Summary: There is a fine line between dreams and reality, between coincidence and fate, between character building and soul destroying, between love and hate. Seifer's life is defined by fine lines. As he passes from memory to memory through the insanity of Time Compression, maybe he'll come a little closer to understanding why. Eventual Seifer/Squall. SLASH

Author's Notes: This first section will be three parts long and deals with some of the memories that Seifer encounters during Time Compression. The poem listed below is applicable to the first three chapters dealing with Time Compression and is what the chapter titles are based on. (A/N cont. at end)

Is all our Life, then but a dream
Seen faintly in the goldern gleam
Athwart Time's dark resistless stream?

~Lewis Carroll, Sylvie and Bruno, 1889~

CHAPTER ONE: IS ALL OUR LIFE, THEN BUT A DREAM

Pain was the first thing that Seifer managed to register as he drifted into consciousness. From the aches and throbs radiating throughout his body he figured he must have survived a Hyne damned avalanche or something equally as destructive. Willing himself to suffer into a sitting position, growing dizzy at the sudden movement, Seifer finally opened his eyes.

If he hadn't lived through the bizarre hell of being Ultimecia's minion for the past few months, he might have been surprised to find himself in a hallway of mirrors, reflecting his own image as far as the eye could see, converging at a horizon point somewhere far off in the distance. As it was, he was simply pissed off, fucking angry as all hell to be exact, and not in the mood to play whatever game was in store for him now. He'd had enough of games, of her damned games, to last him a lifetime. Despite his anger, he managed to find some consolation in the fact that at least he wasn't dead…yet.

Sitting up with a groan, he squinted against the bright lights that lit up the mirrored hall that extended endlessly on either side of him. Bare bulbs hung down from the middle of the ceiling every few feet in a row that seemed to run the hallway's entire length of…infinity? It sure seemed that way…He felt the glaring fluorescent lighting adding to his already throbbing headache and increasing his angry annoyance at the situation. Slowly making his way to his feet, grimacing through the pain, he glanced warily to his left and then to his right, wondering which way to start walking. He seriously doubting that it would make a bloody bit of difference. Deciding on a whim, he headed right, with a muttered, "Why the fuck not?"

It was slow going since he still felt like he'd been dropped here by a hurricane. He had the sensation that he was walking on a treadmill and making absolutely n progress whatsoever because of the distinct lack of a change in scenery. He felt like he had been walking for days on end, constantly moving forward and yet getting abso-fucking-lutely nowhere. Was there even an end to this abysmal, infernal hall? Or was it all connected, running in an endless, monotonous, inescapable circle? The endless lights and mirrors reflecting his ceaseless, tediously slow trod forward with no end in sight were wearing down his already tenuous hold on sanity.

He could feel eyes on him, watching him, staring at him, pointing and laughing at his futile attempt to leave this fucking hellhole. Was this another one of Ultimecia's tricks? One of her numerous methods for wearing down his mind? For keeping him unstable enough for her to continue to possess him? Though he had seen her fall at the hands of Leonhart and his merry little band of followers, he could think of no other explanation for this tedious prison.

"Why are you punishing me!?!?" he screamed desperately, letting rage wash over him, trying to keep his panicked, frenzied thoughts from overtaking him. "What do you want!?!?" His voice echoed tauntingly around him as the mirrored images of himself reflected his own haunted face a thousand times over. Turning toward the mirror, he sneered at his own reflection. "What the hell are you looking at?!" he snapped. His own angry visage staring back at him was his only answer.

He laughed madly, the hollow, broken sound of it grating on his nerves. Falling to his knees, he continued to laugh, his reflections joining him in his crazed expression of his pent up frustration, anguish, hopelessness, despair, and vestiges of anger. He laughed until it hurt, almost believing that the mirrored image echoing him was a separate entity that could commiserate with his desperate plight. Was this his punishment for joining the Sorceress, for turning against everyone, for trying to destroy everything he had once held dear? There was absolutely nothing funny about this, yet the image in front of him continued to laugh, to mock him in his fall from grace, in his cursed and helpless state.

"What are you laughing at?!?!" he screamed furiously at the mirror. He realized in some distant, suppressed part of his mind that he had finally lost it, finally cracked, that he was yelling at himself, but it didn't register. The reflected image continued to laugh, the sound of it echoing maddeningly in his ears. "Stop it!!!" he cried angrily, desperately. The image refused to listen. He pressed the palms of his hands over his ears until it felt as if he would crush his own skull with the pressure and squeezed his eyes shut, but the laughter continued to ring hollowly in his head and the image of his own laughing form seemed to be burned into his retinas. "STOP IT!!!!!!" he roared, the furious sound yell barely audible over the resounding laughter. His own image continued to taunt him.

He resorted to his typical fallback mechanisms: anger and violence. Launching himself at the mirror, he let his fists fly. He had to make it stop! He pounded at his own laughing face until he finally felt the mirror crack beneath his angry fists with a satisfying crunch. His face was cracked, shattered into a hundred pieces, reflecting oddly back at him. You've cracked, you've cracked, you've cracked…his mind supplied, repeating the sentiment over and over as the laughter continued to haunt him. The words were repeated in his head by familiar voices, the voices of those he had fought against, as they repeated them in unison, their tones shifting from accusing to singsong and making his head spin.

He continued to beat on the cracked face in front of him as if shattering the image of himself could make them stop. Finally, the mirror gave way under his assault. He watched, mesmerized, as it shattered into a million pieces, the voices thankfully stopping with its destruction. The law of gravity seemed to be suspended as the glittering particles merely hung motionless in the air, a curtain of snow-like fragments obscuring whatever lay beyond.

Wonderingly, almost hesitantly, he reached toward the splintered pieces, hardly daring to hope for something besides this endless hall of mirrors and shattered images of himself. His hand brushed against the fragmented screen, which felt almost slippery beneath his touch. Slowly, gently, he pushed his fingers between the pieces. Swiping his hand sideways, he watched in awe as the shattered remnants of the mirror parted like a curtain and he was able to glimpse a darkened, grassy field spread out on the other side. Raising his other hand and opening the glittering curtain fully, he was slightly startled as the suspended pieces at last began to fall, drifting slowly to the ground like glittering snowflakes.

Stepping over the barrier and into the field, Seifer felt relief flood him, driving back the madness of only minutes before. The contrast between the moonlit field of grass and flowers before him and the fluorescent bulbs and linoleum tiled, mirrored hall behind him was almost overwhelming. He hoped that he was free from whatever twisted game and mind torture the hallway had been…but the feeling in his gut told him that had only been the beginning.

Despite his trepidation, it felt good to be outside, out in the open where he could breathe in the fresh air and be free from the monotony that had driven him to madness. Having nothing better to do, he walked forward, the softness of the grass beneath his tired feet a relief after the harsh linoleum he had left behind. Continuing forward, guided by the moonlight, he could make out a building in the distance. With any luck, he could find refuge there, though he wondered if there was anywhere in all of Gaia that he would still be welcomed. Perhaps in some of the remote villages they had not heard tale of the atrocities he had committed or at the very least had no idea what he looked like.

As he got closer and was able to get better view of the building ahead, he was startled to find that he recognized it. It was the orphanage, Edea's Orphanage, the place where he had essentially been raised alongside Squall and the rest of his motley crew, aside from Rinoa. Why was he here of all places? He only had a vague memory of the place, one that Edea had drawn out to seduce him to join her, using his image of Matron, all those long months ago in the T.V. station in Timber where it had all begun. He knew this place, as he knew that Edea was Matron and that Squall, Quistis, Zell, Selphie, and Irvine had been here for a time too, but beyond that there were no specific details, no real memories of the place. He had wondered from time to time during the war, during his more lucid moments, what it had been like to grow up here with the others.

When he reached the front door, he hesitated, a sense of anticipation filling him. What could he hope to find here? Would it bring back any memories from the blank void that was his childhood, answer any of the many questions that he had? He opened the door slowly, the heavy wood creaking slightly on its hinges. Stepping inside, he was hit with a sense of familiarity about the place, almost like déjà vu, though he knew for a fact that he had been here before. He wondered if anyone was here. Looking around, he noted that the house seemed lived in, if the furniture and other items scattered about the house were anything to go by.

Coming to a closed door, he opened it, letting his curiosity get the better of him. There were three sets bunk beds lining the walls of what was, apparently a bedroom, though only two of those sets seemed to be filled with small, sleeping bodies. Unable to stop himself, Seifer walked farther into the room, to inspect closer. Peering at the face of a small brunette girl laying on top of the closest bunk, he was shocked to recognize, almost reflexively, what appeared to be a seven-year-old Selphie. Examining the bunk below her he found a similar aged Irvine.

What the hell?! His mind reeled with shock. Although slightly surprised that he had immediately recognized the two sleeping children, the fact that they were children was the big kicker. What was this? Another game? It seemed like an odd, atypical trick for Ultimecia to play, though he wouldn't rule anything out. What else could it be? Could he have somehow ended up in the wrong time? Ultemicia's castle had been in the future, maybe when she was destroyed the space-time continuum was distorted and deposited him back in the right place, but the wrong time…? Or maybe she had actually managed Time Compression…

That was a sobering thought. He had never really been clear on what she had aimed to achieve by compressing time, but it had been her ultimate goal. If she had managed to achieve it, then what did that mean for him? Would he be stuck here, in this time, for the rest of his life? Would he be able to make it back to his own time? If he did happen to make it back, would time still move forward like normal, or would it be forever distorted?

Even if his suspicions were correct and he was in the wrong time, would he want to make it back to his own time? If Squall and his gang had truly managed to defeat Ultimecia, then what would there be for him if he returned? He would likely be sentenced to death, spending the rest of his sorry life locked up in D-District awaiting his end. He could try to convince them that he had been manipulated, that his mind had been warped and controlled, though he would hate to admit to such a weakness, but he doubted they would listen to him, or believe him if they did. And what would it matter? Someone would have to pay; someone would have to be held responsible. And, despite how things had turned out, he could not deny the fact that he had at first gone willingly, enticed by what Edea had offered him.

Edea…his Matron. All of their Matron, though he seemed to have been the only one cognizant of that fact up until about halfway through the war. He wasn't really sure when the rest of the gang had figured it out, or how they had done so, though he supposed it didn't really matter. Looking at Selphie and Irvine's young, sleeping, innocent faces, he wondered how things had ended up so terribly messed up…but there was no use pondering that now.

Sighing, he turned to scrutinize the rest of the room, noting that two of the beds didn't seem to have been used recently, while the farthest set, upon closer inspection, had only been made to look as if there were sleeping children in them. Moving closer, Seifer found a brown haired doll with a lumpy blanket forming the 'body' of the decoy, with a similar set up on the bunk below, but with a blond doll. It was pretty easy to deduce that these were stand-ins for him and Squall. The empty beds must have been Quistis and Zell's before the two got adopted.

The thought of him and Squall being rule breakers, even at such a tender age, brought a slight smile to his face, probably his first real smile since before the war…Pushing that depressing thought aside, he wondered where he and Squall would have snuck off to in the middle of the night. He doubted that he would have tried running away, though for some reason he could see Squall attempting such a thing. If they had been a little older, he would have guessed that they were out sparring. As it was, he had no idea, aside from the obvious assumption that he wouldn't find them within the house.

Making his way out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him, he walked through the family room, casting cursory glances at the scattered toys, and went out the back door. He crossed the stone patio and walked down the steps that led toward the beach not far away. Nearing the beach, he found the ocean to be peaceful, waves gently lapping at the shore. It was quiet and peaceful, no children present. Where else would they have gone? Where else would he have gone?

The rotating light from the lighthouse farther down caught his eye. That would be the next spot he would look. As he trudged toward the lighthouse, he pondered what he hoped to find, what he hoped to accomplish with this self appointed task of discovering his younger self? Some sort of insight into his past, insight into himself perhaps? What would happen if he met his younger self? Would it create a paradox? Would he fuck everything up, as he was so apt to do? He highly doubted that his ten year younger self would recognize him…

Deciding to plow ahead without questioning things any further, something he was decidedly good at, he made his way to the lighthouse and, after finding the first floor empty, started up the ten storied spiraling staircase leading to the very top, dearly hoping that his assumptions were correct and he was not making a wasted trip. The long upward trek left him winded and slightly dizzy after the trials of the night. He hesitantly walked up the last few steps leading to the lightbox, bypassing a door leading out to the lower tiered balcony surrounding the lighthouse.

He was somewhat dismayed to find the lightbox empty before he spotted his younger self and Squall through the glass, sitting on the upper balcony with their backs leaning against the glass as they peered out toward the ocean. Heading back down to the door he had passed on his way up to the very top, he went out to the lower balcony, quietly making his way to a spot below where the boys were sitting, careful not to be spotted as he positioned himself so that he could hear what he and Squall were saying.

"I wonder if there are a lot of people who use the gunblade…" his eight-year-old self pondered aloud. "Of course, I'm going to use the gunblade. I'm gonna be just like Sir Knight in the movie! I'll be the best gunblader in all of Balamb Garden—hell, in all the world!" the young Seifer declared exuberantly. "You'll have to use the gunblade, too, so that we can train together," he added, addressing Squall. "Together we'll be the best gunbladers in history! We'll be just like Aéngus the Brave from The Legend of Vascaroon, just like we've always dreamed about."

"Yeah," Squall answered forlornly.

Seifer found his lack of enthusiasm irritating. "What's wrong with you?" the young boy demanded.

There was a long silence before a quiet, barely audible answer came. "You're going to leave and forget all about me…" Squall voiced his concern dejectedly, sounding resigned to this fate.

"Squall…I'm not leaving you, not like she did anyway. You'll be joining me next year," Seifer answered firmly, not leaving any room for argument.

"Yeah, I know," was Squall's unconvinced reply.

"I'm just going on ahead, you know, scouting things out. I'll tell you everything that I find out, everything I learn next year, so you'll be way ahead of everyone else. That way, when we're able to start with the gunblades you'll know all the stuff I know, so we can practice together," Seifer informed the brunette resolutely.

"Whatever."

"It's not like I have a choice. I mean, I tried to talk Matron into letting you come too, I even told her that I would wait an extra year, but, of course, she said no," Seifer confided to his despondent partner.

"Really?" Squall seemed genuinely surprised at this. He sounded almost hopeful, the first positive emotion he had displayed thusfar.

"You think I'd just leave you behind without a fight, Squally? I mean, who else am I going to practice with or save from evil dragons?" he questioned.

"I'm sure you'll have tons of people to fight with at Garden. And there will be real monsters to fight there," Squall objected, unconvinced.

"Yeah, but I doubt that there's going to be anyone else actually worth training with and monsters won't help me learn how to use a gunblade right," Seifer countered.

"What if by the time I get there you've forgotten all about me," Squall continued to protest.

"How could I ever forget an annoying little brat like you?" he teased back.

"What if Matron won't let me go to Garden next year?" Squall challenged, undeterred.

"I'll find you and bring you myself, then," Seifer announced as if it should be obvious.

Squall finally relented. "I'll be here…" the brunette announced seriously, at last convinced that the older boy was sincere.

"Why…?" Seifer pressed, questioningly.

"I'll be 'waiting'…here…" Squall amended.

"For what?"

"I'll be waiting…for you…so…If you come here…You'll find me," he added. Seifer seemed appeased by this statement at last.

"I promise," the blonde vowed seriously and with conviction.

Deciding that he had heard enough, having enough to mull over with this revealing conversation, Seifer quietly made his way back inside and started down the winding staircase, lost in thought. A sudden gust of wind, blowing with abnormal strength through the still open door, hit him with the force of Pandemona's attack. Unprepared for the assault, he was sent hurtling headlong over the stair rail and through the shaft of air that plunged ten stories down formed by the staircase spiraling its way around it.

As the ground approached, quicker than he liked, only one thought flashed through Seifer's mind. Really? This is it? This is how I die?! How pathetic…

Author's Notes: Okay, so I hope you liked the exciting first installment…I have a lot of other stories that I should be working on, some of which I have been revisiting and am in the process of writing new chapters for, but this idea just stuck with me and wouldn't leave me alone. I have the first three chapters, where Seifer is stuck in Time Compression all planned out in a bare bones sort of format, so I know exactly what is going to happen and just need to fill in and embellish it. After the first three chapters I'm not so certain, when I get there, I'll have to make a decision on whether I want to end this story there and then write a sequel or continue. Keep that in mind so you can voice your opinion when the time comes.

For those who didn't notice, the ending of Squall and Seifer's conversation are the lines from the beginning of the FFVIII game (though I'm sure you all knew that).

Please let me know if there are any typos or if anything seems incorrect or anything like that. I do not have a beta for this as of yet (any volunteers?) and I am too tired to read through the whole thing again at the moment (though I'll probably do so later).

Expect the next installment to be out in about a week or so. And please let me know what you think so far!