Squall sometimes wondered if Ultimecia had managed to steal his eyes during Time Compression. Maybe, during a split-second of insanity, she had plucked them from his skull and replaced them with ones imprinted with her image, her shadow never far from his field of vision.
It was a ridiculous, irrational notion, especially for someone like him, but he was running out of logical explanations for the fact that, over a year after her defeat, Ultimecia continued to haunt his dreams and his waking thoughts, and had transformed a place of memory into a nightmarish reminder of an inevitable future.
He hated visiting the old orphanage, despite the modest and comfortable renovations Edea had made to it. The air there was suffocating, both with painful nostalgia and with the dread of what was to come, and on the breeze, the scent of the sea mingled with the smells of blood and death. But it was the only place Rinoa could safely hone her magic skills, away from judgmental eyes and possible collateral damage, and he accompanied her there once a month, dutifully, stoically, in a manner befitting a knight.
Each time they visited, however, the problem grew worse, and this time, he found that he couldn't even look at the lighthouse behind the orphanage without seeing Ultimecia's castle looming beyond it. He closed his eyes and shook his head and turned toward Rinoa, but Ultimecia was there too, a tall, svelte shadow hovering above her, poised to strike at the first sign of weakness.
Rinoa tilted her head questioningly, then gave his arm a playful punch. "Relax, will you?" she said. "We're a world away from Garden, from your office, from all your responsibilities! You don't have to do anything right now besides just being here and watching over me. Just watch me; is that really so hard?"
She wrinkled her nose and gave a playful grin, but Squall's frown only deepened. The glow that preceded the eruption of her wings was already shining through the back of her shirt, and multifaced swirls of gold were creeping into her irises. He gave a stiff nod but averted his eyes; he couldn't watch Rinoa's wings unfurl in the throes of magic without seeing Ultimecia's darkness spreading through them. And he couldn't look Rinoa in the eye at these times, when her irises flared a brilliant gold, so close to the color of Edea's eyes, only a shade or two removed from Ultimecia's.
"Go on, then," he said, taking a seat on the steps that led to the beach. "I'll be here. I'll watch."
She nodded, and jogged toward the water's edge, already trailing sparks from her fingertips, so full of magical energy she seemed about to go off like a firework. But he did not watch. He couldn't watch, without seeing the shadows of what she might become.
He let out a shaky sigh as shame gnawed at his heart. He couldn't look at the woman he loved, and he felt terrible. Worse than terrible. Guilty.
Useless.
He'd sworn to remain by her side, no matter what their future brought, and he'd sworn to protect her, but how was he supposed to do either of those things, if he couldn't even bring himself to watch her at her most powerful?
At her most vulnerable?
* * *
Rinoa felt him drift away whenever she let the magic in, and she knew he was afraid. Afraid of her power, her potential, her love. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her own voice laughed derisively, reminding her that this was why the concept of a knight was useless, no more than a fairy-tale vision, unable to survive the harsh light of reality.
They hide when things get frightening, it said, and they run when things get dangerous.
"But not away," Rinoa said quietly, shaking her head and spreading a delicate frost over the ocean before her, which shattered with the next incoming wave. Squall would never run away from her; he would run toward anything that threatened her, she knew it. She knew, because he promised, and he promised because he loved her. Nothing would change that…right?
Though she had managed to still her own inner doubts, her mind was still bombarded by all the things Squall wasn't saying. He was confused and scared of everything she might do, and everything he might not be able to do. She had the upper hand in their relationship—in her relationship with the world, in fact—and she was not immune to the thrill that ran through her blood at that realization; but she also realized that this is where other sorceresses faltered, where they opened the door to their darkest desires and tendencies and lost themselves in the power that came flooding through.
He doesn't trust you. The thought ran through her mind like a bolt of lightning, igniting anger and revulsion at once.
"Maybe not," she whispered, "and neither do I. But I can change that. I will change that."
We'll see.
"Yes, we will." Rinoa took a deep breath to calm her nerves, then turned and strode purposefully back to Squall. Having the upper hand was not always about control. As much as it could oppress, it could also rescue, reaching down and pulling others up, to join her in the sunlight. She put on her brightest smile and stopped at the foot of the steps. "Squall?"
He cast her a sidelong glance, but when she said nothing, he turned to face her. "What?" he asked, concern and irritation mingling in his voice.
"I know we come out here because I need to practice my magic, but it's kind of boring being the only one doing anything."
"They're your powers."
"Yes, but I was thinking…maybe I could share them? With you?" She clasped her hands behind her back and traced designs in the sand with the toe of her boot.
"That's not possible."
"Yes, it is." She looked up again. "I want you to watch me, Squall. To see me, see who I become with the magic. See that I'm still the same person. That it doesn't hurt me. That I wouldn't hurt you." Before he could answer, she stepped back and angled her face toward the sky, closing her eyes and spreading her arms wide. She felt the magic rushing into her mind and coursing through her veins, quickening her heartbeat and setting every nerve alight.
"Stay with me, Squall, please," she murmured, feeling the heat of her wings rising to the surface of her skin, feeling them break through. "Keep your eyes on me, and you'll see that nothing's changed." She couldn't help wincing as the light cooled around the wounds on her back and her wings solidified, but continued to assure Squall that everything was all right.
When the magic had settled into her, thrumming in every cell, she opened her eyes with a smile. "See? Still me." When he said nothing, she reached above her and pulled the stars down from the sky, somewhere near the horizon, in a magical display built not on power or destruction, but on beauty and grace.
Then, still smiling, she extended her hand towards him.
"Dance with me?" she asked.
* * *
Squall said nothing, lost for words, at the moment. He stared at her, into her sparkling gold eyes, then glanced at the shooting stars in the distance, wondering how much damage her Meteor spell could cause if it weren't miles out to sea and hoping that there were no vessels sailing—or flying—beneath it. She needed to be more careful with her magic, more responsible with her powers. Perhaps he needed to talk to her again about—
"Don't you trust me?" she asked, tilting her head, her smile fading.
"Of course," he said at last, his lame lie burning sour in the back of his throat. "But…there's no music."
"Details, details! You don't need an orchestra, just follow your body. Here, I'll lead."
"I don't know…"
"Come on, don't be such a fuddy-duddy! I've got real powers to charm you into dancing, now, and I'm not afraid to use them! Just for a little bit, come—" She grabbed his hand and he flinched at the warmth of her skin and pulled away.
Her expression fell. "You're afraid of me."
It was not a question.
Squall saw her eyes darken, tears gathering at their corners, and his heart turned over in his chest. Damn it, he was afraid, and he wished for all the world he wasn't. He wished he was as strong as he pretended to be, as impervious to others' influence as he used to be. He wished Ultimecia would leave him alone, with her illusions and her shadows and her doubts. He wished he could see Rinoa as he used to, as just the pretty, headstrong young woman that never gave up on him.
She never gave up on me. The thought settled on Squall's mind like warm blanket, suffocating the doubts and fears and comforting him. Even at my worst, she was always there. She trusted me. And I…I'm a fool.
"No," he answered finally, "I'm not afraid of you."
She extended her hand again. "Then show me," she said, a quiver deep in her voice. "Show me you're not afraid."
His own hand seemed to move too slowly to grasp hers. No matter how much he cared for her, no matter how much he trusted her, Ultimecia's shadow continued to hover around her, and he feared it was waiting only for the moment he dropped his guard, the moment he got lost in the magic, too. Nonetheless, he allowed Rinoa to pull him close and swayed along with her to a song only she could hear. He closed his eyes, and with the weight of her head on his shoulder, the shadow's presence began to lighten.
As did he, he realized, and opened his eyes and looked down to see the ground receding beneath him.
"What—What's happening?" He panicked, scrambling to let go of her, to reach down and soften his inevitable landing. "Rinoa, don't do this. I'm too heavy, you're going to hurt yourself! I trust you, I trust you, just…please, Rinoa, you're going to hurt yourself!"
Rinoa only grasped his hands more tightly and began to hum her tune, lowering her head to rest against his chest and wrapping her wings around the both of them.
"Trust me," she murmured.
Those words, spoken so softly, cut through his panic and straight into his heart, and he ceased his struggle. Instead, he turned his attention to her, noticing how soft her hands were against his own, how her hair smelled of the sea air, and how her wings blocked out all noise besides her gentle tune and the sound of his own pulse in his ears.
Unable to see the ground or the ocean, he remained only vaguely aware of their continued ascent, until, with a laugh, Rinoa pulled her wings back to reveal the night sky streaked with shooting stars and the moon beginning its westward descent.
"Look down," she said.
He did, and for the space of a heartbeat, his panic returned, driven by the instinctive fear of being too far from solid ground, too weighty to remain suspended. But she moved in close and touched his face, and all his fear evaporated, and when she continued singing her wordless song, the sweetness of her voice alone held him up.
She laughed again, a sound as sparkling as the moonlit waves below them, then released one of his hands to twirl beneath his arm, wings tucked tightly around her body, pulling him through the air gracefully, confidently, dancing as they had on the night of SeeD ball, high above Centra's rocky coastline.
"See?" she said, breathless from laughter and exertion. "You can trust me. I'd never hurt you."
He couldn't think of a response that wasn't either laden with guilt and foolishness, or inarticulate from the heady rush of excitement and longing and wanting that surged through his veins. So, in lieu of words, he placed his hands on her shoulders, drew her close, and kissed her hard.
* * *
She hummed into the kiss, her brief satisfaction giving way to a hunger for more, and melded her body into his, digging her fingertips into his shoulder blades, unwilling to cede even an inch of space between them. She opened her mouth to him, in invitation, and he tentatively accepted, his kiss deepening and softening at once, both desperate and contrite, as she let her magic flow through her and into him, and began their gentle descent.
The sand whispered beneath their boots as Rinoa's wings slowly vanished, and they sank down to their knees, only breaking the kiss when necessary to breathe. They reclined their bodies the rest of the way, still wrapped up in each other as Rinoa's magic faded, too enraptured in magic of their own making to notice or care.
* * *
He watched her sleeping, curled up against him on the beach, the last vestiges of her wings receding into her skin. He kissed her forehead and shifted beneath her, keeping her close, then ventured a look toward the lighthouse and sighed.
It was just an old building, its beam recently relit, the sentinel under which he and the others had spent their early years of life, nothing more. And there was nothing behind it—no shadows, no phantom castle—but the setting moon, large and vigilant, and a single shooting star streaking through the predawn sky.