Chapter Text
Writing letters and reports was probably the least favorite part of her job, but as General Celes Chere sat inside the barracks by the furnace, she was at least thankful that she wasn't outside. Narshe was cold. Celes disliked the stiffness and stinging pain that came with frostbite, and thus had a newfound respect for those that lived in climates like the one in Narshe.
Every time she thought something about how frigid it was outside, she felt inane. Of course Narshe was cold, it was high up in the mountains. But, in fairness, before arriving in the mountains near Narshe, she couldn't remember what the sensation of being frostbitten actually felt like. Now that she knew, she wished she hadn't. The last time she had actually known the sensation of being cold was when she was a child, thanks to the magic that she was infused with at a young age. Immunity to feeling cold was one of the many perks, which also included enhanced physical performance and the ability to learn and cast magic. While she was told these things by her mentors growing up, she didn't realize the true extent of her magical powers until magic was forced out of the world. While the extinction of magic was directly correlated with Kefka's death, which brought much relief to Celes, it also brought changes to her that she didn't like much. She realized that life without magic made her more weak. She found she could no longer match or outperform the effort of men in her regiment for physical tasks, as she used to do all the time in the Imperial Army.
But what did it matter? She had work to do, and she needed to focus on that, instead of thinking about things that couldn't be changed. She had to make a report to King Edgar ("King" was a title that she still had to adjust to using, even though it was only for formal situations) detailing the status of the wild beasts in Narshe. The General estimated that it would be another month before she and her men cleared the town of any dangers. Currently, there was a whopping population count of 2 people: a weapons smith and a town elder.
Just as she was almost done writing the report, there was a knock on the door. When she opened it, a hairy, snow-covered, behemoth stumbled in. Well, it looked like a hairy behemoth, but underneath all of the fur clothing was a young soldier. The soldier uncovered the scarf from his face, which revealed a nose slightly too large for his face, a face that was red from the cold, along with had slightly chapped lips. The soldier took a short bow before addressing her, customary of Figaroan culture. "General Chere, ma'am, I hope this day finds you well."
She bowed slightly in reply. "Yes, it does. And I hope it finds you well, sir."
"Oh, please forgive me for not introducing myself," the soldier apologized. "I am Private Trill and I come from the Crine regiment. My crew is the one delivering the supplies to your company. They are being delivered to the mines as we speak. But I have something for you, General. It's a letter from Chancellor Bizzi."
She wondered briefly why they had sent her a mere private with an official report from the Chancellor...were they trying to insult her? However, she quickly dismissed those thoughts. Over-thinking bureaucratic games would not be productive. The soldiers of Figaro respected her, and even feared her a bit. Maybe they just happened to assign a group of Privates the responsibility of shipping supplies. Maybe their leader was hurt, or worse, had died on the journey to Narshe. She grasped the sealed envelope with one hand. "Thank you, Private. Would you like some tea? Please, warm yourself by the furnace."
"Thank you, General." She took the kettle off of the furnace and poured him some boiling water, placing several tea leaves in a cup. Then, taking the letter, she sat at her desk and read:
Dear General Chere,
As you know, I am currently heading the project of the excavation of Kefka's Tower. What you may not know is this: some of the ruins at the base are still navigable. The workers have discovered what is probably the remains of the royal library. Unfortunately, as nobody here is educated in the old and new languages of Vector, we need someone of your knowledge to help organize these books to help decide where they should be shipped off to. It will probably take a fortnight to complete the task.
Please do not feel required to do this. If you do not have any interest in this, I would be willing to search for another person to accomplish this task. However, if you accept the job, please depart for the Southern Continent the day after you receive this. You will receive a more thorough debriefing here.
Sincerely,
Errol Bizzi
Chancellor
The Kingdom of Figaro
Yes, Celes had heard about this. The last time she saw him, Chancellor Bizzi had mentioned the project to search for usable materials at the ruins of Kefka's Tower. Since most of Kefka's Tower were ruins of Vector, there was plenty of reusable materials to be found there. And since the rest of the world was still recovering from the Cataclysm, they were short on manpower. The supplies would be of much use to all of the nations of the world, which could finally start to repair buildings without fearing more destruction from Kefka's harsh powers.
"Private Trill, when do you depart for your return to Figaro?"
"Um, we leave tomorrow at 0700 hours, General Chere."
"Good. I shall depart with you." She noticed his hand was still shaking the tea cup. Celes figured it was because he was cold. Most Figaroan men were not accustomed to the frigid temperatures of Narshe, as they did most of their military training in the heat of the desert.
"Y-y-yes ma'am." Private Trill eagerly stood up to salute her. He had forgotten to put his cup down, so half of his tea flew out of his cup and onto the floor in the process. "M-m-ma'am I'm so sorry, allow me to clean that up for you."
Celes scoffed audibly. When she had realized this, she had hoped it wasn't loud enough for the Private to hear. "It's fine, it will be no trouble for me to take care of it. I need to clean this office up if I am to make my way south." She raised her hand and arm in a classic salute. "You are dismissed. Please let your crew know they shall report here at 0700 hours."