill until I was nearly six. It... Isn't the same.”

“I don't get it,” he admitted, and Nida sighed.

“It's small town mentality, but I guess you could think about it as how an organization views members who have grown up with the group as opposed to people who come into the group from outside. Hesitation, even when they prove themselves over time.”

That got a nod from Squall, enough of one for Nida to feel like he'd finally got his point across. “The truth of the matter, Squall, is that they see you as belonging there. All you have to do is approach them.”

There was silence, as there ever was, from Squall for another minute, before the man finally pushed himself from the bed. “We should get some of this packed. Where should I start?”

“None of the furniture is mine, or the stuff in the kitchen. Closets, drawers, bathroom, decorations. If you see it, just throw it in something,” Nida said, also pushing himself to his feet. “I'd prefer to handle the bathroom. Figure out what I do and don't need, you know?”

Squall just nodded, scooped up a bag, and made his way for the closet by the front door. There wasn't much there, if Nida remembered correctly, but there was enough to keep him busy for a bit. Enough here to keep both of them busy, really. At least, until the dinner that he really didn't want to get dragged into. But hadn't life since joining SeeD been about doing things that were necessary whether he wanted to or not? This was just another one of those times.

* * * * * *

“Well, if it isn't the one who got away!”

“Good afternoon, Michel,” Nida responded with a sigh as he dropped his bag next to the small table in the back of the surprisingly large office that had been attached to a astoundingly larger research laboratory dedicated to the Guardian Force researcher. The table was the clear choice for talking as there were a variety of covered plates and bowls on the tables that surely secreted one of the fabulous meals Michel Veringas preferred to have their longer discussions over. After the Zebalgan War Nida had been given over to Veringas as an assistant in his research into GFs recovered from the Zebalgans, as much as a punishment for his flight with Irvine to capture Boyce as for his surprisingly strong and insightful connection with his GF of choice, Siren. So meals such as this had grown to be a common thing for him, to the point where he was certain that Michel would have made sure to pick his favorite foods.

“For future reference, I would prefer not to be referred to as the 'one who got away,'” he added as he flopped down into the only chair other than Michel's that was free of mounds of papers, books, and other odds and ends like spools of wire and boxes of beads of semi-precious stones. “It makes me sound like more than just a research test subject.”

“You were always more than a test subject,” the other man chuckled as he reached for a large metal pot on the table and poured two dangerously full cups of coffee from it. “I considered you more of a... head researcher on one of my projects.”

Just like always Veringas turned his attention fully to the coffees before him, going through the motions of the precise measurements of sugar and very studious stirring necessary to complete the beverages without spilling. It was another little routine that stemmed from Nida distracting him while pouring coffee the first time they had a meal like this and then insisting Michel would never be able to finish the drinks in that state. Thankfully it gave Nida time to compose himself for this whole situation. After all, he had come straight to Veringas's new research complex almost immediately after escaping from five hours with Odine, hours that frankly counted up there in some of the most strenuous and horrific in his life. Which, in the grand scheme of things, was saying quite a bit.

Still, it was a welcome chance to catch his breath and look over the scientist that had somehow become his friend. Surprisingly little had changed in Michel since they had seen each other last, except for maybe his restored passion and level of research in Guardian Forces. When Veringas had been brought to Garden to look over the newly acquired Mateas GF he had been excited to finally do applied research into the area he had spent the last several years doing theoretical work on: distinct levels of GFs and how their connection to their hosts would affect memory or allow communication. Now Veringas, from what little Nida had learned the night before at dinner with Squall and the President, was doing in-depth research on bond formation between GFs and their users, ranging from why the creatures could speak more easily with some users than others, and how strong bonds affected summonings. Squall and the other Garden leaders had been lending SeeDs to Veringas for the research, as well as handing over the war heroes themselves. Only Nida had been kept free of this research as he had spent months after the war as Veringas's only subject as part of his agreement with Squall to allow him to retire from SeeD.

Not, of course, that the retirement had really managed to take, what with his almost immediate exit to be the Galbadia Garden SeeD Commander for a while.

Yet the research, or maybe age, was finally beginning to tell on Michel. When last Nida had seen the man his short-cropped hair had still been straight brown, but now gray was beginning to show through on his temples in a way that Nida hadn't noticed on President Loire, a man only two years Michel's younger. Other than that, though, almost nothing had changed. Michel still favored small glasses that he didn't wear high to fully frame his laughing green eyes, but since he looked over the top of them to read Nida had stopped being surprised by that. So too had he kept the odd mish-mash of slacks worn with a random t-shirt, this time one advertising an Esthari band called Arid Sprogs. It was never anything less than some band or food or entertainment related shirt that did everything but scream of a professional scientist. Somehow it was both reassuring and unnerving to see so little change in the other man. Maybe it was because Nida had thought the time since the war had changed him, and had proved to not.

“Not a drop, as always,” Michel announced triumphantly as he slid Nida's mug slowly across the table. “Impressed, aren't you?”

“As always,” Nida agreed, carefully lifting the drink once it was in reach so he could sip at the hot but not scalding drink just enough to put it down to a lower level. “How have you been doing?”

“Better than you. You look tired. More than tired... Worn,” Michel offered, frowning. The fact that he was avoiding the overly formal and rambling language he used around people he was unfamiliar with or in official situations cheered Nida a little. It was a mark of friendship between them, and something Nida needed right now.

“I suppose it'd be the best way to put it,” Nida mournfully agreed. “I didn't get much sleep after coming back from...”

“Not even at home? You said the bed there was...”

“No,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Nightmares. I suppose that would be the right term for it.”

“Zale?” Michel asked carefully as he started to uncover the plates and bowls. “It concerns me that you are still having your strange dreams involving him after his death. Is it possible that...”

He didn't finish the thought, likely because of the way Nida could feel himself cringing as the other man spoke. For all that Michel could be straight-forward or ignorant of others' feelings when it came to the immediacy of research, he was still considerate when he needed to be.

“Can we move on to some more relevant topics? I just got off of five hours with Odine discussing what I fail to remember about the disappearance and getting prodded with all manor of devices. Squall actually had to quietly threaten to break his arm to keep him from drawing yet another vial of blood before we left. So far as we can tell, we got nowhere with what he was doing. We have a better chance with Rinoa due to the Compression itself being due in part to her power. The hope is that you'll figure out more in your field.”

“Well, Odine was always... Brute force over finesse with this sort of thing,” Michel acknowledged as he uncovered the final plate and began to serve himself. “They tell me that you are remembering things. Things you lost to the GFs.”

And here was the reason that Nida was even present in Esthar, much less with Michel. No one thought they were going to find out just what had happened to hi, it was all too strange to explain. There was hope, though, that whatever had triggered the return of even some of his memories could be explained. Well, maybe some of what Squall and the others wanted was more of those memories, and the hope that they could possibly regain something of their own lost childhoods. Nida... Wasn't sure it was worth it.

“Are those reports Sir Leonhart told me about in your bag?”

Nida was happy to avoid the questions long enough to fill his plate and part of his stomach, so he toed the bag he had carried in closer to the scientist. Eagerly Michel went for the bag, pulling out the various files and plopping them down on the table before him, flipping them open between him and his food and letting his eyes flash over them. Meanwhile Nida helped himself to almost the entire plate of fries and a large chunk of the taco casserole that Michel had confided was his own personal recipe.

“So, you remember where you were born, and your family's names. Not to mention your own. Sheya... It's Centran you know, means 'flying.' I believe it is quite an apt name for you, all things considered. Still, I doubt you're here to hear that from me. How much do you remember that you didn't report?”

Nida looked up from his meal and stared at Michel with a frown. The man hadn't looked up from the files, was still flipping through pages in truth, but the way he asked the question meant he was certain. Well, in matters that related to GFs there really was no point in hiding things from Michel.

“Everything,” he whispered into his food. Then, with more conviction, “Everything. I remember how my mother wore her hair. I know my father took his coffee with three sugars and a dollop of cream. I know that for my birthday my mother made berry tarts because I liked them. I remember the petunias out by our door. I remember the stories my father told me when I was a child. I remember the ones my mother whispered when father wasn't home. I remember everything. At least, everything I'm sure a person should remember of that age.”

The whole while Michel was silent, watching him carefully and nodding slightly as he listened. When Nida finished the files before him were closed, slid aside, and utterly ignored as if they weren't there. Then he did something Nida wasn't expecting: Michel rose from his seat and strode away.

“Where...” Nida started to demand as Michel came to a stop beside a desk and pulled open a drawer. What could be so important as to drag the man away from something like this? The man wanted to know this stuff and yet apparently didn't want to hear it. That didn't make any sense at all.

“Ah, here it is,” Michel announced after rooting around in his drawer for a moment. Something was picked out and in triumph the scientist turned around, letting his prize dangle from his hand in a flash of silver.

For a while Nida only stared. Was it even possible? But no, the chain was familiar, almost identical to the one he already wore around his neck and hung with the mithril wire and bead harp that housed Siren, the Guardian Force with the strongest bond to him and thus assigned to him in her core essence. The harp was her home when he wasn't junctioned, allowing him to maintain his bond and connection to her when he reached for her. Strangely she had basically been silent since his awakening in the ruins of the village he had been born in, something that had worried him to no end. Yet this chain was hung with a different charm, one no less familiar for his more limited experience of the spirit it housed. What other spirit would find its home in the rough shape of a lizard tipped with flames?

“Salamander?” Nida asked in disbelief for all that he was certain it could only be one thing. “I haven't seen him since...”

“Since the war ended,” Veringas confirmed. “Leonhart gave him over to me after your... trip to the Deep Sea Research Lab. Not the most talkative of spirits, and he has hardly done me much good, but I have a feeling that you could benefit from his return. And before you ask, Squall did me the okay on this.”

It had been a question just on the tip of Nida's tongue as Veringas had approached and held the chain out toward him. The closer the chain and charm had gotten, the more Nida could sense the presence within it. His ears filled with the low crackle of a fire, his skin almost felt warmer, and it almost felt as if Siren herself were also reaching out and wrapping her wings protectively around him. Apparently something in the presence of the ancient fire spirit had awoken Siren from her slumber.

Maybe it was the fact that Salamander had taken a particular interest in him because the spirit had been possessed for so long by Elijah Zale. Maybe it was because Siren deferred to the elder spirit. Maybe it was because this, like other moments in recent years, was a changing point for him.

“I can hardly believe you're willing to hand over a GF of Salamander's caliber when he could be so useful for your research,” Nida admitted as Michel deposited both chain and charm into his hands and a rush of warm ran through his body.

“If what Irvine tells me of Mateas is any indication, some of the answers we want and need could come from what you're holding in your hands. After all, they have told far more to you and Irvine than anyone else. To be honest, I've no idea why it is you were able to remember so much. I would have suggested the Compression revealed memories you forgot, but that doesn't account for the time that passed or the reports I heard from Ellone or a lot of other things. Something more complex is going on, has jarred your memories, and I think it has something to do with the GFs and their tie to who you are and are going to be.”

“The prophecies,” Nida grumbled, clutching the charm tightly in his hand to the point where it was almost painful. “That's Irvine, not me.”

“Regardless, there is something important about you,” Michel insisted as he sat back down in his chair and pulled his meal close once more. “And the answers may be there. Just ask him and if he's quiet, we'll eat and try to figure this out on our own.”

With a sigh Nida turned his thoughts inward, reach toward the charm and the burning presence within it. No sooner did he find himself touching the burning essence of the GF than a voice like the roar of a bonfire boomed through his head.

The answer is in her words. Find the words and know.

Just as suddenly as the voice was there it was gone, leaving Nida only with the feeling of warmth and a flood of confusion.

“Well?” Michel asked eagerly, probably having read something in Nida's expression.

“He knows more than he's willing to say. Maybe it's best if we don't rely on him.”

Michel sighed and nodded. “We've two days to figure out as much as we can, so I guess we best dig in.”