Clive Rosfield's boots pressed into the sun-baked stones of Rabanastre's bazaar, his eyes darting from the ivory towers to the bustling crowds. The scents of spice, sweat, and desert air wrapped around him, too real to be a dream, too strange to be his homeland.
His chest tightened. "This… isn't Rosaria," he whispered. "Am I dead… or cursed to wander?"
Beside him, Sirius stood calm, watching with patient eyes. "Not dead. Not cursed. This is Ivalice—another world, far from the one you knew. Rabanastre, the jewel of Dalmasca."
Clive's throat closed. "Another… world?" His voice cracked. He turned in slow circles, staring at the endless movement of merchants, the glint of sun on stone, the laughter of children who knew nothing of fire and fate. His hand trembled toward his chest. "Then why am I here? Why didn't I fall with the rest?"
Sirius' gaze softened, but his tone was firm. "Because I will not let destiny throw you away. Your story ended in your world, but not in mine. And not in theirs."
The trinket at Clive's neck warmed, pulsing gently. Its glow spread faintly through his fingers.
Clive stiffened. "This charm… it burns like a heartbeat."
"It is more than a charm," Sirius said. "It shields you when despair claws at you. And it binds you to others who carry the same light. You are not alone, Clive."
The trinket flared.
Suddenly voices filled his head—not hallucinations, but living, breathing presences.
"Hey—who's the new guy?" a sharp, teasing voice rang. Zack.
"I feel it… the trinket's glow. It's like ours," Aerith said softly.
Galuf chuckled. "Hah! Another one for the collection. Sirius does keep busy."
Noctis' tone was quieter, but firm. "So? Did he send you to Eorzea with us, or Gaia?"
Clive staggered back, staring at the glowing trinket as though it might bite. "Voices… from nowhere. What sorcery is this?"
The connection pulsed again, undeniable, demanding.
"I…" Clive's throat was dry, but he forced the words. "I wasn't sent to Eorzea. Or Gaia. I was transported here—to Rabanastre."
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then a voice cracked through, trembling, nearly breaking.
"…Rabanastre?" The speaker's breath shook. "That's… that's my world. My home."
It was Reks. His tone stammered, heavy with disbelief. "You're… you're standing in Dalmasca?"
Clive's hand clenched around the trinket, his heart hammering. "Yes. The desert city—its stones, its people. If this is your home… then our fates are tied closer than I thought."
The trinket pulsed warm, weaving the threads tighter.
Zack whistled low. "Man, Sirius doesn't waste time, huh?"
Aerith chuckled faintly. "He sounds shaken, but… there's strength in him."
Galuf barked a laugh. "He'll fit right in. Another misfit for the pile."
Noctis, calm but serious: "What's your name?"
Clive swallowed hard. "Clive Rosfield. Firstborn of Rosaria."
On the other end, Reks' voice cracked again, half awe, half relief. "Clive… welcome. If Sirius brought you to my world… then maybe, just maybe, we'll meet with our own eyes."
Clive pressed the trinket close to his heart. For the first time since his death, his voice was steady. "I thought sacrifice meant walking alone. But now… I see I was wrong."
Sirius watched in silence, his thoughts guarded. Another soul had been bound, another thread woven into the tapestry.
Clive still held the trinket close, its glow steady. Sirius stepped forward, his voice firm but calm.
"Clive," he said, "you will need more than strength to survive here. This world has its own rules, its own ways of living. You're fortunate—someone among the others knows this land." Sirius tilted his head slightly, as if signaling through the bond. "Ask Reks. He knows the ins and outs of Dalmasca. Even how to earn coin."
Clive blinked, startled. "Coin?" He clenched his jaw. "I've only ever known war, duty, and service. I know nothing of trade."
Through the trinket, Reks' voice came, steadier now, though tinged with nerves. "I… I can help with that."
Clive froze, listening intently.
"You're in Rabanastre, right?" Reks continued. "It's the busiest city in Dalmasca—mercenaries, traders, sky pirates, clans. Money here is everything. You'll need gil if you want to eat, sleep, or even buy armor."
"Gil?" Clive repeated, bewildered. "Another word I don't know."
Reks gave a soft, nervous laugh. "It's our currency. You'll get used to it. Most people earn it through work—running errands, trading, fighting monsters for bounty. In Rabanastre, the Clan Hall posts hunts. You take a mark, slay the beast, and they pay you. Simple… though never easy."
Clive's brows knit, his soldier's instincts sharpening. "Hunts. That, at least, I can understand."
"There's more," Reks added quickly. "Stay sharp in the streets. Rabanastre's safe enough near the markets, but in Lowtown… thieves will gut you for a coin purse. Trust the clan boards, trust your blade, but don't trust every smiling face."
Clive exhaled slowly, absorbing every word. The city bustled around him, but for a moment all he heard was Reks' voice—practical, urgent, and honest.
"Thank you," Clive said at last, his voice low. "If this is your home… then I'll trust your guidance. I won't waste this second chance."
The trinket pulsed warmly, carrying not just Sirius' bond, but Reks' too. Across worlds, two men who had never met now shared the foundation of trust.
Sirius, silent, allowed himself the faintest smile. Another thread had been woven tighter.
Clive exhaled slowly, pressing the trinket tighter against his chest. "Thank you, Reks. If I'm to live in this place, I'll need to learn quickly."
Sirius' calm voice cut in, steady as ever. "Then start where most mercenaries begin—at the Clan Hall. It's where hunts are posted, work is offered, and where warriors carve their names into history. Go, Clive. Step into Dalmasca with open eyes."
Clive nodded and began walking through the streets of Rabanastre, each step heavy with awe. The markets sprawled in every direction, stalls groaning under exotic fruit and weaponry, fabrics dyed with colors he'd never seen. The air rang with the clash of merchants shouting prices, and children darted through the crowd with laughter trailing behind them.
At last, he arrived at a grand hall lined with banners, the sigil of Dalmasca etched proudly into the walls. Soldiers in polished armor patrolled the entrance, their spears gleaming. Inside, hunters lounged at tables, weapons laid across their laps, parchment notices pinned to a massive board on the far wall.
Clive lingered at the threshold, swallowing hard. "So this is… Dalmasca."
Reks' voice answered through the bond. "That's the Clan Hall. Postings there range from petty errands to slaying beasts that can flatten towns. But… Clive—look carefully at the people."
Clive obeyed, his eyes widening. At one table sat a tall figure with long ears rising high from his head, his armor gleaming gold. Across from him, a squat, thick-bodied creature with a snout and tusks laughed heartily, his voice booming across the hall.
Clive stiffened. "By the Flame… what manner of beings are these?"
Reks chuckled softly, though his voice carried both pride and familiarity. "The long-eared ones are Viera. They live long lives, and their hearing is sharper than any hound. The tusked ones you see? Bangaa. Stubborn, fierce fighters. Dalmasca isn't just human, Clive—this world is shared. Learn to respect it, or it'll swallow you whole."
Clive's lips parted, his disbelief plain. "Other races… living openly? Trading, drinking, laughing with men as equals?" His voice trembled. "Rosaria never dreamed of such a thing."
Before Reks could answer, another voice cut through the bond—Noctis, flat and direct. "Strange you even noticed. Sirius must have slipped. He usually… hides their faces."
Zack let out a short laugh. "Yeah, back in Lindblum I swore everyone looked human. Guess he didn't want us to freak out."
Aerith's voice carried a playful lilt. "Sirius is always serious, after all."
Galuf barked a hearty laugh. "Hah! Nice one, girl. But aye—it makes sense. Toss a bunch of wide-eyed misfits into another world, and the last thing you want is them fainting at the sight of tusks."
Clive froze, looking between the hunters in the hall. The trinket pulsed against his chest as though waiting for his reaction. "Deactivated? Hiding… faces?"
Beside him, Sirius' presence lingered unseen. The young Rosfield furrowed his brow but said nothing, sensing the weight in the silence.
Reks, equally puzzled, frowned. "I… don't understand either."
But neither Clive nor Reks pressed further. The bond pulsed quietly, and the topic faded into silence.
Clive turned his eyes back to the hall, inhaling deeply. For now, it was enough just to watch, to listen, and to begin understanding the strange, vibrant land he had been brought to.