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THE RIFT GOES HAYWIRE
A Final Fantasy novel
...
Chapter 1
The Rift shimmered unnaturally, as it always did when the worlds collided. Cracks of light snaked through the jagged sky, and fragments of ruined landscapes floated as though tethered by nothing but memory. The battle had been dragging on for far too long, heroes and villains alike clashing endlessly, neither side gaining ground.
Kefka Palazzo thrived in such chaos. His shrill laugh echoed across the broken plains as he darted between crumbling stone platforms, his robes flaring in mad bursts of color. Terra’s group had been keeping him busy, forcing him back with spells and steel, but the clown’s unpredictability made him impossible to pin down.
“Catch me if you can!” he sang out, scattering from Zidane’s blades and Onion Knight’s thrust.
His painted face split into a grin that was all sharp teeth and wild eyes. “Oh, this is delightful! A stage made for moi!”
Then it happened.
A ripple tore through the Rift, not from the warriors but from the Rift itself — a jagged tear of magic that hadn’t been meant for anyone. Kefka leapt straight into it, too busy laughing to notice the change in air. His voice cracked into a surprised squeal as the light swallowed him whole.
“Uh… did we just… win?” Zidane asked, lowering his blades.
The light pulsed once, and when it faded, Kefka did not reappear. In his place, lying on the fractured stone, was something much smaller, wrapped in tattered scraps of gaudy cloth.
Onion Knight blinked. “That’s… not possible.”
Terra took a wary step forward, her hand trembling. She expected an ambush, some cruel illusion meant to mock her. But as she drew closer, her sharp breath caught.
It was a baby.
Not just any baby — a tiny infant with a shock of pale hair and round cheeks, swaddled in remnants of jester’s fabric. The child let out a piercing wail that echoed across the battlefield.
Zidane dropped his blades in astonishment. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s Kefka?”
The Onion Knight pressed a hand to his temple. “A glamour…? No, this feels like a Rift anomaly. It transformed him.”
The infant rolled, flailing his tiny fists, and his face screwed up in fury as he cried louder. Terra’s chest tightened with something sharp and sour. She had seen Kefka’s cruelty, his madness, his laugh that had once haunted her dreams. And yet… this was not that man. This was helplessness in its purest form.
“Pick him up!” Zidane urged, though his grin was half-panicked. “You can’t just leave him there.”
“I won’t touch him,” Terra said quickly, stepping back.
Onion Knight crouched, his young features tightening in thought. “We can’t leave him. But… this is complicated. He’s a warrior of Chaos.”
Zidane bent down before Terra could protest further, sliding his hands beneath the infant and lifting him with awkward care. The baby squirmed in his arms, red-faced and shrieking, his fists batting at Zidane’s tunic.
“Oh man, he’s loud,” Zidane muttered, trying to rock him side to side. “What do babies like again? Food? Toys? Less gravity?”
Terra turned away, hugging herself. “I can’t. Not him.”
The Onion Knight looked between them, voice tight with urgency. “We’ll take him to Cosmos. She’ll know what to do.”
The plan was simple, but the walk back across the Rift was anything but. Baby Kefka alternated between shrill wails and hiccupping cries, his small body twisting against Zidane’s hold. Zidane tried bouncing him lightly, then holding him high like a prize, then cradling him against his chest. None of it worked.
“Why is he so strong for someone so small?” Zidane hissed as the baby yanked at his hair.
“Because he’s Kefka,” Onion Knight muttered, massaging his temples. “Even reduced to an infant, he’s… difficult.”
Terra said nothing. She kept her distance, her gaze fixed on the shifting Rift paths ahead. The cries drilled into her ears, each sound a reminder that her tormentor now existed as something utterly vulnerable. She wanted to hate it. She wanted to walk away. But every time she tried, her steps slowed.
They reached the clearing where Cosmos resided, the air around her domain calm and radiant compared to the jagged Rift beyond. The goddess herself stood at the heart, her form gleaming with a serenity that even the warped world could not dim.
Her eyes lifted as the trio approached, widening slightly when she saw what Zidane carried. “What… is this?”
Zidane adjusted his hold, the baby squirming in protest. “Uh. Don’t freak out, but… this is Kefka.”
The goddess of harmony blinked once. Then twice. “Explain.”
Onion Knight stepped forward, bowing his head. “It appears the Rift released a glamour that struck him mid-battle. When the light faded, we found him like this. We weren’t sure what to do.”
Cosmos’s gaze softened as she looked down at the infant. His face was blotchy from crying, his fists still clenched tight as if ready to fight the world itself. For a moment, he looked like nothing more than any mortal child.
“He’s helpless,” she murmured.
“Which is why we’re giving him to you!” Zidane said quickly, shifting the wailing baby into her arms before Terra could object.
“Wait—” Terra stepped forward instinctively, but stopped herself. Her voice caught in her throat. “I… I can’t. Not him. Please don’t ask me.”
Cosmos glanced at her with quiet understanding. She nodded. “Very well. I will see to him.”
The baby latched onto the fabric of her gown immediately, tugging with surprising strength. Cosmos lifted him slightly, cradling him with the ease of one who had known gentler times. The cries softened into small hiccups.
Zidane sighed in relief. “Well, that’s better. Guess goddesses really do have the magic touch.”
Onion Knight crossed his arms, still frowning. “What will you do with him? He belongs to Chaos.”
Cosmos’s expression clouded. “Then I must speak with him. This… concerns both of us.”
The baby squirmed again, letting out a tiny laugh — high-pitched, but not cruel. For the first time, silence settled over the clearing.
Even Terra found herself staring.
…
Chapter 2:
The Rift never truly woke or slept, but the sanctuary found its rhythm anyway. It started each not-morning with Kefka’s siren wail, a cry so piercing Zidane swore it rattled the floating isles outside. He stumbled upright, hair sticking out in every direction.
“I’m on it,” he groaned, reaching into the nest. “All right, little terror, what’s the emergency this time?”
Cosmos appeared with a bottle, testing its warmth against her wrist with the ease of one who could memorize temperatures in light. She passed it to Zidane, who sat cross-legged and cradled Kefka carefully.
The baby latched with fierce determination, and Zidane chuckled weakly. “Yup. Definitely his favorite thing about this whole existence.”
“Babies eat often,” Onion Knight remarked, adjusting the schedule he kept meticulously updated. “Their stomachs are small.”
“Everything about him is small,” Zidane said. “Except the noise.”
Terra lingered near the doorway again, watching but refusing to come closer. Each whimper knifed into her ears, yet she couldn’t look away.
After the feeding came the burping. Zidane patted Kefka’s back in brisk arcs until the infant released a seismic belch. Zidane whooped. “Champion! You’ll put Garland out of a job.”
“Test that hypothesis elsewhere,” Onion Knight muttered.
The days blurred like this: feedings, changings, naps, and Kefka discovering new ways to command the attention of gods and warriors alike.
It was during one of those changes that Zidane nearly lost his courage.
The smell struck first. “Oh no,” he whispered, recoiling. “Not that. Anything but that.”
Onion Knight sighed. “You volunteered for care. This is part of it.”
“I meant cuddles and burps! Not…” Zidane gestured helplessly at the wriggling infant.
Cosmos appeared with a fresh cloth and calm patience. “Lay him down.”
Zidane obeyed reluctantly, gagging as the goddess worked with brisk gentleness. By the time she finished and fastened the fresh diaper, Zidane looked like he had fought Bahamut barehanded. Kefka, meanwhile, cooed in satisfaction.
Zidane groaned. “He enjoyed that. He actually enjoyed that.”
…
Word of the transformation spread. Garland appeared first, looming over the nest. His helm tilted. “This is Kefka?”
Cosmos nodded. “Yes.”
“…Pathetic,” Garland muttered. Yet he stayed longer than anyone expected, watching the infant’s small fists clench and unclench as though holding invisible blades.
Jecht was next, and when he saw the baby, he laughed so hard it shook the chamber. “The clown’s in diapers? Best day of my life.”
Cosmos’s voice cooled. “It is not justice. It is a chance. And chance is cruel enough.”
Jecht rubbed the back of his neck, still chuckling but softer. “Yeah, fair enough. Still funny, though.”
When Chaos next appeared, it was not in his monstrous form. He stepped into the chamber as a man-shaped figure, tall and broad, his crimson mane falling like flame across his shoulders. His presence was still immense, but it was tempered now, less storm, more ember.
Zidane nearly dropped Kefka. “Uh. Did you just… downgrade?”
“Respect,” Onion Knight hissed.
Chaos ignored them, crouching near the nest. Kefka spotted him immediately, squealed with delight, and stretched out tiny hands.
The god hesitated. Then, slowly, he extended one gauntleted finger. Kefka grasped it at once, giggling.
Kuja, watching with folded arms, laughed. “Oh, this is rich. The terror of the Rift reduced to a plaything.”
Chaos glared, but he didn’t pull his finger away.
Cosmos’s smile was serene. “See? Even discord can be gentle.”
“This is duty,” Chaos growled. But he didn’t move until Kefka finally released him.
Other visitors came and went. Kuja added silk ribbons to the nest. Sephiroth discovered, to everyone’s astonishment, that Kefka calmed immediately when held against his shoulder. Cloud of Darkness hummed low songs that hushed the infant into sleep.
Even Garland tried. His first attempt at rocking had been so stiff it nearly set Kefka off into another scream, but by his second try, the baby nestled against his iron chest, lulled by the steady rhythm.
Zidane smirked. “See? You’re a natural, general.”
“Do not test me,” Garland muttered, but he swayed more gently all the same.
Inevitably, the sanctuary convened a council. Cosmos sat at one end of the long table, Chaos at the other in humanoid form. Zidane rocked Kefka in the middle while Onion Knight shuffled papers.
“This cannot last,” Chaos said.
“No,” Cosmos agreed softly. “But until it ends, he is a child. And I will not allow harm to come to him.”
The infant giggled suddenly, a bright bubble of laughter that silenced the chamber. Chaos froze, golden eyes locked on the child.
Jecht leaned back, grinning. “You’re done for. The kid likes you.”
Zidane smirked. “Papa Chaos.”
Chaos’s growl shook the walls, but he didn’t put Kefka down until Cosmos reached for him.
“This is temporary,” he snarled.
Cosmos smiled. “Until it isn’t.”
The baby yawned, drooled, and promptly fell asleep.
By the time the chamber settled again, Terra stood at the doorway, arms wrapped tight around herself. She hadn’t spoken a word through the council, but her eyes lingered on the infant in the nest.
Her lips trembled. “He’s still a monster. He always will be. But right now… he’s just a baby.”
Cosmos didn’t argue. She only smoothed the child’s hair, her calm endless.
And for one heartbeat, even Chaos had no retort.
…
Chapter 3:
By the third not-morning, the sanctuary had become a nursery in all but name. Zidane’s cloak hung on the wall, stained with spit-up. Onion Knight’s parchment bristled with charts and feeding schedules. Kuja had turned the nest into a ribbon display. Garland paced near the door like an armored babysitter, muttering about wasted warriors.
And Kefka? He had discovered that crying summoned everyone.
He let out a shriek, fists pumping the air. Zidane swooped in first, scooping him up. “Okay, okay, you win! I surrender!” He bounced, hummed, and danced his knees. For three blissful seconds, Kefka hiccupped in silence… then screamed louder.
“Not hunger,” Onion Knight said, checking his chart. “He fed an hour ago. Not wet. Not—”
“He’s bored,” Kuja interrupted, flicking his sleeve. He conjured a glittering orb and twirled it above Kefka’s face.
The baby blinked, entranced. The cries melted into squeaks as he reached for the light.
Zidane gaped. “Seriously? That’s all it took?”
“Children appreciate art,” Kuja said smugly.
The orb popped. Kefka startled, then wailed. Garland stomped in, helm rattling. “What now?”
“Magic show gone wrong,” Zidane groaned.
Jecht followed, chuckling. “He needs motion.” Without warning, he scooped Zidane and Kefka under one arm and started jogging laps. Zidane yelped, but Kefka laughed for the first time—bright, bubbling, contagious.
Cosmos returned just in time to see Zidane dumped on the floor, dizzy but victorious. The baby clung to him, hiccupping giggles.
Even Chaos arrived, humanoid this time, his mane like flame and eyes glowing gold. He crouched stiffly by the nest, and Kefka squealed, reaching out.
“He wants you,” Zidane said with wicked glee.
Chaos scowled, but Cosmos lifted the baby toward him. Kefka grabbed a fistful of red hair immediately, tugging hard. The god froze, stunned.
Kuja laughed until he nearly doubled over. “Oh, this is priceless.”
Chaos pried the tiny hand loose with infinite care. “His grip is strong.”
“Babies’ grips are always strong,” Onion Knight said.
Kefka leaned forward and blew a wet raspberry against Chaos’s armor.
The sound echoed. The silence that followed shattered when Jecht roared with laughter, Zidane collapsed to the floor, and even Garland’s helm tilted in what might have been reluctant amusement.
Chaos did not drop the baby. He only growled, low and fierce. Cosmos smiled serenely. “See? Even discord can bring joy.”
“This is duty,” Chaos snapped. But he held Kefka until the baby giggled himself into drowsy sleep.
Later, the sanctuary convened again. Cosmos and Chaos stood across from each other, Kefka nestled in Zidane’s arms, half-asleep. Kuja and Jecht bickered, Garland glowered, Onion Knight scribbled, and Sephiroth lingered like a shadow.
“This cannot last,” Chaos said.
“No,” Cosmos agreed. “But until it ends, he is a child. I will not allow harm to come to him.”
Terra finally spoke, voice sharp with hurt. “He destroyed my world. And now I’m supposed to protect him?” Her eyes burned, but when the baby whimpered at her tone, she faltered.
Cosmos’s voice was gentle. “You need not forgive. Only see him as he is.”
Terra’s gaze lowered to the small face, the tiny fist clutching Zidane’s tunic. Her throat tightened. “…Harmless.”
The word trembled between sorrow and truth.
Chaos studied her for a long time, then turned back to Cosmos. “For now.”
“For now,” she echoed.
The next not-morning brought laughter again—Kefka’s this time. He lay in the nest, squealing at a ribbon Kuja had tied above him, kicking until he smacked himself in the cheek and laughed harder. Zidane nearly cried laughing.
“Art triumphs again,” Kuja declared smugly.
Jecht grinned. “Kid’s easy to please.”
Sephiroth murmured, “Impressive. He has reduced gods and generals alike.”
Chaos appeared silently, watching from the arch. Kefka spotted him, squealed, and stretched both arms toward him.
Jecht nudged Zidane. “Papa Duty."
Grumbling, Chaos accepted the child. Kefka immediately drooled on his chest plate, then blew another raspberry. The chamber erupted. Even Onion Knight’s quill shook as he tried to keep writing.
Chaos glared at all of them but did not put the baby down.
By the time Kefka drifted back to sleep, Terra had edged closer than ever before. Cosmos lifted the infant toward her, waiting. After a long pause, Terra accepted him. Her arms trembled, then steadied as his warmth settled against her. He patted her collarbone with damp fingers, eyes closing.
Her throat tightened. “…Harmless,” she whispered again. And this time, there was no bitterness at all.
Zidane grinned from across the room. “See? Natural.”
Kuja sniffed. “We are awarding ribbons for incompetence now.”
But Cosmos only smiled, and Chaos—watching silently—did not correct her.
That not-night, the Rift groaned as it always did, but inside the sanctuary, peace held. Zidane sprawled snoring, Onion Knight filed his charts, Kuja sulked with a mangled tassel, Garland stood guard, and Jecht snored louder than Zidane.
Cosmos laid Kefka into the nest, smoothing his pale hair. Chaos lingered at the archway, arms folded.
“You grow attached,” he said.
“We all do,” Cosmos replied.
“Attachment is weakness.”
“Attachment is strength,” she countered.
Chaos looked at the child, who sighed in his sleep and curled around the moon pillow. He turned away with a growl that almost sounded like reluctant acceptance.
“For now,” he said.
Cosmos whispered, “For now.”
And as Kefka slept on, the strangest truth of the Rift held: the balance of harmony and discord now rested in a pair of very small hands.