Disclaimer: AT AN ARM'S LENGTH © 2002-2008 A.L. Roberts. FINAL FANTASY VIII © Squaresoft. They own these characters, I'm just borrowing them for a little bit. Buy their games, and give them your money!

Quistis Trepe, former child prodigy and former SeeD instructor, flopped down strategically behind one of the many sand dunes on Balamb Beach.

It was winter. Being Balamb, that meant the temperature was 75 degrees, rather than 90 degrees. At any rate, it discouraged the crowds that normally could be found along the stretch.

She came back often, to this same place – a place that reminded her of the beach where she found herself following the escape from Time Compression. It was a good place to think. A good place to get away, her inner voice whispered.

It was strange to know that there was no chance that the voice was a Guardian Force.

She smirked to herself. For the first time in her life, she wanted to remember – as much as possible – and that meant no GFs.

At nineteen, she felt as if her brain was scrambled. Bits and pieces of her forgotten childhood floating in and out of her consciousness. Luckily, Irvine was around, not to mention very discreet: He had no problems answering the few questions she had the courage to ask. As the only member of the “orphanage gang” who hadn’t used GFs extensively, his memories of their shared childhood were a valuable resource. He also knew when to not push things.

The Sorceress War is over. We’re all considered heroes.

She whispered to the sea, “But I don’t feel very heroic.”

*****

She walked through the Quad on the way to her quarters. She was no longer an instructor, but there were still perks to being a high-ranking SeeD officer: her room, although small, had a private bathroom. These living arrangements helped her disguise the repeated nightmares and bouts of insomnia she had been having over the last year or so.

The nightmares were so disturbing that she had taken to staying awake to the point of exhaustion, trying to stave off any form of dreaming.

“Dreams are for other people,” she mused as she turned out the light and curled up beneath her comforter. Part of her chided herself. This was why she had had a difficult time escaping Time Compression.

Quistis didn’t have any dreams left, only regrets. And they weren’t the regrets others expected her to have.

She had realized that her feelings for Squall were more sisterly than romantic, and she was genuinely happy that he and Rinoa had each other. There were no twinges of jealousy, once she had realized the feelings he held for the neophyte sorceress. She now knew that there were many different kinds of love. I guess I’ve changed, because it doesn’t matter to me now . . . like so many other things, she thought tiredly.

The biggest part of “the other things” had consisted of her teaching career. At first, she had been devastated to lose her position as an Instructor, but now, she was partially relieved to no longer have that kind of authority.

These were the two motives that had driven the life of Quistis Trepe, for as long as she could remember. “Keeping in mind that I don’t remember that much,” she muttered as she started to nod off.

“Now, there’s nothing.”

*****

Quistis awoke with a gasp, bolting upright and looking around blindly before she remembered that her contacts were in their case and her glasses were on the bedside table. The frames now perched on her nose, she looked at the clock.

3 a.m.

With a sigh, she reached into the nightstand’s secret compartment, pulled out a small journal and started writing.

It’s always the same dream, but now I’m sure that the beginning of it is less of a dream and more of a memory.

I’m in Time Compression. I’ve been wandering through it for quite some time, and I’m looking for something – anything – familiar. It’s like a desert, sand blowing in all directions, and the heat is unbearable.

I tell myself to not give up and keep moving, but soon, I see someone in the distance. I start running toward the figure.

The wind whips around me, and the sand is in my eyes, my hair and my mouth by the time I reach him. He is face-down on the ground. I drop to my knees to investigate. When I roll the man onto his back, I gasp. It’s. . . Seifer?!

I brush his bangs out of his eyes, and he makes a weak attempt to grab my hand. “Quistis,” he croaks.

“Shh. Don’t talk. You don’t need to. . .” I’ve got to calm him down. Calm me down.

“No. I have to . . . apology. . .”

“Shh.”

His soft voice says one word, “Sorry.”

I suddenly wish we didn’t have to be in this place. I wish desperately that he and I were in a time and place where we didn’t have to go through all of. . . this.

I close my eyes and hold him close. A bright light envelopes me while simultaneously ripping him from my grasp. I cry aloud. . .

Disoriented, I look around. I’m now on a cliff. For some reason, I have to jump. (It’s a dream. It doesn’t have to make sense, right?) Well, if I don’t jump, something bad is going to happen. I’m scared. I don’t want to do this, but in the end, I close my eyes and step off the cliff. I fall and fall. Until I hit the ground with a thud. After a minute or so, I always wake up.

Quistis tucked the pen into the book and returned it to its hiding place with a sigh. Frustration getting the better of her, she punched the pillow before settling back in for a few more hours of shut-eye.

“Why me?” she mumbled. “And why is SEIFER, of all people, haunting me?”

Author's Notes:
A HUGE “thank you” goes out to everyone who reviewed this story's Prologue. I've just finished committing its outline to paper, and your support gives me a *real* incentive to keep on going. It's going to be a long one, but we like that sort of stuff, right? (I do... especially when the prologue *guarantees* a happy ending.)