Silence fell over the Westersand, heavy and brittle.
The dunes were strewn with bodies. Wolves lay in broken heaps, their blood soaking into the sand until the ground turned dark. The Alpha sprawled in ruin, its amber eyes dim, its chest cleaved by Clive's blade. Not far off, the Vulturo's vast corpse twitched once, wings shredded, before lying still.
The wind carried only the hiss of sand over steel.
Clive lowered his sword, chest heaving. Sweat dripped from his brow, mingling with blood streaked across his armor. Beside him, Lunafreya leaned on her staff, her holy light flickering out as exhaustion took her.
Serah panted, Mog glowing faintly in her bowsword form before slipping back into his moogle shape. He floated weakly, fur singed, pom-pom drooping. "I hate birds," he muttered, voice wobbling.
Vivi sank to his knees, planting his staff in the sand for balance. His glowing eyes dimmed, his breath ragged but steady.
Auron stood apart, sword resting on his shoulder, crimson coat stained darker than before. His single eye swept the battlefield once, then settled in quiet watch.
Around them, the Resistance collapsed. Men dropped to their knees, weapons slipping from numb hands. Their captain leaned on his sword, staring at the carnage with hollow eyes. Three wounded groaned weakly where they sat, and the healer — Amalia — stood tall among them, her staff raised once more to send soft light into their wounds.
When the worst was tended, she straightened and turned to the strangers.
Her voice was steady, polite, but guarded. "Your blades… they are not of Dalmasca. Nor Archadia. And yet you fought for the people. For that, you have my gratitude."
Her tone carried the weight of command, though she had not named herself so.
The Resistance murmured among themselves. One man whispered hoarsely, "Rozarrian mercenaries?" Another spat into the sand. "Or Archadian spies."
The captain silenced them with a sharp look. "Enough. They saved us."
Clive shifted his grip on his sword, sliding it back across his shoulder. "We were hunting the Vulturo. It kept running. Looks like fate put us here when it mattered."
Lunafreya stepped forward, her voice calm. "And we found you under siege. That is all."
The captain exhaled, weariness etched into his face. "We were eleven. We'd finished a hunt when the pack came on us. Thirty wolves, and the Alpha besides. We fought, but… one of ours died saving her." His gaze flicked to Amalia, then to the fallen body in the sand. His jaw clenched. "Three more were wounded, but alive thanks to her. We'd all be dead now without your help."
Serah's eyes softened. She glanced at Amalia, who looked away, lips pressed thin.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The desert stretched endless, the sun dipping lower, shadows lengthening.
It was Lunafreya who broke the silence. "Do you wish to return to Rabanastre together? Safety in numbers is no small comfort after a battle like this."
Amalia hesitated. Her gaze lingered on the strangers, then she nodded once. "Yes."
The captain looked at her, concern flickering across his face, but when she had spoken, he gave no argument. "We move at your word."
And so they went.
The march back was slow, feet dragging in the sand, but it was filled with murmurs, questions, and laughter — the laughter of men who had survived when they thought death was certain.
One Resistance fighter eyed Mog curiously. "Is… is that a moogle?"
Mog puffed up, cheeks red. "Nyot just a moogle! I'm Mog, kupo! And I'm not little!"
The men chuckled, shaking their heads.
Another glanced at Vivi, his glowing eyes peeking under his hat. "What is he?" he whispered. "No child wields lightning like that."
Vivi ducked his head, shy, hiding deeper under his brim. Serah stepped in with a smile. "Don't underestimate him. Vivi's stronger than he looks."
The men nodded, though unease lingered in their eyes.
Amalia, walking near the front, finally turned to the strangers. Her tone was measured, almost testing. "Your names?"
Clive met her gaze evenly. "Clive Rosfield."
Lunafreya bowed her head slightly. "Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. You may call me Luna."
Serah's pink hair swayed as she smiled brightly. "Serah. You already know Mog."
The moogle twirled in the air, still scowling. "And nyo more calling me little, kupo!"
Amalia's lips twitched faintly. She looked then to Vivi.
The mage hesitated, then murmured, "Vivi."
Her eyes lingered on him, but she did not press further. Finally she turned to the man in crimson.
"Auron," he said simply, his gravelly tone final.
Their words hung in the air like puzzle pieces that did not fit any map she knew. She filed them away in her mind.
Serah, Luna, and Amalia spoke quietly as they walked, exchanging thoughts of the battle, laughing softly in shared relief. Behind them, Clive and Auron walked with the captain, silent, shoulders heavy. Vivi trudged between, lost in thought, his staff dragging a line in the sand.
"I've seen this before," Vivi murmured softly to himself. "I think I've… forgotten when."
As the sun dipped low, the walls of Rabanastre rose before them, glowing golden in the light.
Near the gate, the groups began to part. The Resistance slowed, clustering close around Amalia. The captain stepped near her, voice dropping low. "Princess… is it wise to speak with them so openly?"
Amalia's eyes flicked toward Clive's party, then back to her men. Her tone was quiet, certain. "It is fine. They think us hunters. That is all they need know."
Still, her thoughts lingered. Unusual… but honorable. Suspicious, yes. Yet not hostile. They are not enemies.
Clive's party watched as the Resistance peeled away. Luna's soft voice broke the silence. "That girl… she is no ordinary healer."
Clive nodded once. "No. She carries herself like someone more."
Serah crossed her arms, frowning. "She's different. You can feel it."
Auron's voice rumbled low. "She has the last voice of her people. Those men guard her with their lives."
For a while they stood in silence, watching the Resistance disappear through the gates.
Then a small sound broke the quiet.
Vivi's stomach rumbled. Loudly.
His eyes widened under his hat. He hunched, clutching his belly, embarrassed.
Clive, Serah, and Luna all turned — then burst into laughter.
Vivi covered his face with his hat, cheeks burning. "I-it's not funny…"
Then another sound joined his. Mog's belly growled just as loudly, his pom-pom bouncing furiously as he shouted, "Hey! I wasn't hungry until you laughed, kupo!"
That only made them laugh harder.
Serah doubled over, clutching her stomach. Luna covered her lips with a hand, shoulders shaking. Even Clive cracked a rare smile.
Vivi peeked from under his hat and saw Mog's red face, his pom-pom bouncing in outrage. He couldn't help it — a small chuckle escaped him.
And for the first time that day, the Westersand rang not with screams, but with laughter.