The heat pressed against Serah's skin like a second weight. Dalmasca's air was dry and heavy, the kind that stuck to your throat even as you breathed. She had grown up beneath Cocoon's bright skies and lived through Pulse's raw wilderness, but this place felt different—older, stranger, full of histories she couldn't yet grasp.
The city of Rabanastre sprawled before her in terraced steps of stone, sandstone towers rising in the light of the late afternoon sun. Markets filled the streets with color: fabrics dyed scarlet and gold hung from wooden stalls, incense drifted like phantom smoke, and the clatter of metal on metal echoed from blacksmiths at their forges.
But what unsettled Serah most was not the place—it was the people.
Her eyes caught shapes she had never seen before. A tall figure with long ears and graceful movements, speaking with a smooth cadence to a merchant. A stout, broad creature with porcine features carrying baskets of fruit on its back. Children of all sizes and kinds darted between the stalls, laughing. Humans mingled among them freely, as though this strange diversity was nothing unusual.
Serah's steps faltered. Her hand went instinctively to the trinket at her wrist, the one Sirius had given her. Its faint warmth reminded her of his words: "This is Dalmasca. Your new beginning."
Another world. Another chance. But how am I supposed to belong here?
She tightened her grip and pressed forward, weaving her way through the throng. No one paid her more than a passing glance, yet she still felt like an intruder. Every voice, every face reminded her she was far from Cocoon, far from Pulse, far from Lightning and Noel.
She stopped at the edge of the plaza where the noise softened, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. That was when she noticed them.
Three figures stood in the shade of an archway, clearly waiting.
The first was a tall man with dark hair and a weathered face, his build broad and marked by battles. A sword rested easily against his back, yet his posture carried both strength and sorrow. His gaze fixed on her as if weighing her worth in an instant. Serah shivered slightly.
Beside him stood a woman with silver-blonde hair, her expression serene. She seemed untouched by the heat of the desert, her calm presence carrying a dignity that was almost unearthly. Her eyes met Serah's with gentleness, and in that instant, Serah felt understood without a word spoken.
And there, in front of them, was a smaller figure that nearly stopped Serah in her tracks. A childlike body cloaked in dark robes, a wide hat shadowing most of his face—save for two glowing yellow eyes. They shone not with menace but with quiet curiosity, as though reflecting light from somewhere deep inside.
Serah drew a breath. These are the ones Sirius spoke of. The ones who—like me—died in their worlds. The Fallen.
Her knees felt weak, but she stepped closer.
The man's voice broke the silence, low and measured. "You're Serah Farron, aren't you?"
She nodded, her throat dry. "Yes. That's me. Sirius… brought me here."
The silver-haired woman stepped forward, her smile soft. "Then welcome. I am Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. You need not fear. You stand among those who understand what it means to be torn from one's destiny."
Serah blinked at her, warmth creeping into her chest. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to her with such simple kindness. She reached out and took Lunafreya's hand, gripping it tightly. "Thank you. I… I needed to hear that."
The small figure lifted his head. His voice was gentle, yet carried a weight far older than his form suggested. "My name is Vivi. I know what it's like… to wonder if you're meant to be here at all. But you are. Sirius doesn't make mistakes."
Serah's breath caught, her eyes stinging. She had been holding herself together since Valhalla—since death itself—and yet here, among strangers, she felt cracks forming in her mask. "I… don't know if I deserve this second chance," she whispered. "But I want to try. I want to make it mean something."
The man finally spoke again, his tone softer this time. "Clive Rosfield," he introduced himself. His gaze stayed sharp, but there was no judgment in it now. "If you have the resolve, you'll fit in. We all have our scars. We all carry the weight of what we've lost."
Serah's lips trembled. She looked at each of them, her voice small but determined. "In my world… I died because of the Eye of Etro. I carried visions of the future, and they killed me. Sirius said I can't go back—that destiny would only take me again. But if I can fight to protect others, if I can help stop the Chaos, then… yes. I'll stand with you."
Silence followed, but it was not heavy. It was the silence of understanding.
Lunafreya squeezed her hand gently before letting go. "Then you are not alone anymore. We are bound by the same thread—given life again, not for fate, but for choice."
Vivi nodded. "Together, we'll find out what that means."
Clive gave a short nod of approval. "Then welcome to Dalmasca, Serah. Make this second chance count."
Serah exhaled slowly, her chest easing as she clutched the trinket against her heart. The fear that had clawed at her since her revival softened into something else—something fragile but real. Hope.
She lifted her head, the corners of her mouth curving into the faintest smile. "Thank you… all of you."