Text A Battle of Angels [A Final Fantasy: Dissidia Novelization]

[Dave 5,715]

Before begining, there are a few things I would like to say in regards to this story I've taken to writing. First, I'd like to apologize for the incredible length of this first chapter. I hope you all bear with me through it, and rest assured that future entries will not be as long. Second, I welcome, and hope for, all critiques and thoughts you might have on this story and how it might be bettered. I have more than a few reservations about my writing style, and wish to improve. Third, it should be noticed that I am taking certain creative liberties within the canon of Dissidia in hopes of creating deeper character and plot arcs. Though the general setting, plot, and characters will be recognized, there will be alterations which, I hope, will be for the better.

 

Thank you very much, and I hope you enjoy.

~

 

Chapter 1: Seeds of Chaos

 

As the last of her power ebbed from her body, her final thoughts of her brave warrior standing alone in a battle they both knew he could not win, she gave a heavy sigh of remorse, and died.

 

~

 

…What?

 

What has…

 

She is dead?

 

But, he did not kill her.

 

Then how did she die?

 

…Oh.

 

Oh, my.

 

I see now…

 

That changes… everything.

~

 

He had debriefed the generals and authorities as quickly as he could. The mission had been a success. All the enemy were dead. The city, as they knew it, no longer existed. The curt answers were double-fold in purpose. First, it made sure he had to spend as little time as possible before his captors. Second, if he started talking more, he could not contain his rage and would likely begin to unleash a verbal fury that would hint at only a fraction of the horrible things he wanted to do to them.

 

But then he would be punished. Or worse, they would punish her. And he would not allow that.

 

Thankfully, the generals were content, and sent him away. Without wasting a moment, he stormed from the room and descended through the halls and corridors of the military complex. The thoughts he entertained of slaughtering every living thing that he passed only increased his frustration as he reflected on the impossibility of them actually occurring.

 

He was, he realized, very tired.

 

His clawed feet clicked and clanged on the steel flooring, the narrow halls claustrophobically hampering a creature of his size. A pair of scientists, passing by in the opposite direction, gave only a brief pause at the monsterous being before them before resuming their conversation, brushing by him without a thought. He scowled as their talking faded down the corridor. The pasty, underweight fools! Didn’t they know that he had the power to kill every living thing in a fifty mile radius in under an hour? Didn’t they know that such a feat had been accomplished earlier this day, wiping an entire city and its inhabitants off the map? Didn’t they know that he was the single greatest war machine ever to walk the face of the earth?

 

He continued his walk deeper into the depths of the building, where the lights flickered and the temperature dropped substantially. Oh, yes. They knew. Their job was to know. They had studied him, bred him, used him for just that purpose. They had caged him and harnessed him so that his catastrophic power might be controlled.

 

They knew, he thought as he approached his destination: a door, metal and bland, identical to all the other doors in this unfeeling building, and yet the only one that mattered to him. They knew what it would take to control something like him. Sighing, he opened the door and saw her: the simultaneous cause of his entrapment, and of the greatest joy of his life.

 

She calmed him, as she always did. Her bright blue eyes radiating assurance, her warm smile lifting his spirits, her golden hair making up for the sunlight he could no longer bear to look at. Marvelling at the sight of her, he became increasingly aware of his own ugliness. The scars of battle present all across his body, blood still red on his claws from his previous mission. Why, he had not even wiped his feet before coming in! Ludicrous as such a thought would have been at any other moment in his day, the prospect of possibly trailing mud inside this hated building was suddenly among the worst sins he could fathom, and it increased his shame even more.

 

It was all he could do to avoid bursting into tears.

 

With all the awkwardness of a child being lectured, he could only stare down at his feet, not daring to look up at her. Something as divine, something as inherently good and pure as her should not be subjected to the presence of a monster. Of a mere weapon. If she was as beautiful as the fabric of the world would permit, surely, he knew, he was the ugliest.

 

Now, more than ever, he hated himself.

 

No, he hated everything.

 

He hated the military who used him as a tool, the pasty, fat, greedy pigs who abused him, who would squeal for mercy if he tore out their throats. He hated the scientists who examined him and what he could do, reducing him to numbers and states, with no care for his mind. He hated the people he had just killed for existing as enemies and necessitating his use as a weapon, paradoxically wishing for more of their kind, so that he could kill them all. He hated the people who were at peace, for they knew the one thing he craved and could not have, and they would never know his horror. He hated the cold building, the cramped walls, the feel of steel flooring on his feet!

 

Fists clenched, his claws cutting into his own palms, tears of frustration began to form in his eyes. Every second, every sensation, every thought that passed through his head only added to his hatred of everything around him. There was nothing in his existence that would good, every waking moment dedicated to the dragging out of his tortuous being.

 

He even hated…

 

A cool hand touched his cheek, as effective as a flood of water dousing a forest of flame. Catching himself on his last thought, he now cried openly, so deep was his shame. Gently, she lifted his head up, forcing him to look into her eyes, and in them he saw the only thing on the earth that cared for him, and the only thing he cared for in return.

 

She smiled tenderly, and wiped a tear from his eye, causing him to smile as well.

 

No, he could never hate…

 

And then he awoke.

 

Gone were the images of the cell and the woman in it, mere figments of his mind. The sterile smell of steel gave way to the dusty smell of ash and fire. Blinking as the last lingering images of her face disappeared from his eyes, reality began to sink in. He sat upon his throne, grand and imposing, with the nightmarish images of skulls and other creatures of darkness imbedded upon it. The throne was atop a mighty tower, and the mighty tower part of a grand fortress. Greater than any monument ever constructed by mortal man, the fortress was gargantuan in size, spreading out for miles, every inch of it strong and foreboding. Defying any linear sense of style and design, it looked as though some godly craftsman had taken parts of dozens of other constructions and stuck them all into one: In some places it was built of mere stone and mortar, in other places of metal sheets and glass, and a myriad of towers reached to the heavens, each one as different from the others as could be. And all around him, a barren wasteland of death and decay: the land burnt and broken, scorched and torn, as if earthquakes and volcanoes competed to see which could do the most harm to it. As it would seem, the volcanoes might have won, for the sky was blackened with ash and cloud, denying the sun any access, but instead providing light via the flames which fell perpetually from the heavens.

 

The heat, the smell, the light; The hell that he found himself in assaulted all his senses at once, and his mind was unable to recollect the feelings and emotions that had mere seconds ago seemed so real and so near. Inhaling dust and ash with every breath, a sort of anxiousness came upon him. Rising from his chair, he looked around, if there was anyone else present who might have given an answer. Finding none, he had a thought to search his fortress, but then, suddenly unsure of himself, sat back down in his throne.

 

What did it all mean?

 

Instinctively he had assumed the dream to have been shadows of his own past, but upon further reflection, he could not remember a single time when this scene might have occurred. All his memories were of this place, this dying earth, and if he had ever been inside a complex such as the one he envisioned, he could not fathom where it might have been. He did not know of any military or scientists, and as for being forced to obey…

 

He was a god. God’s didn’t obey anyone but themselves.

 

But so was she…

 

The face that brought so much pleasure and joy to him in his sleep now brought him nothing but confusion and frustration. He could remember how pleasant was her smile, her touch, but the fact that he had been happy was precisely the problem: to find bliss in the arms of his mortal enemy? To love that which he had sworn to destroy? Always he could feel her presence in the world, working to undo all that he did, combatting him at every turn, refusing him peace. She was a thorn in his side, perpetually causing him pain, unhappiness, everything except the very love he dreamed of.

 

However, no sooner had he pondered this than he realized, with some surprise and alarm, that he could not feel her presence now.

 

So startled was he that he leapt out of his chair, as if this would make the fog of confusion more clear. She was not there? His mind and senses could not seem to feel it. But then… she was dead? This seemed scarcely less absurd than his dream! He had not struck her down, but then, how could she possibly be gone?

 

What did it all mean?

 

The mental strain sapping the energy from his body, he sank back into his throne. He was tired, perhaps more tired than he had ever been. Worse, if she was gone, then surely the dragon would be here soon, and then his exhaustion would continue, as it always had. How he longed for rest… but the dream plagued his mind, refusing him to return to the realm of sleep.

 

He wished she would die, and stay dead, so that he might know peace.

 

He wished she would live, and provide him with the unknown sensation of being loved.

 

What did it all mean?

~

 

The Rift gaped vast and deep, hewn in between space and time at the very edge of the world. Here the rules physics and logic seemed almost arbitrary. The land was perfectly level in all directions, though one could scarcely call it land to begin with:  the ground one could walk on seemed to be made of air, or at the very least a liquid, and great stones and crystals, doubtlessly heavy beyond belief, floated in the air as if feathers. All around the air floated fluorescent specks of debris, though debris of what, exactly, was anyone’s guess. The sky, if it could be called that, was black, yet seemed to glow with its own kind of eerie luminescence that defied all other rules of how light ought to work. A mysterious place, a dangerous place, it was difficult to get to, and far sager to stay away from.

 

Yet it was here that one figure, walking with a strange stagger, back slightly hunched, and garbed in harlequin clothing, was in a great hurry to be.

 

“Where exactly are you going?” he said aloud in a mockingly deep voice. “None of your business,” he muttered in reply, this time without mockery, but with sincere bitterness. “Mr. High and Mighty, thinks that because he’s best-friends-forever with a god means that he runs the show.” He bumped slightly into a floating crystal, and, upon regaining his balance, pointing a menacing finger at the offending object. “What a STUPID place for a rock!” he shrieked, and a ball of fire burst from the extended forefinger, striking the stone and demolishing it in a flash.

 

He tested the remaining gravel with his toe as if to make sure it was dead. “Oh, ho, ho. Not so tough when you’re in a million pieces, are you?” he chuckled, resuming his odd, shuffling gait. “No, you’re not so tough at all. None of you are that tough… you can be destroyed…” This last note was repeated over and over under his breath, as if trying to remind himself of the fact for a later date.

 

He paused to look about him, hand placed over his eyes to shield them from a sun that wasn’t present. “Now, where could they be?” They had to be here, he was sure of it! “Come on, come on,” he mumbled crossly, “you didn’t just get up and walk away…”

 

The ground, such as it was, rumbled slightly.

 

“Oh, shut up!” he replied, and stomped hard on the ground as if he were in an apartment, and the neighbours downstairs were making too much noise. “Nobody asked you! Rotten, dirty, evil… A-HA! There you are!”

 

Spotting that which he was looking for, he hurried jauntily forward. Another rumble occurred, this time strong enough to cause a slight tremor in the fabric of the universe. “What did I just say?!” he snarled, before turning his attention to his findings. “Ah, yes, lovely, lovely.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Now, who wants to come home with me?” Eagerly did he sort, critically murmuring to himself all the while. “This one’s broken, no. This one’s no good. Ugh! Goodness, no, not you! Wouldn’t be caught dead with you in public. Oh HO!” he exclaimed suddenly, a wide smile creasing his face. “Perfect, that’s what you are! I should know! I’ve been perfect for a while, and this is definitely what it looks like. Ha!”

 

Yet another rumble shook the ground, stronger than ever before, and this time accompanied by a distant but terrifying roar of some great beast. “Oh, that’s just like him,” he spat, taking the desired object under one arm, as well as hastily choosing another to sling over his shoulder. “He doesn’t like it when someone pinches his snacks, does he?” Having got what he came for, he sped away, eager to put as much distance between himself and the rift as possible, the increasing sounds of the roars hastening him further. “Think you’re tough, do you?” He dared not turn his head as he ran, but his thoughts turned sour. “Well, we’ll see, won’t we? We’ll see how YOU like being the one scrounging for scraps! Ha! With another pair to add to my collection, and my plans just about ripe… I’ll practically OWN you! Hee hee hee!” With a whirl of his finger, a dark portal appeared before him. Cackling as he went, he disappeared through the portal, his laughs vanishing as soon as the portal closed.

 

No sooner had he left then the dragon burst through the Rift.

~

 

“Kain is dead.”

 

He waited for a sign: a slight pause in the reply, a shift in posture, a deep breath. Anything to indicate that the man standing before him was upset by this news.

 

“And?”

 

Nothing. A response as cold and emotionless as the iron armor it came from.

 

“His body is broken beyond repair,” he continued, reveling in the thought of causing the other some discomfort in the details. “I suspect he was hewn at least fifty times.” Then, by way of finality, “He shan’t be coming back this time.”

 

“It does not seem likely. Being struck down fifty times is fairly damning.”

 

Anticipation of taking pleasure in another’s disappointment boomeranged upon him, with his rival’s nerves completely unshaken and he himself someone irritated by the lack of expected response. From atop the plateau, the two metal-clad knights stood stoically in the night. Clouds blocked the moon, yet light there was enough to see the desolated forest immediately below them, and beyond it a destroyed and still burning town. What the town’s name was, he could not remember: so many had been destroyed in his memory that they all seemed to blur together. Nor, he thought, did its name particularly matter: the name of a town was a paltry thing, derived to give the inhabitants a sense of identity, to make them feel like they were not just poor lost sheep in the wilderness.

 

And if all the inhabitants were dead, which he knew they were, then there was no one to give identity to.

 

His disappointment being lessened by these thoughts, he laughed: an ugly, mocking, mirthless laugh. “You would deny that you were not fond of the man?”

 

“I do not.” Hands clasped behind his back, the cape fluttering in the gentle breeze was the only sign of disquiet about the black knight. “Kain was a resourceful and clever person, brave in battle and more than capable mentally. I imagine anyone would have thought him a worthy lieutenant.”

 

Feeling that he at last was on the verge of the evidence he was looking for, he pressed further. “You dare associate yourself with one of the enemy?”

 

Once more, there was not a change of tone, nor a sign of being flustered by this accusation. “I had hoped that he might be convinced to join our cause. As I have said, Kain was ambitious, and I thought he would be fond of the power we could offer him.”

 

“Ah, so that is the reason for your constant lending of aid to him? Your meddling in battles? The stream of advice that you so readily poured into the ears of an enemy soldier?” Though the blue tinted helmet could not convey a smile, he could not hide the satisfaction in his voice as he laid his adversary’s secrets bare.

 

“It is.”

 

The answer was so simple, so matter-of-fact, so without any attempts at vindication or justification that is was now he who had cause to be flustered. “Well, your little pet project has failed,” he said, spitefully.

 

“Clearly.” A pause, then, “And since my would-be lieutenant is dead, I imagine any advice I might have given is dead along with him.”

 

Further conversation was interrupted as the ground began to rumble and shake around them, mild at first, but soon growing in strength to where it seemed the plateau they stood upon was about to collapse. In the air, the clouds grew a dark, fiery red, as sparks of lightning exploded sporadically in the heavens. A gale of wind grew stronger as the clouds began to part around a solitary spot, and from the hole burst a dazzling, radiant light.

 

As before, the imagery of an oncoming apocalypse was indeed pleasing, and lifted his spirits enough to grant another ugly, heartless laugh. “And, what about the other one?”

 

A two second pause, as deep as the Void and louder than the world falling apart around them.  “If you think me treacherous, then you’d best kill me now.”

 

Avoiding the question. Clearly shaken by the thought. Oh yes, he now knew that the black knight was still a liability. How he longed to end the traitor, here and now! Yet, though this evidence was more than enough for him, it would be difficult to justify the act to the others, especially given that he would be cutting their own limited numbers down prior to opening shots being fired in the battle yet to come. Reluctantly, he held his sword at bay, but his laugh, while still mocking, now had more personal mirth in it. “Ha, ha! I think we both know that killing you wouldn’t do much good, would it?” Laughing harder as the world around them shook and burned, he turned and walked away, already planning how to go about keeping an eye on the suspect.

 

Alone at last, the knight stood solidly amidst the chaos, watching the horizon like a sentinel standing guard. From the blazing hole in the clouds emerged an awesome sight: a massive, serpentine creature, its body made of flame, glided effortlessly into the world, the smoothness of its movements at odds with the violent turmoil its presence was causing. Roaring mightily, the creature hovered above the mauled village, and as if in response, a change began to occur. From the desolation rose a plethora of glowing specks, floating up into the sky, where the dragon eagerly consumed them. As he feasted, the broken buildings and houses below him began to shudder and groan, but rather than further fall apart, they began to rebuild themselves, as if their destruction was being played out in reverse. The forest too experienced the same thing, with uprooted trees managing to re-plant themselves, burnt grass once again becoming green. For all the appearance of the end of the world, it seemed that the world was being reborn.

 

Once the last of the glowing morsels had been consumed, the dragon roared again, and flew off to find other such scenes of wreckage in this war-torn world. Slowly, the tremors began to ebb and finally subside, the clouds returning to their normal nighttime blue. The knight looked down at the repaired valley, the lush forest, the fledging village. In one of the distant houses, previously dark and lifeless, a soft glow suddenly appeared in the window, and an innocent cloud of smoke came from the chimney.

 

“Oh, yes,” he said aloud, allowing himself a weary sigh, “I know that killing me would not do any good at all.”

~

 

“Oh, my head…” Groaning as a legion of phantom behemoths played blitzball with his brain, he hoped what felt like the world’s greatest hangover was limited only to a colossal headache, and wouldn’t branch out into nausea territory. Not helping either case was the vague sensation that the world around him was shifting, but this soon passed. Not so the headache, which persisted with gusto. “Man, whatever I was drinking, I hope it was good,” he grumbled. “I’d hate to feel this lousy off of the cheap stuff…”

 

Whatever bender he might have been on took its toll greater than he immediately thought: he tried to recall where exactly he received this self-inflicted wound, only to find he couldn’t remember a thing. The harder he tried to think, the more blurry everything became. “That’s it, nothing but tonic water from now on. I swear,” he pledged, hoping that whatever gods were listening would take pity on him, and would remove this throbbing pain, deciding he had done penance enough already.

 

Needless to say, this divine act was not forthcoming. “Hmph. Yevon be praised, huh?” he grumbled. “Can’t even magic away a dumb headache…”

 

Wanting nothing but a drink of water, he staggered to his feet (no easy task), leaning on an ornate marble pillar for support… and realized that ornate marble pillars were not usually found in bars, back alleys, or any of the places he assumed his pain had come from. Nor did he expect a red carpet, shining floors, or grand paintings to be hanging on the wall. In fact, being in a throne room was precisely the last place he expected to be in his lifetime, never mind the place he expected to wake up in with a splitting headache. But here he was, and here it was, in all its regality, expense, and splendor, fit for a king.

 

Speaking of thrones, it suddenly occurred to him that just such a thing was placed at the head of the room, wrought from gold, crafted by a true artisan, with jeweled studs and artistic engravings, cushioned in red velvet. Yet more interesting was the man sitting in said throne: a pale, slender man, who sat comfortably with one leg crossed over the other. Garbed in golden clothe and cape, his throne was flanked by two objects: the first being a suit of golden armor, which, while obviously functional, was placed in reverence on a stand, as if it were a headless knight standing at its king’s side; second, a long staff, which leaned on the throne, ever at the ready. His bearing was stately, with his head tilted slightly back, his lips curled into a bemused grin, and he gave the overall impression of a man patiently waiting for something he not only expected, but knew for certain was going to occur. “Pleasant dreams?”

 

Rubbing his unbrushed hair, realizing that he didn’t even have a shirt, and completely lost as to what he was doing in a place of splendor like this, he replied, “I’ve had better. Dreamt I got eaten by some great big snake thing. Heh, probably sounds stupid to you.”

 

He expected to be mocked. That’s what always thought high-society people did. But the pale man did no such thing: the air of expectance and unlimited patience held firm. “Stranger things happen in the realm of dreams. For my part, I’m merely glad to find you awake. I didn’t think I got to you in time.”

 

This hint of mystery was obviously intended to lead him on, but there was something far more pressing which required asking first. “Yeah, thanks a bunch, you’re a big help, and by the way, who the hell are you and where am I?” His headache was ebbing away now, his senses having returned enough to fully recognize that he was in the house of a stranger with no idea how he got there, and he didn’t like the look of things at all.

 

At this, the pale man gave some signs of surprise. “Oh, my,” he said softly, brows furrowed in concern, “it’s worse than I thought.” Then, leaning forward, he asked, “Can you remember anything of, say, the last few days or so?”

 

“Not a thing,” he replied, trying again briefly only to find that he could hardly even remember where he was from, what his favorite food is, and it took more than a great deal of effort to recall his own name. “Unless you feel like enlightening me?”

 

Instead of doing this, the man leaned back in his throne, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I feared this. Though I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a great surprise. The blow to your head in the last battle would have killed any lesser man.”

 

There it was again, hints to something lost in the haze of confusion. “What d’you mean? What battle?” He was at war? Geez, he had been in some rough tavern fights before, but nothing he would declare war over…

 

“In your last encounter with the enemy, you were overwhelmed and beaten within an inch of your life. You’d likely have perished, had I not found you. Oh, don’t worry,” he said, noticing the surprised look on the guest’s face, “you were outnumbered greatly, and you did far more to them than they did to you.”

 

That last note wasn’t what he was worried about (though it did make the whole idea of being beaten up easier to swallow), but the more he thought about it, the more things seemed to click. Bit by bit, it was as if the curtains of forgetfulness were being drawn away with every word the gold-clad man said. There had been a battle, and there had been an enemy. The exact details were fuzzy, but the harder the thought, the more it all came back to him. He had been in a fight, and a grueling one at that. He had given it his all, and if that were the case, the cause must have been one he believed in, because he wouldn’t have fought that hard for nothing.

 

Looking up at his benefactor, he still didn’t have the foggiest idea of who he was or what his game might be, but still, anyone who had half a mind to pull his tail out of a trap must be a friend. “Well, thanks, I guess. I suppose I owe you one, huh?”

 

A wry grin made it very clear that the man on the throne was more than aware of that.

 

Irritated in spite of himself, the would-be drunk gave a curt nod. “Well, all right. One good turn, and all that. But let’s make one thing clear: there’s only one guy who I answer to.”

 

The hand lying atop the armrest of the throne tensed up ever so slightly. “And who might that be?”

 

Out of the haze, as clear as if it had never been forgotten, more important than any other aspect of his past, the answer appeared instantly. “The God of Dischord.”

 

The hand relaxed. The aristocratic lips curled into their previous knowing smile. “Very good,” he said. “Very good.”

~

 

In the crimson sky above, the fiery dragon flew in graceful circles, heedless of the trembling earth caused by its mere presence. Below, another settlement, this one being a town built around a castle, sent its offerings to the ethereal diety. In the streets, in houses, in the castle itself, the forms of people could be seen hovering above the ground, appearing to be gripped in a deep sleep, unaware of anything going on about them. A miasmic red aura surrounded them, from which glowing sparks flew towards space, where they were consumed wholly by the dragon. While this was going on, bread baked the day before found itself unmade, grass which had been cut found itself grown to full length, and house which had the misfortune of burning down stood once more with nary a scorch mark.

 

Any joy that might be found in this newfound lease on life was lost on it.

 

It stood (or rather, floated) atop a small hillock, just outside the castle-town, unflinching amidst the cataclysm around it. From this vantage point, it could see the rise of the phosphorous-like fragments, a few of the hovering, glowing mortals, and above all, the great creature responsible for it all, flying in elaborate loops as it tried greedily to snag every last morsel. It had not expected the dragon quite so soon: it had hoped to find one or two of the enemy still in a state of disadvantage before being given another chance at life. Thus its presence this close to the disgusting buildings and walls of these mere ants, fortifying their hill so that it might be harder to crush.

 

It curled its lips into a frown of disgust: it hated being here, even on the outskirts. To see the signs of these… creatures scrabbling to stay atop the pile of drooling, festering vermin that made up every other living thing on the planet. Trying to find some kind of meaning that might vindicate their existence, justify their place, forget the arbitrary nature of their very being. Yet, for all their attempts at grandeur, like all ant hills, they could be crushed, indeed, had been crushed, and left to wither and die.

 

And here, before its eyes, the hill was rebuilt, the crushing undone.

 

Who was weaker: the ants who were easily stamped out, or the one who stomped upon them, only to fail every single time at extinguishing their lives?

 

Watching the rebuilding of a town, rendering anything that had occurred within meaningless, it felt, in spite of its hatred of weakness, unsure. Granted, at first, it had taken something resembling pleasure out of the slaughter of thousands of these impotent worms. So had been the case many times since. Yet here, watching once more that its labors bore nonexistent fruits, its own hands felt as powerless as the dead. There was no finality, no consequence, and although it had long since reconciled the meaningless of life, being forced to live through just that was maddening.

 

For the first time in its existence, it felt very, very tired.

 

After a time, the glowing sparks ceased their tribute to the skies, the bodies lost their glow and descended to the earth, once more in a genuine, natural state of rest. Having eaten its fill, the dragon departed, and the night sky was once again still in these parts. A few of the clouds in the sky even saw fit to part slightly, allowing the starts to shine through.

 

“Not even the unexpected presence of the heavens could bring beauty to such a backwards, barbarous settlement.” From behind, the voice rang clear, words enunciated precisely, delivered with flourish worthy of the stage.

 

It turned its head to see the newfound companion. “You expected more from these parasites?”

 

Bearing a winning smile, the man flipped back his long, silvery hair and strode elegantly forward to its side. “On the contrary, I always expect less from the uneducated masses.” Taking a critical glance at the state of the castle, devoid of any sign of artistic trappings or any other signs of culture, he nodded condescendingly. “And as such, I’ve yet to be disappointed.”

 

Taking advantage of the brief moment of silence that followed, it took the opportunity to examine the man further. His body language indicated he was completely at ease in its presence, and he was busy staring at the village in distaste. He was, it would appear, completely normal.

 

“Why, I would be surprised if they even knew what side of the plate the forks go on. Hah, no, I do take that back. They don’t use utensils: they eat with their hands,” he declared, choosing to break the silence, and in doing so, further indicating that he was his old self.

 

It decided to test further. “And should you be forced here to do battle with the enemy…?”

 

“Why, I would relish the thought,” he said, waving his hand in the air theatrically. “To be given the chance to be rid of the minions of Harmony, with the only collateral damage being the loss of a city of uncultured buffoons would be, I think, the kindest cut of all.” Neither trepidation about being forced to fight, nor hesitation about committing itself against an enemy shone through.

 

It relaxed, and permitted itself the slightest of smiles.

 

 “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, pivoting on his heel and sauntering back down the hill. “The mere sight of this place is threatening to kill my brain cells. I’m certain there must be some kind of sanctuary on this god-forsaken planet capable of providing me with mental stimulation. Ta-ta.” Then, with a sudden leap, he flew off, gliding through the night sky with less effort than a bird.

 

It turned its attention back to the town, the loathsome image at least providing something to occupy the eyes. In spite of the haughty demeanour of its comrade, it didn’t feel any hostility or animosity towards him.

 

After all, he hadn’t been talking so much when it brought him here as a corpse, right before the dragon came.

 

~

A faint, distant sound of a beast, a vague sensation of a small earthquake, were enough to penetrate the deep, dark sleep and bring him back to the world of the living. No sooner had he awoken then he placed his hand over his heart. Finding that there was no stab wound, no sign of impalement, no sign of any injury whatsoever, his hand fell to his side.

 

It was as he thought.

 

He rose, expecting at the very least his body to be sore, but found instead that he was as well rested as he had ever been. As his senses slowly overcame the grogginess of slumber, he realized that this was not where he had fallen. Far from being the underground cavern where he had intentionally laid himself to rest, he now found himself inside a tower of some kind: the wide cylinder walls shot up for at least four stories, the ceiling practically a small dot from his vantage point, and a spiral staircase, fixed to the side of the wall, whirled upwards to the top like a corkscrew. The walls were crafted and designed with artistic care, giving the place a regal look, though they were penetrated in places by gears and cogs, turning through some unseen clockwork design. The stairwell was protected by a mahogany guardrail, and all through the rising tower were portraits and paintings. All around, there were sounds of ticking clocks, whirring machines, and other mechanical noises that seemed at odds with the gothic structure.

 

“Ah, you rise at last.”

 

Still somewhat dizzy from his sleep, it took a few moments to recognize the voice, not to mention the figure it belonged to. Striding gracefully down the winding staircase was a tall, majestic woman in a red dress, the elegance of which was offset slightly by her lack of shoes. From her back sprouted a pair of ebony wings, and her silver hair was styled into two horns jutting out to the sides. Looking down upon him, she smiled. “For a moment, I’d thought we’d lost you.”

 

The extravagance of her appearance and the gaudiness surroundings made him proud of his own modest, functional attire. Ignoring her, he wiped the dust from his black coat, heedless of the fine carpet he was dispensing the dirt on.

 

“Regardless, I’m pleased to have my loyal solider back again.”

 

He froze instantly, the shock of the woman’s words driving all other thoughts from his head. What did she just say?

 

“You’ve suffered some head trauma, of course,” she continued, descending the staircase further, her own movements and speech not missing a beat. “You shall feel a tad confused for a while, I imagine. But fear not: you shall be well enough to return to my services in no time.”

 

There was not a thing that came out of her mouth that did not make him want to kill her unmercifully, but the perplexing nature of this gall was altogether maddening. What was she…

 

A smirk on his face and a wry raise of the eyebrow signalled realization. Of course: so that was her game.

 

“Now come,” she said, now at the foot of the stairs, her arm held out in greeting to the risen warrior. “We have much to…”

 

“Save it.” There were no words to describe how much pleasure he took at the utterly aghast look of shock on her face to this reaction. “I remember everything.”

 

She opened her mouth as if to speak, clearly trying to find a way to continue her charade, only to sullenly cross her arms, glaring at the smug, silver haired man before her. “How?”

 

“Never mind.” He had his own theories on the subject, stemming from the scar which ought to have been over his heart, but the fact remained that he could remember everything... no, more than everything. “Suffice to say, Shinryu doesn’t have my memory to feast on.” Then, with a grin, “Nice try, though.”

 

She sniffed in disdain, her would-be pleasant attitude replaced by passive aggressiveness. “You ought to run yourself through more often,” she said, coldly. “The least you could do is thank me for dragging you ought of that miserable hole and bringing you to a place of class.”

 

“And how can I ever repay you?” he taunted. “By being your ‘trusted soldier?’”

 

She returned the joyless smile. “Strange, I thought a ‘hero’ of your calibre was used to being a lapdog to others.”

 

The taunting smirk died, though her quip reminded him of something rather serious. His eyes darted to the around him, searching calmly. Where could it be? “Does that ever work?”

 

“You’d be surprised.” The sight of her would-be slave searching ineffectually for the lost item helped recover her spirits. “What line did they use to recruit you, back in the day?”

 

“Quiet.” Where the devil was it? Surely it couldn’t have been left behind. It was sticking out his chest!

 

“Looking for this?” He whirled to look at her, leaning on the stairwell, toying with the handle of the missing seven foot long katana, which she now held in her gloved hands.

 

“Give it back.” The coy look on her face did nothing to improve his mood. “Don’t make me take it from you.”

 

“Oh?” Completely immune to the threat, she beckoned him forward with a finger. “By all means, do try.”

 

The ticking of clocks marked the time of the standoff to be a full thirty seconds before, grudgingly, he averted his eyes, glaring at the floor in disgust.

 

“Good boy.” Lifting the sword upright, she dropped all pretence of friendliness, using an imperious voice that expected to be obeyed. “Once all the others have been readied, there will be a debriefing in the Great Hall. Be there.” Waiting until he painfully forced himself to nod in acquiescence, she tossed the sword to him. Without so much as blinking at the razor sharp weapon falling towards him, he caught it by the handle effortlessly. She waited cautiously, lest he try to do anything foolish, but, like a puppy being trained, he settled for a hateful glare at her and strode out the door of the tower.

 

Pleased with having the last word, she glided back up her tower, not flinching at all as the deafening sound of bells suddenly sounded in the tower, marking the time to be ten minutes before six o’clock in the morning.

~

 

Completing a tour of the world in time only capable of a being of immense power, the dragon’s time on this plane of existence was nearing its end, loitering only to devour a few remaining morsels of memory before taking its leave. The rest of this planet’s inhabitants, mankind or otherwise, had already been subjected to this visit, and now, from a vantage point of the ancient walls of a crumbling fortress, the knight was the last to witness the phenomenon. Heedless of the crumbling masonry of his perch, knowing full well that even as it fell apart it was being in the process of being rebuilt, he always enjoyed this time. Though the sky was aflame, the ground threatening to rip itself to pieces, it was the one moment of his schedule where he felt the greatest calm. The toil and agony he experienced was over and done with, and further exertions were yet to be. In this one moment in time, hovering in the air from the diving board, but yet to hit the water, he felt at peace.

 

That, at least, was usually the case. This time, however, he was not permitted his traditional moment of silence.

 

You understand, then, what has happened?

 

The voice was booming, god-like, impossible to ignore, and yet, as always, limited to his ears alone. “Indeed.” He watched the fields before him replenish themselves, and thought, oddly, what a pleasant shade of green they were.

 

I thought you had things under control?

 

“I did,” he grumbled back, gauntlets tightening their grip on the sword he was leaning his weight against. “Everything was in place, and when I parted the scene, her warriors were to fall, and she would be prone once more for Chaos to kill her.” It wasn’t, he knew, his fault.

 

But her warriors didn’t fall. She saved them.

 

He wondered, for the first time, if the dragon ate the memories of dumb beasts as well, such as deer or squirrel, or just of people? Deceased animals were regenerated as well, but surely they never experienced anything worth…

 

She saved them!

 

The knight closed his eyes, trying to keep his patience. “You want me to be the caretaker of two gods, now? It is hard enough taking care of one.”

 

She is beyond our control now. That is what is so serious. She’s already acted out of line once. Who knows what else she might do? You must act quickly this time, lest she do anything else unexpected.

 

The final glowing drops of light found their way into the dragon’s mouth. Content that its work here was now done, it heaved its head back and roared, a shockwave of radiant energy bursting from its body and sweeping across the land as if to give it one final cleansing. The wall of light swept over the knight, and though a light headed sensation came over him at the contact, he found himself almost disappointed that it hadn’t incinerated him altogether. “You expect much of me. It is a hard thing, offering advice to a god that is unwilling to act on it.”

 

He listens to you. You can convince him.

 

“I wonder. If she has had an irreversible change of heart, who is to say he might not behave in such a fashion?”

 

Which is why you need to do your task well.

 

From where the dragon floated effortlessly, a blinding light flashed, illuminating the world in a burning white shine. Then, slowly, the light began to fade, from the edges of it radiance inwards to the source. For his part, the knight could barely see, regretting his decision to avert his eyes from the blast, and spent several seconds blinking out the multicolored haze. He had missed his one chance at peace, and a bitter fury overcame him. “Yes,” he spat, his helmet’s reverberations giving his voice a grander sense of forcefulness, “it would be too bad if I should choose not to, and you would have to live with your lifetime of poor decisions and failures.”

 

The light ebbed further and further, contracting upon itself until only a hint of it remained, and then it was gone. There was no sign of the dragon in the sky.

 

Do you want to be cast back into the Abyss?

 

Somewhere in the distance, a songbird of some variety began to chirp, its song offering the illusion of peace and harmony, unaware of the universe altering events that had already occurred, and were yet to be carried out. The chirps of the bird were lively enough to make up for the moment of silence he had missed, helping to lift his heavy heart and ease his weary bones. “No,” he finally conceded.

 

Then do not fail.

 

The voice vanished from his mind. The knight was alone at last.

 

Though the dragon had vanished, and the world rebuilt as though it had never been there at all, it seemed that there was at least one lasting legacy. No sooner had it departed back to whence it came than a fragment of its fiery light still hovered, just over the horizon, dim at first, but slowly growing until it began to flood over the ground. The sky’s black tone began to relent into lighter colors, and, encouraged by the sight, more birds began to take heart and sing. The blanket of light crept over the land, and soon the knight was bathed in the warmth of its gentle glow.

 

The sun had risen. A new day had begun.

[Zola 3,038]

That was AWESOME!!!  Goodness, I am jealous of how good you are at characterization!  This is beautifully done, and I must say that you just gave every aspiring fan-fiction writer an extremely high bar to try to at least look at while they write.  And this is only the beginning.  :'D

 

Please do post more.

I will be waiting.

[Weiss 8,279]

Whoa that took a while to read It was really great honestly. I enjoyed it a lot and very much look forward to your next chapter. Nice work, Dave. Keep it up!

Edited January 7, 2013 by Keysofblades

[Dave 5,715]

Chapter 2: Awakening

 

 

The Warrior of Light awoke, somewhat ironically, as an early morning sunbeam drove itself into his eyes.

 

Youthful energy assisting to shake off the clouds of sleep, his keen senses were able to deduce several things upon waking. First, he had, for whatever reason, not thought to take off his full suit armor before laying himself to rest the night before: the blue metal plates, well-worn from many battles, were present in the place of pajamas, and the horned helmet still fit snugly over his head in lieu of a sleeping cap. Second, as a direct consequence of the first, his neck and back ached fiercely. Third, giving him great pause, was that the intruding beam of light was shining through an overhead canopy of leaves and branches: he was in a forest, lying down on the dirt and grass at the base of a tree, without the benefit of tent or blanket.

 

The Warrior rose slowly, movements hindered by the encumbering armor and aching muscles. Managing to right himself into a sitting position, he leaned against the tree trunk gingerly. The shield and scabbard strapped to his back made the arrangement awkward at best, and all the Warrior could think of was what madness had driven him to make this greatest of all rookie mistakes? With some effort, he shrugged the weapons from their sheaths and placed them by his side. The morning sun growing brighter and warmer, the Warrior took the opportunity to remove his helmet and allow the warm glow to wash over him, as refreshing to his sore body as a hot spring.

 

Feeling somewhat relaxed, though still chagrined, he brushed away the strands of hair (colored white, in spite of his young age) from his eyes. Though the depths of slumber had driven it from his mind, the purpose of his being here slowly crept back into the fold. He had been travelling south to the city of Cornelia, to investigate rumors of a widespread goblin outbreak around those parts; as a sworn protector of mankind, it was his duty to ensure that these things didn’t get out of control. He had cut through the forest to save time, but the going had been tougher than expected, and he had been exhausted to the point of taking his rest where he currently sat.

 

“But to go to sleep in full armor…” he grumbled, trying to stretch the stiffness from his shoulders. That was a foolish mistake, and the Warrior allowed himself just enough pride to consider himself no fool. “I suppose I deserve every cramp, then.”

 

Well, he thought while placing the helmet back upon his head, there was no reason to delay any longer. Using the tree for leverage, he hoisted himself up to a standing position, pretending that the few snaps and pops that he heard were due to the armor. Picking up the shield and sword and placing them in their rightful positions, he also located his pack, containing the sleeping back that he had strangely opted against using. Ensuring that he had everything needed, the Warrior of Light shook the last remaining kinks in his neck and continued his journey southwards through the forest.

 

Only to pause five seconds later, when he heard a great disturbance coming towards him.

 

The snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves had enough ambience to make the Warrior pause in mid stride, his attention instantly drawn to his immediate left. He peered in the direction of the sound, but the trees were too dense to be sure of anything immediately. The sound came ever nearer: the snapping of sticks was erratic, accompanied by what sounded like a murmur of voices, and from behind the wall of trees he could start to see movement. Steadily, the Warrior moved his hand towards the handle of his sword, eyes squinting as he tried to penetrate the shadows and see the cause of the mayhem.

 

The sword stayed within the scabbard, however. His tense hand relaxed and fell to his side, eyes closed in temporary relief. The perpetrator of the hubbub could be seen now, the ever brightening sun illuminating the situation. Stumbling through the trees, heedless of the ruckus he was causing, was an older fellow, mumbling to himself as he tromped through the underbrush. His attire, though torn in places by the sharper branches and scuffed with dirt at the hems, seemed to be that of an affluent citizen: he wore a light blue robe, woven with very fine material, and on his head was a tall, purplish hat with gold trim and a red jewel in the center. His white beard was long, yet trimmed and styled rather than growing in odd angles. The Warrior would have thought the man almost imposing in his regality, if not for the fact that his bloodshot eyes had bags underneath them from lack of sleep, coupled with an intense stare straight ahead of him at all times (even as he approached the Warrior, their eyes never made contact). Worse, he was talking to himself in a most disturbing fashion, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe his own words.

 

“Doom! Doom!” he cried, grabbing at branches to try and keep his balance. “The world is doomed. What can save us?”

 

Catching his foot on a large tree root, the old man tripped forward. Acting fast, the Warrior jumped forward, grabbing the man before he hit the ground. “Watch yourself, friend!” he said, making sure that all was steady. “You could do yourself a mischief, staggering around like that.” There wasn’t any scent of alcohol about the old man, at the very least.

 

Blinking his weary, maddened eyes, the old man finally looked at the Warrior, as if only just noticing that someone was holding him from his near-fall. At first, the stare was vacant as if sleep walking, only to morph instantly into wide-eyed recognition and panic. “You!” he cried, grabbing at the Warrior’s shoulder. “You must know! The world is failing! You must save it!”

 

The Warrior balked, shaken by the intensity of the old man’s sudden assertions. The man was looking at him as if they had known each other for some time, yet the Warrior was certain he had never seen this person before in his life. “I… believe we’d best get you someplace safe,” he said, lifting the man back to his feet, though keeping an eye out should anything unexpected happen. “You do not look well, and a trip to the healers would be beneficial.”

 

Whether or not the old man heard these words, much less understood them, was a mystery, as he kept talking regardless. “The world is dying, not growing,” he muttered, though his speech was much less heated than before. “Do not be deceived! Do not be deceived…”

 

“Don’t worry, I shan’t be,” the Warrior returned, placing his arm firmly around the shoulder of the old man to ensure he wouldn’t falter. Thankfully, Cornelia was only a short ways away from the forest: the sooner he got the sick gentleman to a white mage, the better. “We’re going to the city,” he explained. “It shan’t take long. Are you comfortable enough to walk?”

 

“Doom, doom…” the man replied, shaking his head sadly.

 

“Very good,” the Warrior sighed. At least the man wasn’t wounded in anyway, save possibly in the head. “Let’s be off, then.” Carefully, he led the old man forward, trying to find the quickest way out of the forest and onto the plains. The fewer roots and branches to trip over, the better.

 

They had not gone ten steps when the old man’s eyes widened, as if remembering something important, and whipped his head to look at the Warrior. “The crystals!”

 

The Warrior paused their walk, waiting to see if the man truly was capable of walking just yet. “…The crystals?” he asked, thinking it best to humor a man who was clearly in a poor mental state.

 

“Those bearing the crystals are the only ones who can save this land from the great evil it is in!”

 

“Indeed.” Now, which way did the forest begin to part, again? He believed it was to the west, but then again, if they kept heading south, it would get them to the city faster…

 

“You must lead them, soldier of Cosmos.”

 

The Warrior whirled his head to look at the old man, who now seemed almost placid and aloof, eyes glassy and vacant. “What did you say?”

 

“Only with them… with the crystals… can you save this world…”

 

The Warrior felt his aches and pains vanish into memory, his mind now consumed with only one, immediate concern. “Who are you? What do you know? What…”

 

But the old man, overcome by weariness and fatigue at last, felt sound asleep.

~

 

It took longer to get to Cornelia than the Warrior had assumed, though this was only due to the fact that he now bore the old man over his shoulders, carrying him through forest and plain. The slumbering stranger was slightly heavier than his apparently slender features would initially imply, though the Warrior still made good time, reaching the city a little past midday. Sweating from the additional burden, and his sore back being worse for wear, he was extremely pleased to see Cornelia looming before him. Surrounded by great stone walls, one could still see the spires and rooftops spurting from behind the façade, concentrated densely to emphasize the size of the local population. Though the walls were thick enough to deter any would-be invaders, they could not block the noises of civilization from carrying into the sky: the hammering of blacksmiths, the shouts of the market place, the odd “kweh!” of a chocobo, all indicated a lively crowd would be out and about this sunny, clear afternoon. Above all stood the royal palace: a stately yet strong building, its towers rose high in the air, and though it was refined enough in craft to indicate the presence of refined and intelligent occupants, it was still foreboding enough to emphasize great power.

 

Tired though he was, the Warrior managed enough strength to make it to the main gates of the city, the great doors a solitary point of entry amidst the walls. The trees having long since been hewn and removed from the immediate radius of the city, the guards of the gate spotted the wanderer approaching swiftly. Though there was always a watch atop the walls, before the door itself today there were only two soldiers, dressed in full knightly armor and bearing spears. However dressed for conflict they were, upon spotting that the Warrior was bearing the seemingly limp and lifeless body of an old man, they hurried to meet him halfway.

 

“A good afternoon to you, sir!” greeted one of the guards, once he had jogged within proper speaking range of the Warrior. “What brings you to Cornelia on this day?”

 

“What d’you think, Biggs?” grumbled the other, who went to the Warrior’s side quickly. “Y’don’t just go lugging around bodies in broad daylight for sport. Are you all right, young man? Or, is he, I should ask?”

 

“He’s fine,” the Warrior said, easing the old man from his shoulders and into arms of the guard. “He’s just asleep. I found him wandering around the woods earlier this morning.”

 

“I got him,” the guard assured, lifting one arm of the man over his shoulder. “Give us a hand, Biggs, for pity’s sake!” As Biggs came to lift up the other arm, the guard gave a gasp of surprised recognition as he got a good look at the old man’s face. “Hello, hello! We were wondering where he’d gotten to!”

 

Straightening his back and finding that his shoulders now vied with his knees for which hurt more, the Warrior inquired, “You know who he is?”

 

“That we do,” said a startled Biggs, nodding as he spoke. “This here is Lukahn! He’s one of the king’s favorites, you know. Very well respected, very smart. Teaches astrology at the schools.”

 

This description of a respectable man seemed very much at odds with the memories of maddened eyes from this morning. “I suggest you get him to a healer’s as soon as possible,” the Warrior urged. “I found him in a feverish state, raving like a mad man.” How had he known who the Warrior was? The question turned over and over in his head, much like it had for the length of his journey to the city.

 

“It’s a good thing you found him, sir,” said Biggs, as the duo began to drag still unconscious Lukahn through the main gates. “He’s been missing for nearly a week now! We’d searched everywhere for him, didn’t we, Wedge?”

 

The other guard nodded in assent. “We were beginning to wonder if it was all over. Hey!” he called, waving at the other guards in the gatehouse, “give us a hand, here! We’ve found Lukahn!”In a hurry, three more knights ran forward, their armor clanking noisily as they hurried. “Get him to a white mage,” explained Wedge, passing Lukahn to the new hands, “and then one of you head up to the palace and let the king know he’s here.”

 

The small party lifted their trust on their shoulders, and began to head slowly inwards to the town. Wedge turned his attention back to the Warrior. “You might want to go with them, you know. I don’t half fancy that there’s a reward to be had for finding him.”

 

“That’s alright,” said the Warrior, shaking his head. “Knowing that he’s safe is reward enough.”

 

Biggs grinned and sniffed, though whether the sentiment was genuine or theatrical was difficult to say. “You’re a real hero, sir. There ought to be more people like you around. Better than the gods, you are.”

 

The Warrior raised an eyebrow. His slight smile began to dissipate.

 

“True enough,” agreed Wedge, nodding in assent. “At least you’re here to help. Who knows where our supposed ‘divine protectors’ are when people like Mr. Lukahn go missing, or worse.”

 

“It is up to us to carry out the will of the Goddess,” replied the Warrior, his voice as cool as his icy stare. “She gives us strength so that we might help ourselves.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind a little extra strength, then,” returned Wedge. “Monsters are running amok outside. You can barely wander around without getting jumped by something or rather. We’ve got reports nearly every day of people getting attacked.”

 

“The weather’s gone odd, too,” added Biggs. “Some days it’s just fine, and then others, we can be hit by storms that no one this far inland should get. Why, we’ve had more lightning strike inside the town in the last year than we’ve seen in many lifetimes. Hail the size of bread loaves, rain that could rip the skin right off of you if you stayed out in it too long. Things have gotten odd, and if there’s any goddess to pray to, I’ve more than a few things to say to her.”

 

“And what of our blessings?” said the Warrior, stiffly. “Do you think of them? The rising of the sun every day? The gift of life itself?”

 

Wedge shook his head sadly, chuckling a bit to himself, oblivious to the change of tone in the Warrior’s voice. “You’ve got an optimistic head on your shoulders, young man. I s’pose that’s what makes you such a good egg.”

 

“Regardless,” said the Warrior, after taking a much needed deep breath to regain his patience, and remembering his mission, “these monsters you speak of. It’s not the first I’ve heard of an outbreak. What more can you tell me?” Indeed, on his journey here (not counting that morning), he had encountered at least six small bands of goblins, some with the support of mad wolves. Nothing that an accomplished fighter like himself would flinch at, but to find that many creatures brazen enough to attack on such a regular basis, and a noticeable increase in the local population, was something worth taking account for.

 

Biggs spoke up. “There’s a great deal to tell! Now, personally, I’ve not been attacked or anything. I guard the doors, and no beast out there has gotten up the nerve to try attacking the town directly just yet. But sometimes, you can see them, just over there,” he said, pointing out to the fringes of the forest which the Warrior had recently come out of. “Milling around at the base of the trees. You can tell they’re pondering it.”

 

The Warrior looked back at the distant woods, until the doors behind him finally swung shut, and were safely locked. “Have they ever this before?”

 

“Not once. Most of them are either too afraid to go after people when they’re secure, or are too stupid to figure out how. But now, it’s like they’re getting bolder. Like something is really just making them mad, and they want to get their claws on someone.”

 

“And that’s not the worst of it,” added Wedge. Truthfully, both men were happy that someone was eager to hear their stories; life was very boring as a watchman, and it was nice to have someone to talk to. “It’s the kinds of monsters that you see. Now, we have goblin problems all the time, but lately, a few of the farmers have been sending us word of wolf attacks on their horses. Not just your run-of-the-mill critters, mind: great big beasts, they are. Some of them poisonous or rabid, too.”

 

“And what about Walt?’ interjected Biggs. “He says he was hit by an ogre!”

 

Even the Warrior was forced to give pause at this. “An ogre? Are you certain?” Ogre’s were notably ferocious creatures, but weren’t native to this region at all.

 

“Well, he says it was an ogre. Or, that’s what we can gather from him. When we found him, he was nearly dead, and we’ve had him in a full body cast since. His a bit shaken, obviously. But something big must have hit him, certainly.”

 

The Warrior frowned at the thought. Something as big as an ogre wouldn’t be intimidated by walls, never mind the danger the average farmer or citizen on the outskirts would be in. “I’ve been absent for too long, obviously.”

 

“Don’t worry about that, sir,” joked Biggs, “it’s not like the gods have been here either.”

 

He opened his mouth as if to laugh. A withering stare from the Warrior’s cold blue eyes, an expression of distaste as foreboding as any thunderhead, killed the emotion instantly. “I will ask you not to besmirch the Goddess again.”

 

Biggs glanced at Wedge nervously for some guidance. In turn, Wedge coughed awkwardly into his hand. “Er, no offense, of course.” Then, after staring at his boots for a moment or so, his head perked up again with renewed energy. “Oh! Of course, how could I forget? You’ll have to hear this, sir!”

 

Relenting his harsh manner, the Warrior nodded for him to continue.

 

“Now, this wasn’t too long ago. Actually, about two days, now I think on it. Milroy…”

 

“Another city guard,” explained Biggs, as if the added exposition would help make up for his earlier slight.

 

“Right. Anyway, Milroy was out on patrol, just over to one of the local farms. There’d been complaints about those wolves we’d told you about, and he was supposed to check it out and see what the situation was. Well, he made it to the farm all right, no wolves or anything. But just as he was about to head back to town he saw it.”

 

There was a pause, obviously intended to force the Warrior to ask, “Saw what, exactly?”

 

“You might very well ask, good sir, because no one here knows what to make of it either. According to Milroy, what he saw was like nothing he’d ever seen before. At first glance, it looked like a big mound of glass or something, and he thought maybe it was a crystal of some kind. But then the thing started moving, and he says it had legs, arms, and looked the spitting image of a human being. But made of glass, or water, or something like that.”

 

The Warrior ran through a mental list of monsters, beasts, and creatures he had encountered, but nothing rang a bell. What sort of devilry was going on? Wolves, ogres, and now these things? Whatever “these things” were. He felt almost anxious: he had been under the impression that events were under control, and yet the more he listened, the more it seemed to him that something, somewhere, was greatly amiss.

 

“And that’s not it, sir,” Biggs sought to add. “Milroy got a good look at the things face, and he was surprised to find that it looked exactly like…”

 

“Doom!” The sudden outcry grabbed all three men’s attention, for just as the other guards had brought Lukahn to the edges of the market proper the old man awoke, and appeared just as panicked as he was when the Warrior found him in the forest.

 

“Steady on, Lukahn!” the Warrior could hear one of the guards shout, trying to stop the old man from wriggling about like a hooked fish. “You’re safe and sound! You’re with friends!”

 

This did nothing to improve the old man’s mood. He jerked about more furiously before, until he finally managed to wrench himself free of the guards’ grasp. Without waiting an instant more, he dashed away from the gates and forced himself into the crowds of people, disappearing as he ran further into the market.

 

In a flash, the Warrior dashed forward, leaving Wedge and Biggs at the gate, and soon passing the other three guards, who were still stunned as to what had happened. Fast in spite of his full metal armor, he found the real encumbrance to come in the form of people. Almost immediately from the main gates of Cornelia began the market vendors and shops, trying to grab the attention of people as they came into town. And with it being midday, the market was at its liveliest: vendors, carts, and booths crowded the sides of the streets, and bustles of people and creatures crowded in turn between them. As such, the Warrior’s charge was brought to a crawl as he was forced to navigate around wealthy buyers, maids, artists, one man who was walking his chocobo through the street, children, beggars, and all the while trying to avoid stepping on moogles.

 

“Lukahn!” he cried out, trying to have his voice heard above the din of the crowd. He raised his head to try and look over the masses and spot the old man’s distinctive hat. “Lukahn, there is no need to panic! Where are you?” Quickly apologizing to a woman he nearly elbowed in the shoulder, his called out again. “Lukahn, you needn’t fear! The world is not doomed! The Goddess of Harmony will protect you! Please, where are you?” Then, again, but louder, “The world is not doomed, Lukhan! Cosmos will hear you! Lukahn!”

 

It seemed that Cosmos was indeed listening. For no sooner had the Warrior invoked her name then he could see, just a few yards from him, the sight of Lukhan, eagerly tugging at the sleeve of some man. “You must listen! Doom is at hand!”

 

“Let go.” Though they were still somewhat far apart, the commanding tone of the other man’s voice was enough that the Warrior could hear it over the crowd. Eager to keep the old man from causing any more trouble, the knight muscled through the crowd, more intently than before, not even stopping apologize when he caused a man to drop his basket of apples.

 

“You must find the crystals! Only you can stop this cycle of death and destruction!”

 

“I said, let go.” The voice was more stern than before, more foreboding in its tone. Only a few feet away, the Warrior could see that Lukhan still had a death like grip on the arm of a strong, young man, with oddly styled blonde hair, a purple sweater, and, much to his horror, a gigantic blade strapped to his back…

 

“Doom!”

 

Crack!

 

The harsh sound of the man’s fist connecting with the old man’s face halted many surround conversations as wide eyed market goers turned to look at the source. Lukahn was on the ground, rubbing his jaw tenderly, though still conscious. The blonde man stood tall above him, rubbing the feeling into his clenched fist, but not continuing the assault, nor adding any verbal messages; he seemed content that the situation had been solved. Taking advantage of the now stilled crowd, the guards finally managed to find their way to the scene. “And what exactly is going on here?!” demanded an astonished Wedge, who no sooner had seen his charge laying on the road than he saw the enormous sword of the assaulter, and hesitated slightly in going forward.

 

In response, the blonde man turned his head, the dour expression on his face highlighted by a pair of bright blue eyes which almost seemed to be glowing slightly.  “Self defense,” he said briefly, and when it became apparent from the expecting stares that more was needed, “He went after me first.” Then, by way of finality, “You ought to keep your lunatics under better watch.”

 

Wedge looked at the other accompanying guards, who shrugged. Coughing into his hand, he replied, “Well, we didn’t mean for him to escape, obviously. Didn’t think he was that dangerous, actually. Even still, though, to hit a man of that age isn’t something that I’m going to let…”

 

“Oof, my head…” From the ground came a voice that, upon removing the erratic ranting and twinges of madness, sounded articulate, clear, and somewhat kindly. “It feels like I’ve been… Upon my word!” With a surprised look at his surroundings, eyes wide with shock, Lukhan leapt to his feet, no worse for having been punched. “This isn’t my study! What am I doing outside? And it’s market day already? Gracious, I don’t know what to make of this at all!”

 

The sight of the befuddled bearded man, apparently uninjured, brought a few laughs from the crowd, and a general easing of the tension. Buyers started to leave the circle in ones and twos, believing the show to be over. Shaking his head, Wedge put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Mr. Lukhan? Are you all right?”

 

Lukhan jumped slightly at the touch, but soon looked at the guard with recognition. “What? Er, well, as good as I might be for finding myself somewhere other than when I went to bed. I feel normal, if that’s what you mean. Is it really market day? Curses, I forgot to give the maid my grocery list…”

 

Rolling his eyes, the guard gently led the confused gentleman away. “Don’t worry sir, we’ll get you set right in just a few.” As they walked, Wedge turned his head to look at the blonde man. “And you! You’re off light this time, seeing as he’s all right and all, but don’t let this sort of thing happen again!” And with that, the two disappeared through the droves of people to find the nearest white mage’s shop.

 

The on looking crowd having dissipated, the young man smirked to himself. “Yeah. I’m trembling.” At his own pace, he began to walk away from the scene of the crime.

 

“You just struck an unarmed man.”

 

He halted. Turning his head, he could see, a few yards away, the stoic, unimpressed face of the Warrior of Light, fixing him in an imperial, disapproving stare.

 

Two pairs of eyes locked in battle, while the world around them continued to shop, unaware of the war being waged. “Then he should have armed himself.”

 

The Warrior was shocked at the flippancy of the answer, gaping in indignant surprise. “That does not change the fact that it was a cowardly act.”

 

Seeing how offended his counterpart was becoming only made the other man smile more smugly. “Never claimed to be a hero.” Seeing he had silenced the Warrior once again, he turned to leave once more. “Don’t you have other people to preach to?”

 

“You’re right. There’s no sense in wasting one’s words on a fool who won’t listen.”

 

The blonde man stopped once more to look back, but the Warrior had turned his back and was walking away, disappearing into the masses of people in Cornelia market square.

[Zola 3,038]

YES! Biggs and Wedge are my favorite characters! It's awesome to see them get some face time. I really, really like what you've done with this so far. I have to know who that mysterious stranger was! Doom! As good as the first one was, I'm afraid that this is my new favorite. Keep up the good work.

 

Faith in fan fiction quality: restored

Edited January 17, 2013 by Zola

[Weiss 8,279]

This is really great. Very very descriptive and great quality. The story is so engaging. Overall, good work on this chapter. Please, keep it up!

[Dave 5,715]

Chapter 3: Incoming Tide 

“Banon?” said the mariner, rubbing his thick mustache as he thought. “Thought I knew a fella named Banon once, but I could be wrong…” 

“Not Banon,” replied Cecil, trying to keep his voice as level as he could. “Baron. The Kingdom of Baron. How far am I from it?”

 

The mariner stopped his mustache twirling in order to coil a length of rope, worn and weather beaten from its recent trip across the seas. “Friend, I’ve sailed all over this world of ours, and I’ve never heard of a place called Baron.” He frowned grumpily at the other lengths of rope laid across the deck of his ship, unsorted and laid about without order. “That’s the last time I let the crew go before cleaning up a bit. Huh, can’t get good help these days.”

 

Tall as he was, Cecil only had to stand on his toes slightly to see over the brim of the boat’s rim, getting a better look at the state of affairs: fishing nets were piled in messy lumps, the deck hadn’t been properly scrubbed, and the fishing vessel looked like it had been out on sea for a month, rather than just a couple of days. “Would you care for a hand?”

 

The mariner tipped his cap at the fair skinned man in the white armor, grinning appreciatively. “I’d be much obliged, good sir. If it’s not too much trouble, that is.” 

The wooden dock beneath his feet creaking only slightly as he leapt, Cecil swung aboard with all the skill of a man who seemed to know a thing or two about ships. “Where would you like me to start?” he asked, detaching the scabbard and shield from his back and placing it to the side. 

“You can start by taking care of those nets,” said the mariner, pointing at the knotted masses. “I keep telling ‘em, don’t just dump them on top of one another! Just begging for tangles! Ah, kids these days…”

 

A gentle smile shone on the paladin’s face as he began trying to sort through the nets. “Well, if they’re young, they might still learn a thing or two yet. Patience might be the best policy.”

 

“Oh, I know, friend,” the mariner said quickly, raising his hands before him in pantomime defense. “Don’t get me wrong, now: I was a young mite once meself, and I know that you don’t pick this fishing business up in just one or two days. But with the seas getting rougher and times getting tougher, it’s hard to be patient with much of anything these days.”

 

From aboard the ship, Cecil took advantage of the raised height to look about his surroundings: the docks were filled with various crafts, from fishing sloops to trading vessels, yet the common consensus was that all the ships looked similarly worn and battered, and the faces of the sailors and merchants walking amidst the port all seemed downcast and sullen. “There does seem to be a distinct lack of joy,” he commented.

 

“Sure, and who can blame us? Storms hitting constantly, waves rougher than sandpaper, the fish are becoming few and far between. And when you can catch the fish, chances are more often than not that it’s diseased or poisoned or worse.”

 

A concerned look on his face, Cecil placed one un-knotted net to the side. “And how long has this been taking place?”

 

“Can’t rightfully recall,” shrugged the mariner. “I don’t suppose it could have been too long, but then, it’s hard to remember a time when things were going right. It’s an ill wind that’s fallen on us, and who knows when it’ll let up?” Placing the finally finished length of rope to the side, he began to work on another. “That’s why the good help doesn’t come out to sea anymore: they’ve seen the state of things, and want to keep as far from it as possible. All we can get are young kids looking for a quick gil, and most of them don’t have the mettle to last. Ha, no wonder they all leave the ship quick as they can!”

 

The paladin rose to stretch his arms a bit, taking the time to remove the armor (the noonday sun had made wearing the entire suit all but unbearable). “Is there anything I can do?”

 

The hearty laugh that echoed in the salty air was all the more conspicuous due to the general prevailing gloom of the docks. “Oh, you’re one of a kind, friend! You come to me saying that you’ve no idea where you are or how you got here, you say you’re from a place that I’ve never heard of, and you want to help me with my problems?” Removing his cap, the mariner wiped a tear from his eye. “There ought to be more people like you, to be sure.”

 

Cecil grinned at this display of mirth as he went back to his task. “Well, I’ve always thought it best to help others before asking others for help.” 

“Well, friend, unless you can change the fortune of the world single handed, I don’t know that there’s much you could do to help us. But I thank you for the offer.”

 

A knowing smile flitting around his lips, Cecil shrugged. “Well, I don’t know about that. But… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a mimic, but you’re certain you’ve never heard of Baron?”

 

“As certain as I can be. I can fetch some of my maps, if you’d like, and maybe you could point out where you think you ought to be?”

 

The paladin nodded, shooing away a seagull which had taken an interest in picking its beak at the nets. “Perhaps. Though if it’s not near enough for you to have heard of it, then I don’t know where else it could be.” And there was not a place near Baron that couldn’t have felt its influence in the past, Cecil knew. A little more forcefully than he intended, he tossed another finished net to the side.

 

The mariner chewed his lip: granted, the whole story sounded more than a little mad, but he himself had just said that odd things were afoot, and besides, the young man had been nice enough to help that he wasn’t about to start turning a deaf ear. “Perhaps if you could tell me exactly what you do remember before coming here?”

 

Stopping his sorting, Cecil knelt on one knee, staring out to the sea, the briny green matching the color of his eyes. “I remember…” But no sooner had he said these words then, as if washed away by the tide, the images and accounts we he was certain he had known mere seconds before began to ebb away. “I was home… in the…” Castle? Hut? House? An image of a burnt and blackened house flashed before his eyes, a crying girl with green hair. His chest seized up as if stabbed, but he didn’t know why. “Er, well… I was definitely with…” A pair of kind eyes fluttered in his mind, but refused to be accompanied by a face, or even a name. Desperately, Cecil tried to sift through his memories, knowing that forgetting this person was a sin, but in spite of his efforts, he couldn’t recall why the person owning these eyes was even important. Was she a friend? Wife? Sister? Was she the person he had seen before the burning house? He looked out at the water as if it would provide any kind of inspiration, but the sight of the foam of the waves only seemed to cloud his memory more until even the eyes of the woman could no longer be recalled with any certainty. The only sound he could remember was the sound of the waves and gulls that had awoken him that morning, the only sight being that of the wooden planks he found his face in when his eyes opened, the only belongings he had ever owned being the white armor he wore and the sword and shield strapped to his back. 

“…I can’t remember a thing,” Cecil murmured, his eyes lowering from their intent stare on the horizon and settling at looking at the tangled, incomprehensible knots of the pile of nets.

 

“Surely you can remember something?”

 

“I remember the name Baron,” said Cecil, hoping that this would lead to a further chain of memories, but found very few inklings to be forthcoming. “And I know I live there…” Exasperated, he clasped his hands over his eyes. “I must sound like a lunatic…”

 

The mariner shrugged noncommittally. “Well, strange things are afoot, as I said. Though I’ve still never heard of a place called Baron. Can you remember anything else about it? What it looked like? The people?”

 

Taking a deep breath to try and calm his nerves, Cecil closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to make tangible images out of the blur of colors and shapes that clouded his mind. His first instinct was to say that Baron was a grand city amidst a great plane, but no sooner had he thought that then the notion took place that it was in the middle of the desert. Every time he tried to put a finger on some certainty, it was immediately replaced by the possibility of another. Trying to remember people was even worse: faces that he tried to recall were constantly morphing, becoming completely different by the second. A face that was male could become a female, an old man could become a young woman, a young child wearing a dusty cap could become a grown man in a black, horned helmet…

 

Much to Cecil’s shock, the latter image did not morph into something. “I remember…” He paused, expecting this thought to vanish like the rest, but it remained in his head, crisp and detailed. “A man in black armour.” Slowly he rose, the simple act of remembering something making him anxious. “I can’t see his face: he’s wearing a helmet with great horns on the side. He’s wearing a cape, and… he’s just standing there.” He had hoped that he would recall some kind of action or scene which might flesh out this memoir, but no such luck: the metal clad sentinel hovered in his man, motionless and not leading on what his motives would be.

 

The mariner smiled, happy that the young man at least had something to go on. “You think he might have a thing to with your being here?”

 

“Maybe.” The whole thing was very strange, to be certain. The things Cecil could say that he knew for certain was that he had woken up in a land he did not remember a thing about, he was certain that he came from a land named Baron (though all evidence present hinted that this place never existed to begin with), and the only person he could dig up from his memories was a mysterious man in black armor. The paladin had to sigh heavily, the simple act hiding the amount of frustration and confusion he truly felt. He turned to look at the mariner. “Have you ever seen a man like I just described?”

 

“Not off hand.” Then, seeing how despondent the paladin was, the mariner gestured north, further inland. “You might try asking about it in Cornelia,” he said, finger pointing at the distant spires and walls in the distance, sprouting out of the wall of trees surrounding it. “Most people in these parts gather there. If he’s not there himself, someone might have seen him.”

 

“I think I might do that,” murmured Cecil, momentarily distracted as he tried to search his memories further. Now that this one glimpse of his past had been revealed to him, he was doing everything in his power to dig deeper. Slowly, he could feel sounds escaping from their lockbox, stealing their way up his throat and onto his tongue. “G… Gol… Golbez?”

 

The sudden sound of splintering wood and the harsh crack of masts snapping cut through the silence of the harbor, ending the conversation and causing Cecil and the mariner to look swiftly out to sea. A fishing vessel pulling into port had practically exploded, only a hundred yards from the docks. Though the cause of the destruction was uncertain, the effects were devastating: the ship had been nearly torn in two, its wooden siding cracked, the portholes filling with water, and worse, the masts and rigging were collapsing, adding to the carnage.

 

Previously melancholy, the harbor took a few moments to recover from the shock to begin to panic. People began to point and holler at the sight, and those who had still been on their crafts soon deserted them in favor of dry land. More horror occurred as the signs of those still on the fishing vessel were beginning to abandon ship as best they could, though the continued destruction around them was obviously hampering the effort. Though many words of encouragement were being offered, none on the land seemed over anxious to hop out into the water to try and lend a hand.

 

The mariner shook his head in awe and dismay at the sight, noticing an unfortunate sailor attempt to grasp at a floating plank for support, only to have a heavier piece of wood fall on top of him, plunging him into the water and out of sight. “Oh, the gods have forsaken us, that is certain! What did we do to earn such devilry in our times? What hope do we- friend, no! Don’t do it! Wait! It’s not safe! What are you…”

 

The mariner’s voice vanished as Cecil dove under the water, trying to stay as calm as possible as he swiftly swam towards the wreck. Though the water was dense with silt, the sun was bright enough to provide enough lighting for the paladin to find his way. Coils of rope, crates filled with cargo, and other weighty paraphernalia sank down to the bottom of the sea bed, hindering Cecil’s way as he was forced to dodge the rubble and debris. Praying he wasn’t too late, he scanned the water before him for any signs of life, though the sheer amount of flotsam was making the search all but impossible. Though, he noted, nor could he see any sort of monster or beast that would have caused the sudden wreckage: given the scale of the catastrophe, such a creature would have to be large indeed, and there was nothing of the kind in the immediate area.

 

A heavy weight fell onto his back, and Cecil gave a silent gasp of shock, filling his mouth with the brackish water. Regaining his senses, it was soon apparent that the thing that had hit him was, in fact, a man, who’s thrashing arms and panicky expression confirmed that he was in desperate need of some help. Dutifully, Cecil made eye contact with the man, gave a nod to try and convey that everything was going to be all right, and wrapped on arm around the victim’s torso. Apparently satisfied with finding anyone capable of helping him, the fisherman obligingly relaxed as Cecil swam them both to shore.

 

Bursting through the surface of the water, both men gasped in the sweet refreshing air, the one moment of relief making one almost forget  that the ship was still rapidly falling apart just behind them. Spitting some of the salty water from his mouth, Cecil turned his attention to the refugee. “Are you all right?”

 

Panting heavily and trying to calm his nerves, the fisherman nodded shakily. “Y-yes, I reckon I am. W-what’s happening to me mates?”

 

Cecil looked back at the docks, and was happy to see that many of the sailors there, following the paladin’s example, were setting out on their boats to try and salvage the unfortunate crew. “They’ll be all right. Here, hang on to this.” Paddling a ways, he grabbed hold of a sizeable piece of drift wood and draped the fisherman over it. Content that it was functioning well as a life preserver, Cecil couldn’t help but ask, “Now, what exactly happened? Why did the ship explode like that?”

 

The sailor shook his head, having a hard enough time with trying to steady his nerves without having to rationalize what was going on. “I… I really don’t know. There we were, just pulling up the nets, and then…”

 

The last thing Cecil wanted to do was to make a man with a near-death experience feel pressured, but if there was still something running around in the immediate vicinity that wanted them dead, it was better to know sooner than later. “Was anything amiss? Did you see or hear anything strange?”

 

“…Didn’t see much. Barely had time to turn around. But… I guess something was on deck. Something unusual. We were just swapping a few tales when we heard the ugliest laugh you could ever imagine.” The man shuddered. “Never heard anything like that before. It just sounded unpleasant, not a drop of joy or happiness in it. A couple of the lads around me turned and pointed at something. All I got to see was a few pieces of armor before he summoned some great big ball that…”

 

In spite of his intent on calming the man, Cecil hastily interrupted. “Armor? Was it black? Could you see the helmet?”

 

The sailor was startled by the rapidity of these questions, and stammered his answers. “Uh… uh… looked more blue than anything… that is, I think. Only had a few seconds… “

 

“Are you certain?” Realizing that he was getting the survivor worked up, Cecil tried to calm himself down. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. But I really need to know…”

 

And then, part of the mainmast came tumbling from above and struck the paladin on the head, causing him to fall limply under the water’s surface.

 

Cecil barely even realized that he was in danger of drowning: he could see the water’s surface slowly grow further and further away, but so stunning was the blow to his head that it was all he could do to stay conscious, never mind actively try and save himself. Bubbles of air bled out of his mouth, water and silt moving into the vacuums left behind, as he sank further and further into the water. As his lungs began to burn, his mind scrambled to try and force his unwilling body to do something; but his arms and legs hung limply before him, and soon his eyes began to see a mixture of bright spots and vague images. The increasingly distant image of the sun hovering above became mingled with the man in the black armour, the pair of eyes that he could not find the owner to, the face of a teenaged blonde boy with bright eyes and a huge smile…

 

With alarming speed, Cecil could feel himself rising to the surface again, the glimmering reflection of the sun coming nearer and nearer. The sensation of movement adding adrenaline to his system, he was keenly aware that his legs and arms were still hanging by his sides: whatever was propelling him along at such a speed was doing it entirely on its own. Turning his head, Cecil could once again see the face of the young man who was supporting him. Upon seeing the paladin’s glance, he returned it with a cheery wink before looking back to the surface of the water with a determined stare.

 

With the grace of a dolphin, the pair burst through the surface of the water, with enough momentum to carry them in the air for a few seconds before hitting the surface once again. The impact caused Cecil to cough with great discomfort, making the young man holding him up grin apologetically. “Sorry about that. Guess I got carried away. Hey, are you all right?”

 

Cecil tried to respond, but the best he could do was to hack up water as his lungs tried to expel the unwanted fluid. 

“Whoops! Sorry I asked. C’mon, let’s get you to shore.” If the kid was feeling any kind of anxiety about the situation, he certainly wasn’t showing it. However, Cecil wasn’t inclined to start judging the boy’s manners: not only had he already saved the paladin’s life, he was dragging him back to the docks with speed worthy of a ship bearing full masts. Finding a stretch of beach adjacent to the piers, the pair stumbled onto the sandy earth, allowing Cecil to fall to his knees as he coughed up more water, the effort putting even more strain on his already throbbing temples.

 

Giving Cecil some breathing room, the young man kept up his winning grin while crossing his arms. “Yeesh, how much of the ocean did you try and drink?”

 

Finally feeling almost tolerable, Cecil took the opportunity to take another look at his benefactor. The youth couldn’t have been over the age of eighteen, but with the amount of swagger and confidence about him, one would think he was as well traveled as the old mariner. His short blonde hair was complimented nicely by the open yellow vest he wore, contrasted by the dark navy blue pants, which were cut short down the leg. Finding enough air back in his lungs to speak, Cecil managed to say, “Thank you for helping me back there. I… wasn’t paying attention.” His cheeks flushed red with shame: how careless he had been, allowing himself to get carried away like that! Rising, he turned his attention back to the sea. The ship was nearly entirely underwater now, but judging by the small flotilla of boats that had emerged from the dock, there was no lack of aid for those still in danger.

 

The boy slapped Cecil on the back. “Hey, don’t worry about it.” Then, following the paladin’s eyeline, added, “Man, Sin strikes again, huh?”

 

The paladin nodded gravely. “Sinful indeed.” Then, remembering himself, “Oh, my apologies. I’m Cecil Harvey.”

 

The extended hand was met with a willing and firm shake. “Pleasure to meet ya, Cecil. Me? I’m Tidus.” He paused here, as if waiting for Cecil to give a reaction. When none was forthcoming, he added, “Star player of the Zanarkand Abes!”

 

Cecil blinked awkwardly, the handshake between them losing some of its enthusiastic grip. “I’m… sorry, I don’t know what that means.”

 

Now it was Tidus’s turn to blink, retrieving his hand and crossing his arms. “Zanarkand,” he said. “You know, big city? Center of civilization? Kind of a big deal?” 

Cecil chewed his lip. It had been a very odd day already, and the addition of having been nearly concussed was only adding to his cerebral problems. “…Is that near Baron?”

 

“Bar-what-now?”

 

“There you are, friend!” From the direction of the docks came the mariner Cecil had been talking with before, waving his arms excitedly in the air, and bearing an expression that seemed simultaneously cross and relieved. “You’re a piece of work, diving in like that. Don’t you ever stop to think what you do before you do it?”

 

“Sorry,” Cecil apologized, shrugging with a smile. “I didn’t mean to worry you…”

 

“And stop apologizing!” laughed the mariner, coming within close enough distance to pat Cecil on the shoulder. “What a character! Dives in monster infested waters to save complete strangers, and then he apologizes for it!” 

“Well, don’t give me credit for tangling with monsters just yet,” said Cecil. “I managed to have a few words with one of the men on board. He says that there was a strange man in armor on board just before it exploded.”

 

“Stranger, eh? Does it sound like that fellow you were talking about before?”

 

“I honestly can’t say. I didn’t really have much of a chance to get many details. But I suppose it’s better than nothing.”

 

The mariner shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense, does it? A man dressed in an iron suit taking down a ship with himself on it? He’d drown in a hurry, if it were natural. ‘Course, it’s not natural, is it? Not one bit of it.”

 

“No,” Cecil agreed sadly, looking down at the footprints he was making in the sand.

 

“Well, that’s weird.” The older pair started slightly at the unexpected interjection from Tidus, who was still grinning, albeit less brightly than before. “I mean, I didn’t see much myself either, so I can’t add too much. Still, what kind of a creep would just scuttle a ship and then take off?”

 

“Did you hear anything else suspicious? The other gentlemen mentioned something about a laugh.” Then, noticing Tidus’s blank stare, Cecil added, “You… were on the ship, weren’t you?”

 

“Me? No way. For all I know, I might have been out of commission for a day or two. Last thing I can remember is Sin doing a fly-by over Zanarkand, and next thing I know, I wake up next to a crumbling ship. Hey, that reminds me: do either of you guys know the quickest way to get back to the city? If they got hit by fiends, they’re gonna need some help cleaning up.”

 

Cecil glanced at the mariner, who had the same expression he worse when asked about Baron. “You kids… look, I don’t know a Zanarkand.” 

Tidus blinked, and then laughed patiently. “Real funny, old man. But seriously, I need to get back home.” 

“I’m telling you, I don’t know!” barked back the mariner. “I don’t know a Zanarkand, and I don’t know a Baron, and that’s that!”

 

The smile vanished from the boy’s face, replaced with borderline panic. “What do you mean, you don’t know? Zanarkand! It’s the biggest city around! You have to know!” 

“Well, I don’t!”

 

Tidus grasped the mariner by the shoulders and shook, his eyes mixed with fear and anger. “Hey, I’m not kidding. Stop messing with me! Where’s Zanarkand? Where am I!?”

 

“That’s enough!” Acting quickly, Cecil forced the boy away from the mariner and looked him in the eye. “You need to calm down.”

 

“What d’you mean, calm down!” barked Tidus, who wrenched his arms out of Cecil’s grip. “How would you like it if you woke up in the middle of nowhere?”

 

“I did.” The stern calm of Cecil’s words and demeanour seemed to freeze the growing anxiety in Tidus, who looked at the fair man with surprise. “I’m in much the same boat as you. I woke up this morning on this very pier, with no inkling of where I came from or what I’m doing here.”

 

Tidus opened his mouth a few times, only to close it in silence, before finally managing to gather the wherewithal to say, “What?”

 

The question served to give Cecil pause as the weight of the situation truly fell on him. It was one thing for him to experience memory loss and the sensation of displacement on his own, but when another person was having much the same trouble in the same span of time? “I’m not inclined to call it a coincidence,” he said aloud. “Something’s up, that’s for certain.”

 

The calm of the paladin seemed to affect Tidus, who took a few deep breaths and nodded slightly. “So… you don’t know where we are, either?”

 

“No,” said Cecil, putting the pieces together slowly. “But there’s more than a little fishy about two people waking up in the same general area with no idea how they got there to begin with.” He couldn’t help but laugh in slight relief. “Forgive me, but I’m almost glad I’ve found you in the same dire straits. I’d thought I’d lost my mind altogether, not knowing where I was.” 

Tidus snorted in bemused irony. “Glad I could help. But here’s the thing I don’t get: you said you’re from, what was it, Baron? I’ve definitely never heard of that either.” 

“And I’ve never heard of Zanarkand. And he’s never heard of either,” said Cecil, gesturing to the mariner, who was still standing patiently by.

 

“That I haven’t,” said the mariner, who was feeling a bit on edge by how many odd things were happening in the span of a morning. “And if you don’t mind a bit of friendly advice, I’d not go around telling too many people about your being from this ‘Zanarkand.’ I don’t think people will take too kindly to the idea of strangers just popping out of thin air like this, not with so many things which could easily be blamed on them.”

 

Tidus took a confrontational step forward. “Hey, what do you mean? I had nothing to do with that ship going down!” 

“No, but he makes a point,” said Cecil. “Two people come out of the blue at the same time that a ship just so happens to go down? They would have more than ample reason to start asking questions.” Not to mention, with this whole mystery about a person in armor still hovering around, Cecil wasn’t entirely certain that they weren’t somehow linked to the sinking ship in one way or another.

 

“Well, then, what are we supposed to do?” said Tidus, kicking grumpily at the sand. “It’s not like I’m just going to forget about going home any time soon.”

 

Cecil pondered this for a moment before turning back to the mariner. “You said there’s a city near here?”

 

“Cornelia,” confirmed the mariner, once again pointing to the skyline in the distance beyond the trees. “I don’t know if they’ve got any answers, but it certainly couldn’t hurt to try.”

 

“Very good.” He turned to Tidus. “I think we ought to stick together. There’s some mischief going on that affects us both, and I believe if the answers found will be to both our benefit.” 

Tidus nodded happily, some of his grin returning to his face. “Sure, why not? Guess I can’t hang around here all day.”

 

His own gentle smile returning, Cecil shook the mariner’s hand. “Thank you very much for your time, sir. If I can pick up my armor and sword from your vessel, we shall be on our way.” 

The mariner returned the smile with one of his own: he still wasn’t entirely sure about anything at this point, the two young gentlemen seemed to mean well at any rate, and he was all too happy to lend a hand to those who deserved it. “Not a worry, friend. If you need anything else in the future, you need only ask. It seems only right that someone help you for a change.”

 

As the group trudged back to the mariner’s ship, Tidus gave a good long glance at the pier, which saw the returning boats filled with rescued passengers and sailors. In the distance, the tip of the mast on the broken ship finally disappeared beneath the waves. “Hey, Cecil?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“So what do you think took down that ship?”

 

Cecil chewed his lip in thought. “The whole notion of the man in armor is suspicious, but… I can’t imagine any one person being powerful enough to take down an entire ship by himself.”

 

“Well, I say we track this guy down and then put the screws to him, and see if he can tell us why we’re here.”

 

The paladin grinned at his young companion. “If he can destroy a ship on his own, do you really think we could take him?”

 

“C’mon, are you kidding? We’d definitely have his number! And hey, if he’s still standing after I’m done with him, I’ll even let you get in a few shots.”

 

“Well, we’ll see.” After a few more silent moments, Cecil added, “May I ask you something?”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

“What, exactly, is an ‘Abe?’”

 

[Zola 3,038]

...More? 

 

 

 

Unless you are busy.

[Dave 5,715]

...More? 

 

 

 

Unless you are busy.

 

The main problem with my update rate is that I have no conception of time. >_< It took me forever to realize we were even in March. Hopefully, I can get my rear in gear and start getting some more writing done.

 

Thanks for reading, and I definately will try and get more updates on a regular basis!

Edited March 8, 2013 by Dave

[Zola 3,038]

The main problem with my update rate is that I have no conception of time. >_< It took me forever to realize we were even in March. Hopefully, I can get my rear in gear and start getting some more writing done.

 

Thanks for reading, and I definately will try and get more updates on a regular basis!

 

It's okay!  I know how the time thing goes.  I will content myself with re-reading your previous posts until you write more.  

[Daniel Black 1,981]

Nice, well written... I like it  

[Dave 5,715]

Chapter 4: The Troops Fall In 

Zidane knew it had to be a dream: not only was Garnet wearing a fantastic black gown that left very little to the imagination, but they had yet to be interrupted by the loud, disapproving Steiner, who surely would be trying to break up this late night rendezvous. But, it was a good dream none the less:  there she was, exchanging meaningful looks, the classy dining room at the palace practically empty except for them, and old Rusty nowhere in sight. Zidane toyed with the wine glass in front of him, pondering his next move: as usual, he felt as underdressed as a low class thief could feel amidst such glamour befitting a princess, but the look Garnet was giving him made it clear that it didn’t matter. Returning the grin with a winning smile of his own, Zidane rose out of his chair and extended his hand across the table, taking his love by her gentle hand. In accordance to the rules established by his dream, the band began to play a waltz, and the dance floor was begging to be occupied. Determined to make the most of this fantasy while it lasted, the young man curled his long, monkey-like tail behind him, and kissed Garnet’s hand. “Shall we dance?"

 

“Boko, cut it out, I’ll feed you later…”

Zidane looked up at his beloved sharply: being called a different name, even in a dream, was something of a heartbreaker. But a few blinks of the eye would reveal that it was not Garnet standing before him, nor was he in a dining room, nor was he where he remembered going to bed the night before. He was sitting, rather, on an uncomfortable stone street, his tail bunched up behind him as he leaned against the wall of some unknown wooden building. A sharp overhead sun, indicating the time to be noon, managed to be just nuisance enough to drive into his eyes, though being in an alley served to diffuse the light slightly. He could hear birds chirping in the trees a few yards away, which would have been pleasant if not for the fact that it meant he was sleeping outside instead of his comfortable bed.

Most disturbing, though, was that it was not Garnet he found his head leaning against and lying in his arms. The brunette hair color managed to meet the likeness, but after that, there was very little to console himself with. The slender young man currently nestled next to him was taller than he was, and wearing a white tunic over light blue tights. His expression switching from confusion to abject shock, the thief withdrew his hands to his own sides, causing the other man to fall sharply forward . The sudden lurch of motion being enough to wake him, the brunette fellow managed to catch himself before hitting his head on the ground. Alert and awake, he sat up straight, only to mimic the same befuddled stare that Zidane was now giving him. There was enough silence between them that the whinny of horses could be heard from outside the alley, as well as the gentle, innocent hustle and bustle of other living things.

 

“No offense,” said Zidane, breaking what seemed to be an eternity of silence, “but you’re not much of a replacement for the dream I was having.”

The other man blinked before responding. “It’s just as well. You’re not really my type.”

The ice effectively broken, the duo both tried stretching their arms and yawning off the sleep. “Oh, man,” said Zidane in between yawns, looking up at the sky, “I haven’t slept in until noon for years.”

“I haven’t woken up in a back alley ever,” returned the other man, who tried to stand, only to find the strain to be a little tougher than he anticipated. “I guess you have to try everything once, though.” He took a few moments to get his bearings back before asking, “So, uh, do we… know each other? I only ask because I was always told to never wander off with strange men.”

Zidane could hear a few snaps and pops as he stood, but a few quick stretches sorted the worst of the kinks out. “Well, we know each other now, at any rate.” Feeling better with the blood flowing in his legs again, he smiled and reached out a friendly gloved hand. “Zidane.”

 

“Bartz,” replied the other, who accepted the handshake. Zidane was taken aback by the strength of Bartz’s grip: given his rather delicate frame, he hadn’t expected much in the ways of power. But, given that the brown haired youth was smiling warmly and not being nearly as threatening as most people met in back alleys tended to be, Zidane was willing to overlook a few hurt fingers.

“Well, Bartz,” he said, turning his attention to their surroundings,” since we’re answering questions, maybe you can help me out here. Do you have any idea where we are?” Even without the fact that he wasn’t in his nice, comfy bed, Zidane was still at a loss: the proximity of the trees, the modest look of the houses surrounding him, and the relatively quieter ambient noise all pointed to the notion that he wasn’t in the city of Alexandria any more.

“Well, that’s easy,” said Bartz with a nod. “We are…” He looked at both walls encasing them in the alley. “Definitely…” He looked at both openings of the alley, one leading into a walls of trees, the other showing a hint of other houses and signs of life. “Somewhere,” he ended, with a shrug and a smile.

Zidane blinked. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, because I never would have figured that out myself.”

Bartz patted the shorter man on the back, also getting his first view of the curled tail jutting out of Zidane’s back, which he decided against commenting on. “I do what I can. But I’m willing to guess that we won’t find out much more standing in an alley. Should we venture out into the world?”

As it turned out, exiting the alleyway did nothing to illuminate the situation. The town they found themselves in consisted of a handful of buildings, primarily of wooden construction, and though the craftsmanship of the houses was elegant, they showed signs of wear and tear. Surrounding the clearing was a wall of trees, mostly green and flourishing, yet spotted in places with withered and dying trunks. Modest though this appeared to be, the hamlet was likely on the outskirts of something much greater: in the distance, poking its spires over the sea of trees, was a castle in much the same design as the houses here. Through this small village walked folk that Zidane could not recall setting eyes on before: they were human in shape, but their ears were long and pointed, and they seemed to carry themselves with a sort of grace that countered the dismal conditions that they lived in; Though the suspicious and surprised eyes that they greeted Bartz and Zidane with indicated that they were none too fond of visitors.

“Well, this isn’t Alexandria.”

Bartz glanced at his comrade. “Where?”

“Where I live.” Zidane rubbed his head as if to soothe a headache, but was surprised to find that he didn’t have one. “Yeesh, what were we even doing last night? You’d think there’d be a hangover to remind me why I don’t remember.”

“No clue.” Bartz scratched his head, taking in their surroundings. “It doesn’t exactly look like party central in any sense.” A particularly withering glare from a passing local send shivers down his spine. “Where’d you say you’re from, again?”

“Alexandria.” It took a few moments for Zidane to realize that blank expression on Bartz’s face. “You’re not seriously telling me you don’t know where I’m talking about?”

“All right,” shrugged Bartz, “I’m not telling you. But I’m insinuating it heavily.”

Zidane couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, you know. It’s easy enough to miss. It’s just a few shops, some gardens, big whopping castle, royal family, centre of power, kind of a big deal. Sort of a hole in the wall, really.”

“Well, if they don’t have a stamp collectors shop, no wonder I missed it.”

The laughter of the two newfound friends was warm enough to blot out even the most oppressive of forests or angriest of stares. “All right, fair enough,” chuckled Zidane. “But where are you from, then?”

“I’m from…” Bartz’s mouth dangled open for a few seconds as if the words were taking their time in coming out, but soon, his expression switched to one of puzzled bemusement. “Um, well…” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, stared up at the sky, murmured a few words under his breath, but none of these things seemed to do much good. “I… apparently can’t remember.”

Zidane raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a bit funny,” he said, holding his right hand in front of him and glancing at the palm, like a student checking his hastily written notes. “I mean, I can remember that I’m not from here, but I’ll be darned if I can remember where it is I’m from.”

Seeing the increasing look of pained frustration on his friend’s face, Zidane’s smile soon faded. “You’ve gotta remember something. People? Places?”

Bartz wagged a finger hesitantly in the air, as if to point at invisible targets, but his hand fell to his side. “Not really. There’s a few faces, but I can’t put names to them.” His eyes grew wider as the scale of his amnesia began to sink in. “Hey, what’s going on here?”

“Well, it means that whatever we did last night, it wasn’t a night to remember.”

Bartz frowned. “Can you remember anything?”

“Only my age, weight, and the sequence of events throughout my life until last night.

“Hey, c’mon, this is serious!”

 

“All right, all right, I’ll cut it out.” The pair fell silent, staring at the wall of trees and houses as if they would part and reveal the missing clue. There wasn’t a single thing before him that hinted to Zidane where he might be, but right now, finding his way back home didn’t seem as important. “Well, we won’t get your memory back just standing here. Let’s do some digging.”

Bartz whirled in surprise to look at the once-again-smiling Zidane. “Really? You know you don’t have to do that. If you want to head back to Alex-wherever, that’ll be fine.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” said the thief, patting his friend on the shoulder and giving him a reassuring wink. “It’s not like I can just leave you in the lurch, right? Though I should warn you: if it develops that we were in a high stakes crime last night, I’m definitely bailing.”

Bartz opened his mouth to protest, but, seeing the trustworthy look in Zidane’s eye, settled for a humble smile. “Well, all right. But next time, I get to help you out of a personal crisis, all right?”

“Deal.” Sealing things with a quick handshake, Zidane said, “Well, might as well solve one of the more pressing issues. Hey!” He waved at an approaching villager, who was walking through the street bearing a cart of chopped wood. “Hey, wait up!” The sight of the two strangers brought furrows of suspicion and distrust onto the man’s brow as they came closer. “We’re wondering if you could lend us ahand.”

The man’s demeanour was as prickly as the points on his ears. Swiftly deciding that some tact was needed, Zidane coughed into his hand and tried again. “My friend and I are trying to visit our grandmother…”

“She’s sick,” added Bartz.

“Very much so. But we seem to have gotten ourselves turned around. Would you mind telling us where we are?”

“Please?”

The man’s expression softened ever so slightly, and after switching his stares between the two youths, apparently deciding they weren’t overtly malicious in intention, he finally murmured, “Elfhiem,” and then hurried away with his cart.

Zidane gently slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Oh, of course. Elfhiem!”

Bartz nodded sagely. “Elfhiem!” 

“How could I not recognize it?”

“Should’ve guessed it by the trees.”

“Must’ve been here, like, twenty odd times.”

“The world renowned Elfhiem.”

 

“…So, do you know where we are?”

 

“No.”

 

“Yeah, me neither.”

Chewing his lip for a moment, Bartz took a quick glance at the signs hanging from some of the larger roadside buildings. Then, eyes lighting up, motioned for Zidane to follow him as he walked towards a pleasant looking tavern. “Buy you a drink?”

Zidane smirked. “I thought we were trying to remember, not forget.”

“We are,” returned Bartz as they passed through the doors, entering a very well kept room, laden with plenty oak tables and a bar at the end of the western wall. “And if there was a place that we would have been last night which would have led us to this unfortunate predicament, I’m willing to bet that this might have been at the top of the list. Let’s see what we can find out.”

Given that there were no other customers present in the tavern at this time, the barmaid took no time at all in greeting the companions as they took a stool at the bar. “Good afternoon, friends,” she said, smiling cheerily at them as she quickly wiped off the counter before them. “What would you like?”

“To wait until you’re off work, then whisk you away to a tropic island, where we can watch the sun rise while I whisper sweet nothings in your slender ears,” said Zidane, dreamily resting his head on his hand as he leaned on the countertop.

The elf was visibly startled by the words and, wide eyed, glanced at Bartz, who politely asked, “May I have a coffee, please?”

As the barmaid eagerly disappeared to the back room for a moment, Zidane looked in faux disappointment at his comrade. “Some wingman you are.”

Smiling, Bartz shrugged. “At least I’ll get what I asked for.” Sure enough, a few moments later, the elf had brought a warm cup of coffee for Bartz, a cold look of distaste for Zidane. “Thank you very much. Oh, and one more thing. Now, this is going to sound bizarre, but we were wondering: could you tell us if we were in here last night?”

Keeping her distance from Zidane, who was trying his best to catch her eye with a wink, the barmaid answered, “I think I would have remembered if your friend had been here.” Then, swiftly, she seemed to remember that there were things which needed cleaning in the cellars, and vanished.

“I think she likes me,” said Zidane, after watching her exit the room.

“Well, that’s two strikes against us,” sighed Bartz, despondently taking a sip from his coffee. “We don’t really know where this place is, and we don’t know what we were doing here to begin with.”

“Well, we weren’t going bingeing, anyways. But the whole thing doesn’t add up.” Having been brought back to task, Zidane drummed his fingers anxiously against the wooden counter. “I know for a fact that I wasn’t here last night, or ever for that matter, and with you losing your memory on top of it? That’s a few too many strange things to just shrug off.”

“Also, given the lukewarm response we’ve gotten from the locals, I can’t imagine they exactly expect visitors at any time. So why are we so lucky as to make their acquaintance?”

“You know what I think?”

“What’s that?”

“I think we might be in some kind of trouble.”

 

“…Well, I’m glad that you’re here, because I couldn’t have figured that by myself.”

Ending on the joke seemed to make the complete confusion of their situation seem just a little less dire. Content to ponder the problem in mutual silence for a moment or so, neither man stirred at the sound of the tavern door opening once more, nor at a the bustle of a single stool at the far end of the bar being occupied. Zidane didn’t even raise his head as the barmaid (hesitantly) returned and asked the newcomer, “Good afternoon. How may I help you?”

“Water.” The voice was cold, monotone, as polar opposite from Zidane’s flirtations as could be, yet still resulted in the same sort of quick retreat from the barmaid.

It wasn’t until a heavy “thunk” of metal dropping onto wood that Bartz was inclined to look in the direction of the newcomer, though his eyes widened once he did. Lying atop the end of the bar was the strangest sword he had ever seen: the handle was tilted at an angle, as if the blade was to be aimed at the target, and the hilt was most peculiar, being a dense metal cylinder, with heavy grooves etched into the side. Located underneath the hilt was a trigger-like device, though there was no sign of an arrow or other projectile weapon, so whatever the firing mechanism did was a mystery. All in all, the thing didn’t seem to have any practical use at all, if not for the countering evidence of the notched blade, looking very much used and very functional. “Hey, I’ve never seen something like that before,” said Bartz, trying to pantomime with his hand how one would even grip the weapon. “Zidane, look at that!”

The blonde man took a glance, raising a curious eyebrow. “Yeesh, I don’t even know what you’d call that. Hey, buddy! What kind of a sword is that?”

The person at the end of the bar was scarcely less out of place than his sword. Tall and with long dark hair, the young man bore himself with the air of a war veteran: his dull blue eyes didn’t so much as flicker towards the sparks of conversation, continuing to stare at the wall as if he hadn’t heard a sound. His face was stoically still, his mouth set in a permanent frown, and the long scar stretching from his brow down the length of his nose only added to the look of severity. His clothing was plain and practical: a short black jacket with fur lining around the neck, with a white shirt underneath, and a pair of black pants, all with little to no frivolities about them (the possible exception being that the man seemed to have a few too many belts hanging around his waist). Though he was as still as a statue, he was practically animate in how determined he was to not respond to the other two men talking to him.

“I mean, it doesn’t look like you can shoot anything from it, but there’s a trigger, so…?”

“Looks like a pretty good piece of craftsmanship. Where the heck did you get it?”

 

The man was silent.

“Heh, sorry,” apologized Bartz. “Didn’t mean to intrude. I was just curious, was all.” Then, realizing that the man’s simple attire was at odds with the gear that most of the elves seemed to be wearing, asked, “Say, are… you from around here?” The man continued to be silent, but his eyes flickered at the question just for a moment, and though he soon resumed staring back at the wall, Bartz had the answer he was looking for. “You’re not! Great! Oh, er, not great for you, but… uh, look, I was wondering if you could help us.”

“See, we’re from out of town ourselves,” added Zidane, “and as much as we’re enjoying this vacation, we’re not entirely sure which direction home is. Which direction you come here from?”

“Oh, and do you have any memory problems?”

 

Silence. The two friends looked at each other, a bit uneasy. Zidane coughed into his palm. “Uh, yeah. No rush. Feel free to think it over.”

“It’s just that we’re really in a bind,” explained Bartz. “We don’t know how we got here, or what we’re doing here, or… much of anything, really. Heh, I know, I know. That sounds crazy. But if there’s anything you can tell us at all, it’d be a huge favor.”

 

The man blinked, and continued his staredown with the wall behind the bar, deaf to the world around him.

Rolling his eyes, Zidane stole Bartz’s coffee and took a sip. “Thanks, you’ve been a great help.”

Even Bartz had to hang his head in defeat, turning away from the stranger. “If there’s anything we can ever do for you, just let us know.”

“You can go bug someone else.” 

The duo almost fell off their chairs in surprise at the curt, icy quip.  No sooner had the man allowed this slightest of frustrations vent from his iron mask than he immediately clammed up again, finally receiving his glass of water from the barmaid and diverted full attention to staring at his distorted reflection.

After exchanging glances between themselves, Zidane shrugged and drank his apprehended coffee. “There, see? And you thought he didn’t like us.”

 

~

The first thing Terra saw upon opening her eyes was the sword. Instinctively, she raised her hand in the air, the sparks of flames beginning to form in her palm.

“Wait!”

Though the pleading tone in the voice struck a chord, it wasn’t until she saw the startled face of the child standing above her that she caught herself. Slowly, the flames dissipated, her arm gradually falling back to her side.

In turn, realizing that holding a sword while standing overtop a woman lying flat on her back in the middle of a field might be something of a poor idea, the boy quickly tossed the weapon to the side. “My apologies! I didn’t mean to frighten you. I wasn’t sure if you were some sort of vile monster in human form.” The almost pompous tone that wove its way into his words was at odds with the previous plea. But if not for that one slip, there would be no sign of meekness in the boy’s manner. His bright eyes shone with vibrant energy, his shortblonde hair brushed back as though unable to be tamed. He carried himself with a sort of swagger, hands placed casually on his hips, as if there was nothing to worry about. From his bright red pantaloons and shirt to his red cap and plume, the boy looked ready to face the world on his own.

Once certain that he wasn’t an immediate threat, Terra turned her attention to other pressing matters. She was lying on a bed of tall grass in a meadow, with no sign of other people in sight. The blue sky and presence of the sun indicated that it was a little after noon, and aside from her clothes, the item she seemed to possess was a thin rapier strapped to her belt.

It was not, she decided, the way one usually woke up from a dream.

“May I help you up?”

The boy stretched out a helping hand. Terra glanced at his winning smile, then over to the sword laying some feet away, then rolled slightly and pushed herself up to a standing position. Dusting off stray grass clippings from her skirt and nylons, adjusting her thin cape which hung over her rose pink blouse,  Terra adjusted her posture and scanned the landscape around her. She was in the middle of a rolling plain, grasslands spreading at least as far as she could see, though admittedly the surrounding hills managed to successfully block any long-ranged vision. There wasn’t a house, cottage, or any living quarters immediately present.

“Staying on guard. Good decision!” Recoiling from the snub almost instantly, the boy couldn’t resist talking while Terra was busy looking around. “It’s not worth taking a risk just out of obligations towards manners. You need to keep a sharp eye at all times. Like me! Ha, I have all the stealth and cunning of a thief. Wanna know how I approached this place unseen? Well, let me tell you…”

“I don’t know this place,” Terra finally announced, eyes still busy looking for landmarks or signs that would find some meaning in her mind. Her voice was calm and collected, yet hesitant with a hint of confusion.

“I’m not surprised,” said the boy, nodding sagely. “No towns for miles, few roads, and you lying in a field without so much as a tent or a pack. It wouldn’t take a genius to come to the conclusion that you’re lost…”

“Who are you?” Terra said, turning her suspicious stare on the red clad youth.

Without missing a beat, the boy bowed gracefully, sweeping his cap from his head with flourish. “I, good lady, am a master of all trades and intellectual extraordinaire. But you may call me…” He paused for dramatic timing as he placed his cap back on his head, and struck a charming smile. “…The Onion Knight.”

 

A gust of wind ruffled Terra’s blonde hair, blowing it into her face slightly, though she remained unflinching. “Are you over age twelve?”

The Knight’s swagger deflated like a balloon, arms dropping limply to his side. Salvaging his pride, he lifted his chin defiantly. “Yes.” Then, coughing into his palm, added, “Don’t you think you should tell me who you are?”

“Oh!” The reminder of manners almost startling her, Terra gave a polite, stiff bow. “I’m Terra Branford.” An awkward silence, broken only by the occasional gust of wind, reigned supreme, until a glaring issue came to Terra’s mind. “If you don’t mind my saying, er, sir Knight,” she said, including the title to try and make amends for the previous slight, “you do not seem to be prepared for travel yourself.”

The recognition of his Knightly status cheering him, the boy wagged a finger in the air as he spoke. “Too true, I’m afraid. It seems that adventure has caught me unprepared. No worries, though: a good Knight is ready to wander at all times, prepared or no.”

Terra raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Adventure?”

“Standard sort of thing,” said the Onion Knight, waving his hand airily. “Whisked away in the middle of the night, only to find one’s self in a foreign land. Doubtlessly the work of some mischievous forces, to be sure.”

Terra couldn’t be sure if the Knight was actually disinterested in the prospect of being lost, or if it was all part of an act. “So, you mean that you don’t know this place either?”

The Onion Knight shook his head. “Nary a clue. Though judging by the lushness of the grass and the greenness of the surroundings, I’m inclined to say we’re near an area with high precipitation. Also, if that happens to be a seagull I spy,” he said, pointing at the shape of a white bird, hovering in the sky, “then it might be safe to say we’re close to some body of water. And unless I’m very much mistaken,” he added, gesturing slightly to the south at a trio of tree trunks tucked just at the foot of a hill, “those trees did not cut themselves. And unless someone took an incredible amount of time to come to the middle of nowhere to collect wood, then it’s a safe bet to say that at least one person lives relatively close to this area.”

Terra blinked. “And you’re definitely certain you’ve never been here before?”

“Positive.” Then, “I think south-east would be the direction of any civilization. The seagull seems to be inclined that way, and the ground slopes down, meaning the closer we get to sea level, the more likely we would be to run into a port, or something.”

“And you’re not in the least bit concerned about how you got here?”

“Oh, certainly, but there’s nothing that can be done about it.” Then, as if snapping out of a séance, looked up at Terra. “Are you?”

She looked down at her feet for a moment, before looking directly into the Onion Knight’s eyes. “I… can’t seem to remember how I came to be here.”

The Knight frowned. “Nothing at all? Well, perhaps what you experienced just prior might have triggered this lapse?”

Terra shook her head. “The last time I had trouble remembering the past, it was right after I…” She paused, her hand feeling the hilt of the rapier hanging at her side. The blood drained from her face, and her calm demeanour quailed for the first time. Nervously, she looked out at the very hand she had raised against the Onion Knight when awakening, as if trying to see if the flames still lingered abouther fingers.

 

“Terra?”She closed her palm into a fist, and let it hang by her side. “I… I think I should be going.” Without any further wait, she strode forward, ramrod straight in posture, eyes fixed firmly ahead in the direction the Onion Knight had indicated before.

Startled for only a moment, the Onion Knight grabbed his sword from the ground, then jogged briefly to catch up with Terra’s rapid pace. “Very good! I will join you.”

Not taking her eyes off the horizon, Terra said, “I... don’t know that that’s a good idea.”

The Onion Knight was not to be deterred. “Well, it’s in both our interests to reach a town, isn’t it? We’d be going in the same direction no matter what.” Then, trying to figure out this sudden trepidation, added, “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

Terra stopped almost instantly, staring at the Onion Knight with a puzzled expression hovering around her features. “I’m sorry?”

Also halting, the Onion Knight grinned, yet unlike his other swaggering mannerisms, his smile seemed to have the sincerity of a person who actually believed what he was saying. “I know you’re afraid. I ought to be too, waking up in a field with no sight of friends or family. But rest assured, so long as we’re together, I will protect you as best I can.” Then, standing up a little taller, said, “No, I will protect you, and that’s that.”

Terra was about to say that protection wasn’t necessary, but the earnestness and well-meaning on the boy’s face helped to dig up memories of a similar promise made to her long ago, and the thought brought a smile to her otherwise stoic face. “Well,” she said, much of the aloofness removed from her voice, “I imagine I should be kept very safe, then.”

Beaming from this newfound vote of confidence, the Onion Knight bowed quickly before leading the way forward, waving his sword around in front of him to annunciate his speech, while Terra followed from behind. “Fear not, Terra, there’s not a thing that a Knight can’t handle. Not monsters, not weather, not tricks of fate. Speaking of monsters, would you like to hear about how I once slew a behemoth with only a wooden staff and cloth armor one me?”

“…I think I would, sir Knight.”

“Well, get ready for the story of a lifetime. There I was, alone in a deep, dark cavern, down to my last supply of healing potions…”

 

[Zola 3,038]

The awesomeness radiating from this page is tangible.

[Dave 5,715]

Chapter 5: Close Quarters

 

“’Scuse me,sir… Pardon me… Very sorry…” The words came automatically while Firion squeezed through the droves of people milling about Cornelia market place.  It was a little after two o’clock, and the pace in the city had picked up substantially, the traffic of bodies moving through the streets increasing until it was hard to move most anywhere with any degree of speed. “So sorry, ma’am,” said Firion again, trying to avoid eye contact with the rather irritated woman he had just bumped into. The young man was trying to stay as polite as possible, though sheer frustration with the lack of mobility made his apologies more of a gesture than sincerity. Not helping matters was the number of weapons he carried on his person made it difficult to maneuver in a tight space: the lance and bow strapped to his back were already responsible for tripping up at least five people, and the young warrior was anxious to avoid hindering a sixth. Using the advantage of height,
Firion stood on his tip toes to look over the heads of the market goers to try and find someplace where a person could stand without being jostled.

Such a place obviously wasn’t to be found in the middle of the street. Firion only had enough time to confirm that there were no clearings to be immediately found in

the market square then a passing group of moogles, deep in discussion of the merits and problems of synthesizing couerl whiskers with flan jelly, bumped heedlessly into his legs. Knocked off his balance, he tried in panic to stay standing, but, weighted down with the small arsenal strapped to his back, and with no wiggle room to try and right himself, Firion couldn’t help but fall forward. “Look out!”

Thankfully, not only did he not hit the ground, but the person he fell into managed to catch him in time. With the passersby being kind enough to give them some room, Firion managed to regain balance, holding on to his benefactor’s shoulders for support. “Th-thank you,” he stammered, cheeks red from embarrassment.

“…You’re welcome,” said the other man, his voice somewhat stiff in spite of the otherwise kind sentiment. Then, begrudgingly, “Do you need a hand?”
 

“No, no, I’m fine.” Righting himself, brushing off dust from his shirt, and readjusting the slightly askew bandanna he worse on his head, Firion managed to work through enough of his shame to offer a smile. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” said the blonde man in the purple sweater, who turned his light blue eyes to glare at a Bankaa that had shouldered him.

Quickly checking his pockets and belts to make sure that everything was accounted for, Firion glanced around the walls of people still shifting all about them. “This

is ridiculous. I’d give anything to find someplace quiet.”

“Heh, me too,” agreed the other man. “Thought there was an inn or something down this way.”

Feeling stable once more, Firion stood on his toes and peered over the heads of the crowd, looking at the signs hanging off the sides of buildings. “Well, you’re

not far off. There’s one just a few yards, just north of here. Good luck getting there, though. There’s enough people coming down to… hey, wait!”

The blonde man didn’t look like he was going to wait for luck to separate the steady stream of moving bodies. Going against the grain of traffic, he started to walk

in a straight line directly to where Firion has indicated the inn to be. Slowly but steadily, he forced his way through the horde of shoppers, elbowing and shunting obstructions aside, and then glaring at them with his strange blue eyes if they dared to challenge him. Seeing an opportunity, Firion dashed immediately behind the other man, following him as he blazed a trail to peace. “Sorry, very sorry. We’re in a bit of a rush. Deepest apologies…”

Running the length of the gauntlet took nearly five minutes, but finally, Firion and the stranger pushed and worked their way to the doors of Odin’s Inn, the doors of

which had been carved to look like great wooden shields, with an old horned helmet hanging over the entrance. Finding shelter under the awning from both the midday sun as well as the stream of people, the young warrior did a quick check of all his weapons to make sure nothing had been lost or stolen in the stream of people. Bow, lance, knife, axe, sword, shield, and staff: good! Everything was still with him.

The blonde man raised an eyebrow while watching the checks, and smirked. “Isn’t that overkill?”

Satisfied that everything was as it should be, Firion glanced at the gigantic sword strapped to the stranger’s back. “You’re one to talk.”

There was the smallest hint of a chuckle in the man’s voice as he replied, “Maybe.” He reached over his shoulder to grip the hilt of the sword for just a moment, before switching the motion to a deft flip of his spiked hair. Glancing up at the empty helmet hanging above them, he added, “Is this place any good?”

Firion shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. I’m…” He paused, taking a look at the cynical, veteran look permanently etched in the stranger’s face, and decided to opt for, “…Sort of from out of town.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

Firion tried to catch the other man’s eye, but the stranger was still staring intently at the sign hanging over the inn. He hadn’t thought much of it before, but the more he thought on it, the more the blonde man’s attire seemed awfully out of place: the cut of the purple sweater, the style of his hair, the strange studded shoulder guard, and, of course, the massive sword. Firion bit his lip in hesitation, certain that the man would think him ludicrous, but given the bizarre nature of his own situation, perhaps the stranger might be of some help. “I… don’t mean to seem strange, but… where are you…”

With no indication that he even knew (or cared) that Firion was talking, the blonde man walked forward into the inn. Taken aback by how abruptly the conversation ended, the warrior stalled before once again following in the stranger’s wake.

The inside of Odin’s Inn clearly took the namesake to heart: the décor screamed “hunting lodge,” with furs of various animals on the floor and the heads of many beasts attached to the walls as trophies. The lobby, if it could be called that, was something of a great hall, with a tavern taking up most of the floor space, and the check-in counter at the far end of the room. The inn was full of loud, boisterous folk: rangers, hunters, most bragging about the marks they recently killed, or telling tales of previous great exploits. The volume echoing in the hall was so great that the blonde man didn’t even hear Firion behind him until he had crossed halfway through the tavern. “You know you don’t have to follow me everywhere, right?”

“Don’t worry,” said Firion, raising his voice so as to be heard over the two rangers sitting at the table next to them, discussing the best way to defeat a malboro. “I’ve only got one quick question, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

The stranger considered this for a moment, then finally turned around to look at Firion. “Fine. What is it?”

Firion took a deep breath, sighed, and said, “You said you were from out of town.”

“That’s not a question, that’s a statement.”

“And judging by your clothing, your manners, your weapon, you’re from no place remotely nearby.”

The stranger remained stonefaced, but the slightest glint in his odd blue eyes made Firion feel he was on to something.

“Uh, well, I’m in sort of the same predicament. Er, that is, I’m from somewhere else. Somewhere that I can’t imagine is anywhere near here. So I guess what I’m

asking is…” If not for the sudden look of recognition that passed by the stranger’s face, Firion wouldn’t have had the courage to ask, “…Do you know how you got here?”

The way the stranger’s eyes widened in shock, Firion had his answer before the man managed to say, “How do you…”

He was cut off as a pair of city guards tried to pass between him and the nearby table. Firion felt his legs stiffen at the sight of the armored official, the natural inclination to apologize dying in his throat.
 

 The offending guard looked sharply up, scowling. “Fool! Who stands in the middle of a room, so no one can get by?”

“Someone who doesn’t care if you get your tin suits scuffed,” the blonde man returned, not missing a beat.

The guard’s back stiffened, and rubbed imaginary dust off of the badge indicating his rank. “I’m sorry, exactly who do you think you’re talking to?”

Before the blonde man could say anything, Firion stepped in front of him, coldly glaring at the official. “He’s talking to a man whose job is supposedly to defend the people, not bully them.” The barely contained anger in his voice seemed to make even the blonde man stir in surprise.

The guard balked, started to sneer, but found the fearless face of the grey-haired youth before him to be enough of a deterrent from projecting outright scorn.  “I think there’s a level of respect that’s due here…”
 

“You’re right,” interrupted Firion. “Theirs is. So how about apologizing to my friend here for elbowing him?”

At this, the guard moved in closer to Firion, emphasizing how much taller he was than the warrior. “How about I run you in for lugging around an excess of arms in a public area?”

“Arrest a man for bearing weapons in a hunting lodge,” quipped the blonde man, smirking. “Have fun arresting half the building. I’m sure the inn keeper will love you taking his business.”
 

“Listen, you…”

“C’mon, Lloyd,” the second guard finally stepped in, placing a restraining hand on his partner’s shoulder and forcefully began pulling him away. “Know when to call it

quits.” Sulkily, the first guard acquiesced, though he made sure to give the duo one last heated glare to make sure that they knew he was serious before parting to a table on the far end of the room.

Once the unwanted company had left, the blonde man turned to Firion. “Heh. I didn’t think it was possible to get under that collar of yours.”

Suddenly self-conscious, Firion scratched the back of his head while staring sheepishly at the floor. “Some people…” He noticed that the guard’s badge had been displaced, and was sitting before him. He kicked the insignia away before looking up once more. “…Just rub me the wrong way.” Smiling slightly, Firion extended his hand out. “Firion, by the way.”

The blonde man looked at the hand, then, as if the hinges of his arms were rusty, slowly and awkwardly accepted the handshake. “…Cloud.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Cloud.”

“Yeah.” Taking his hand back, Cloud crossed his arms tightly, “So, about that thing you were talking about. About… not knowing where you are, or how you got here.”

Firion’s eyes lit up eagerly. “Yes?”

“I might want to talk about that a bit more.” Then, looking side to side that the rapidly filling tavern, Cloud added, “Not in the middle of the room, though. Let’s find someplace to sit.” Turning, he began to lead the way.

And was promptly walked into by a tall man in white armor.

"Watch it,” Cloud finally snapped, fixing the stranger with a cold glare.

“I’m sorry!” If Cloud’s tone was sharp and confrontational, the stranger’s voice was exactly the opposite, clearly sincere in his apologies. “I should have…”

“Hey, YOU watch it, buddy!” From behind the tall stranger emerged a slightly shorter, blonde haired youth, who strode forward until he was almost in Cloud’s face. “How about giving a heads up before you just stick yourself in front of people?”

Cloud matched the boy’s impetuous behavior, crossing his arms as if daring the stranger to do something foolish. “Or you’ll what? Annoy me to death?”

Feeling the eyes of others in the room slowly begin to turn their way, and noticing that the two guards from before were starting to glance over, Firion quickly placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Cloud. Let’s let this one go.”
 

Simultaneously, the man in the white armor did much of the same to his younger companion. “Tidus, we’re not here looking for any kind of trouble.”

“What trouble?” Tidus shrugged his partner’s hand off his shoulder, an upbeat, competitive smile plastered on his face. “C’mon, Cecil, we could take this chump.”

“…Chump?” The monotone of Cloud’s voice did nothing to mask his obviously growing anger.

With alarm bells going off in his head, Cecil raised his hands before him. “No, no one here is a chump. Least of all you. Look, I’m really sorry about this.”

Sensing the paladin’s panic, Firion came in on his side. “Cloud, there’s no need to have things get out of hand. Come on, let’s go.”

“Yeah, you’d better run… mmph!” Tidus’s voice was quickly muffled, his mouth quickly clasped by Cecil’s hand. In spite of his attempts to break free, the paladin’s grip was too strong, and soon the star player of the Zanarkand Abes was forced to cross his arms in a sulk.

“Really, really sorry,” said Cecil, trying his best to smile in between Tidus’s struggles. Then, more sternly, “Tidus, apologize.”

The boy glared up at his friend after the restraining hand was removed. “Why me? He was the one that…”

“Tidus.” There was no nonsense or flexibility in the tone that Cecil chose to use.

Sighing, Tidus rolled his eyes and mumbled as quietly as he could, “’M sorry.”

Cloud glanced at the sullen face of Tidus to the earnest gaze of Cecil before giving a single nod. “Don’t worry about it.” Then, after a few seconds more, “Sorry for walking into you.”

Feeling the tension relax, Firion felt it was time to diffuse the situation further. “Well, I guess the bulls didn’t get into the pottery shop today.”
 

Cecil laughed, appreciating the relief. “Well, not far enough in to break anything, anyways.” Then, without further hesitation, he extended his hand towards the other two. “I’m Cecil, and this is Tidus.”

The paladin’s hand hung alone for a few moments, while Cloud and Firion glanced at one another, uncertain. Then, with a small smile, Firion reached his hand out to accept the handshake. “I’m Firion, and this is Cloud.”
 

“…Hey,” said the ex-Solider, eyeing the teenager with disdain.

“What’s up?” returned the blitzball player, without much enthusiasm.

Not taking the time to acknowledge the remaining grudges, Firion kept the conversation light. “Would buying everyone a drink help to ease some bruised egos?”
 

Politely, Cecil raised his hand to signal a negative. “No, thank you. But, there is one thing, if it’s all right. You see, my friend and I are looking for someone. There ought to be a man in blue armor somewhere in this city. Have either of you seen anything like that?”

Firion shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Cloud?”

The mercenary went quiet for a second, looking at the floor for a second or two, before asking, “…Why?”

Sensing the hint of awareness, Cecil remained diplomatic. “Well, it’s a bit tricky to explain… I suppose the best way to put it is that there was an accident at the harbor earlier today, and that a man in blue armor was seen at the scene of the crime.” Spotting a slight shift in Cloud’s eyes, he added, “All I want is to talk to the man. There are things I need to know.”

Cloud’s eyebrow raised, before smirking. “Seems that everyone wants something that I know today. Somehow, I doubt the guy I bumped into could be behind anything remotely criminal.”

“All the same, any leads we might be able to get a hold of would be helpful.”

"Why don’t you just let the cops handle it?”

Firion scuffed the dirt on the floor while staring down at his feet. “Who says the authorities will get things done?”

“Hey, c’mon,” interrupted Tidus. “This is more than just a legal thing. Cecil here is having a little memory lapse…”

“Tidus, that really doesn’t need to be common knowledge…”

“And both of us are running on confused about where we are. And this fella in the blue might just know a thing or two to help us out. So if you feel like helping out two guys who could really use a hand, I’m sure I can let you guys off the hook.”

Firion and Cloud exchanged looks, wordlessly communicating about what Tidus had said. Firion smiled and shrugged, whereupon Cloud slowly nodded. “Yeah. I can help you out.”
 

Cecil sighed in relief. “Thank you very much. You’ve no idea what this means to me. If this helps me remember, I would go to the moon and back to return the favor.”

“Well, we’ll see,” replied Firion. “Helping you might just help us help ourselves.”
 

“Sure.” Brushing a stray hair from his eye, Cloud began to turn. “C’mon, let’s get…”

“Wait a moment!” Cecil spoke up. Cloud froze in his tracks, and in doing say, missed walking into a surly looking dwarf. “Sorry,” said the paladin, “I didn’t want you bumping into anyone.”

Cloud blinked, then smiled. “Yeah. Sure would be a shame.” Then, with a flick of his head, he motioned that the other three follow him to the exit. “All right. Cecil, Tidus, Firion. Let’s see if we can find a man in blue armor.”

[Daniel Black 1,981]

And this is getting better and better. O.o keep going!!! (Even when you post once in 100 years but that´s ok)

[Zola 3,038]

The quality is so high that it is worth 100 years of waiting to read it.  

[Dave 5,715]

I actually had about half of this chapter written for about two weeks, but never had time to finish writing it. Hopefully, with school wrapping up shortly, I can speed things up.

[Dave 5,715]

Chapter 6: Accusations

 

“They gather.”

Garland didn’t answer. Leaning on his sword, he stood just behind the fringe of trees surrounding Cornelia. From his vantage point, he watched the city, wondering how many people made it to market today. If memory served, this was the time of the week when the shipment of tea leaves from the south made it to the Tantalus Tea Shop. Garland usually wasn’t one for tea, but for whatever reason, Tantalus always seemed to make it just right. Of course, he hadn’t indulged in it since he… left. He wondered if it still held up.

“You would have them assemble unhindered?”
 

The knight turned his head to look at his companion. Standing deeper into the forest wall, as if trying to get closer to the dense wall of trees, stood a tall, menacing figure. Though clad head to toe in sky blue armor, the shade of the trees took any possible enjoyment of the color and made it ominous. His face could not be seen through the small slit in his helmet, yet the menacing aura radiating from the gaps of metal could not be ignored.

Garland replied calmly. “Only a fool rushes into battle before he is prepared.”

“Only a fool would allow his enemy to muster his full strength.”

The knight couldn’t argue with that. Laughing, Garland turned his attention back to the city. “If I could, Exdeath, I would assemble the soldiers of Chaos immediately, and with the God of Discord by my side, I would charge the minions of Cosmos and put an end to them in short order.” He could see, atop the outer wall, the smallest specks of silhouettes, indicating the presence of the local guard and sentries. It didn’t look as if there were as many as usual, and Garland remembered that many of the guards were diverted into the town proper for market day, to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. “But as it is, I have yet to receive all the cards in my deck, and cannot do much until then.”

“And which cards do you fret over, I wonder?”

“Too many.” He laughed again. “Though I don’t suppose I can be at fault for being careful amidst megalomaniacs and scoundrels.”

“It wasn’t the ground level to which I was referring.”

Garland ceased laughing instantly, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. He looked up at the sun: it was still high in the sky, well past noon, yet refusing to be rushed into evening. The day felt like lingering, taking its good, sweet time. “You needn’t concern yourself with him. I shall see to it that Chaos is ready.”

The harsh, ugly laugh seeped out of the blue helmet like smog from a chimney. “If those are the terms of your schedule, then we shan’t be moving until the enemy is already on our doorstep.”

Garland turned again, putting the sight of the sunlit city to his back in order to face the shadowy, sinister forest and the blue knight who stood within it. “You speak of their gathering was unprovoked. Had you not meddled needlessly at the port, the boy and the paladin wouldn’t have bothered with Cornelia.”

Exdeath did not flinch at the accusation. “I regret nothing. My actions were far from needless.”

“Oh?” Garland sniffed. “And what exactly were you doing?”

“Fishing.”

The knight waited for Exdeath to explain further, but, seeing no elaboration forthcoming, asked, “And did you catch anything?”

“No. Not yet.” A low, knowing chuckle was audible amidst the gloom of the trees. “Though I suspect success sooner or later.”

Garland turned dismissively from the blue knight, walking slowly further into the forest. Even only a few yards away from the edge of the trees, he could feel the warmth of the sunlight ebb substantially. “Speak clearly. I’ve no patience for riddles.”

“I see no need to divulge my suspicions.” Garland paused in mid step, glancing back at Exdeath. The blue knight stood stock still, not having budged an inch, his feet rooted to the ground. “What good would it do to warn a fool of future danger, when he refuses to act against the enemies he’s already aware of?”

Garland blinked, grabbing the hilt of his sword, the sound of which was all the more aggressive in nature due to the overbearing darkness of the forest. Exdeath did not stir: staunchly, he looked forward at the walls of Cornelia in the distance. Garland tried to find a retort to combat the insult, yet found himself following Exdeath’s eyeline towards the city. It was a market day, he recalled, and there ought to be a shift change soon. The replacement guards would be late; they were always late.

Garland released his grip on the weapon. “Well,” he said at last, “I suppose we need not make things too easy…”

~

“So that’s five potions, one ether, and one sleeping bag,” said the apothecary shop owner, who handed the items over to the Warrior of Light. “You’re a wise one, coming to me. Most folks your age (no offense, I’m sure) don’t even think about the necessities. Do you know how many young nincompoops run off on an adventure, and don’t even think to bring a tent?”

“I can imagine,” said the Warrior, grinning wryly as he placed the newly purchased items in his pack. He had spent the day picking up the essentials from the market, and with the medicinal items and tent checked off, he considered himself ready to venture back into the wild. Still, he wished he knew where his original pack went…

“All they see are the weapons,” continued the shop owner (who wasn’t much older the Warrior; the knight wondered whether the man had been on an adventure himself). The cart he was operating out of being parked on the market street, he had a perfect view of no less than three other weapon and armory stands that were set up in the market place, all of which were drawing much greater crowds. “Most of them are just posturing. You know, I saw a guy running around earlier with about six different weapons strapped to him?”

“In fairness, you can’t be too careful,” the Warrior diplomatically replied. “Which brings me back to what we were discussing before…”

“Right, the goblin attacks.” The vendor shook his head sadly. “Can’t believe the gall of the beasts. I’ve had two of my shipments jumped in the past month alone. Hard to make that sort of loss back. I mean, I don’t get the kind of business those weapon hockers do…”

“And whereabouts did the hijacking take place?” interrupted the Warrior.

“Northwest, a good many miles from the city. See, I get all my potions from a witch who lives up north (that’s why my wares are the best, you understand), but there’s this old fortress in those parts. The thing is a wreck, and we’d all thought it been deserted. But every time the wagons try to cross too close, it gets jumped by goblins. Almost like clockwork. I’d wager anything that’s where they’re hiding out.”

The Warrior nodded slowly. He knew of the fortress: a crumbling, archaic building, built for some long forgotten lord ages ago. It was, to the best of his knowledge, deserted. But if the vendor’s story was true, it was more than likely that it had discovered some new inhabitants. It was worth investigating, at any rate. “Thank you,” he said, rummaging through his coin purse to produce the necessary gil.

“Anything for a customer,” said the vendor, counting the coins carefully. “Feel free to come back if you need anything more. Heh, at least you’re willing to do something. More than can be said for the gods. I swear… Hey, mister! Wait! You forgot your change!”
 

The vendor’s voice bled away into the cacophony of the marketplace as the Warrior of Light marched away. Slinging the pack over his shoulders, where it settled neatly over the scabbard and shield, he strode briskly through the square, trying to find his way to the main gates. Even with the decline in foot traffic, the Warrior still had to fight his way through a mass of people. He avoided stepping on a moogle, who was too busy analyzing the tools it purchased to keep an eye out for others. He avoided a pair of Seeqs, arguing loudly with a food vendor to haggle off a single gil for a melon. He shifted behind a middle aged woman, obviously wealthy from her attire, trying on an assortment of jeweled trappings while she looked at herself in a mirror.
 

His brow set in a furrow, the Warrior arrived by a large fountain, just off the edge of the market square, where the roads separated away from the city center and spread out to either residential segments, or towards the gates. Turning, the Warrior looked back at the market place and saw a mass of people and creatures who took their safety for granted, preoccupied with their own vices. Unthinking, uncaring, unthankful. Shaking his head, he turned his back on the market.

And saw, sitting on the ridge of the fountain, a young boy and girl, sitting with one another, holding hands. Not doing anything in particular, apparently content with just the prospect of being together.

The Warrior of Light’s stony gaze softened. He looked at the sky, grinning slightly. The sun was shining clearly, the sky unclouded.

“Hey, there he is!”

“No, Tidus, wait!”

The Warrior only had a second to mentally register the voices and the sound of running footsteps approaching from behind. His agility unhindered by his armor, he

turned swiftly, catching the charging boy with both arms. Using the momentum, he continued the movement, letting go of the attacker in mid-air. The young man flew into the fountain, landing with a splash in the water and driving off the surprised young couple. The Warrior allowed his own inertia to carry him to the ground, only to roll through the fall and rise immediately back to his feet.  

The young lad in the fountain didn’t appear injured: he was still sputtering and flailing his arms as he tried to right himself. Feeling temporarily safe on that front, the Warrior focused on the other three approaching figures. All young adults, they were all walking with some degree of speed, though none with nearly the level of enthusiasm as the first. A slender, gray haired man wearing a bandanna, shaking his head with frustration, with at least six or so weapons strapped to his body, though the Warrior noted that none of them were drawn. A tall, fair man wearing white armor, holding his forehead in exasperation at first, then, upon looking at the Warrior for a few moments, became more grave in his manner. As for the third…

“Who’s using unnecessary force now?” The blonde man in the purple sweater smirked, crossing his arms and keeping a good distance from the knight.

The Warrior of Light sniffed, watching as the bandanna wearing lad helped his friend out of the fountain. “Self-defence,” he retorted.

Trying to keep as dry as humanly possible, Firion rolled his eyes as Tidus leaned on him for support, dripping water on the cobblestone street. “Do you know what the word ‘restraint’ means?”

Tidus shook his head rapidly to dry his hair, spraying water all around. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize that I was the only one who didn’t want him to get away.”

The Warrior raised an eyebrow. Adjusting his footing, he made sure that all four newcomers were in front of him before asking, “Get away?”

“Yes.” Cecil stepped forward, looking directly into the Warrior’s eyes. It looked as though the paladin was considering extending his hand, but, after a few moments hesitation, thought better of it. “I’d like to have a few words.”

The words were stiff, but courteous. The Warrior glanced at Cecil’s sword, still in its sheath, then back to the paladin’s face, stern and sincere. Behind, Tidus tried to squeeze water from his sleeves, gingerly massaging his back. “…Go on,” said the Warrior, after long last.

Cecil sighed in relief, keeping a watchful eye on the blue armored knight. “Perhaps it would be best if we moved out of the street.”

“Very well.” Like an awkward dance, the five moved away from the fountain and market to sidle closer to the great wall dividing Cornelia from the outside world, with
the Warrior keeping his distance from the other four and never allowing any of them to move out of his immediate vision. Likewise, Cecil and his company were wary of the Warrior attempting to flee, and were trying to walk in a semi-circle to cut him off. Once tight up against the wall, and mutually satisfied that the other wasn’t about to do anything suspicious, the Warrior asked the paladin, “Now, what is this all about?”

Cecil took a few moments to look at the ground before answering, “Where were you this afternoon at around one o’clock?”

The Warrior raised an eyebrow at the officious tone of the paladin. “I don’t believe I have to answer that question.”

“You do if you want to prove that you’re innocent of attempted murder on a grand scale.”

If not for the icy cold voice of Cecil, the Warrior would almost have laughed. Unable to mask his concern, he asked “What are you referring to?”

“Earlier this afternoon, a ship was destroyed in the harbor.”
 

Feeling his stomach flip, the Warrior couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping before asking. “…What?”

“Sailors aboard claim that the ship was destroyed after a man appeared on board and used some kind of magic to decimate it.”

Though he continued to absorb the information Cecil was offering, the Warrior’s mind was only half focused on the conversation. An attack on the harbor: he should have seen it coming. The monster’s assaults were focused on transports and goods: it only made sense that they would tackle ships. The pack on his back suddenly seemed much heavier. “Were there any injuries?”

“Minimal,” replied Cecil, who was bearing a face stoic enough to rival the Warrior’s own. “Though I personally suffered a blow to the head that might have slain me, had Tidus not come to my aid.”

“Not a problem,” said Tidus, though even his usual chipper manner seemed dampened slightly.

Removing his helmet momentarily, the Warrior massaged his temples, shaking his head. A threat to humanity practically next door, and he failed to even realize it was occurring. “I should have been there.”

“We don’t know that you weren’t.”
 

The Warrior's hands froze. A slight gust of wind rustled the hem of his cape.

Unrelenting, Cecil stated, “According to witnesses, the person responsible for the attack was a knight clad in blue.”

If the paladin’s voice was cold, the Warrior’s was downright frigid as he glared at his accuser. “What?”

“And that’s why I need to know where you were this afternoon.” There was no sign of pity or hesitation from Cecil, nor were there any sympathetic eyes among the others present.

Bristling, the Warrior straightened his posture. “How dare you.” His clenched fist was shaking, the illusion of unshakable composure shattered. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”

“That’s not answering the question.” Though not as forceful as Cecil, Firion’s words were still far from consoling.

“I was here,” snapped the Warrior. “I arrived in the city before noon, and have been here since.” He looked at Cloud, “This can be verified by witnesses.”

Cloud smirked. “I can verify for about ten minutes. I don’t know where you went after that.”
 

The Warrior took an aggressive step towards the mercenary. Cecil placed himself in between the two. “All right, that’s enough.”

“I did not hurt those people!” the Warrior barked, rapidly losing his composure.

“Look,” replied Cecil, who, seeing the Warrior distressed, instinctively softened his tone of voice. “As I’ve said, our only lead is that the perpetrator was wearing blue.”

Sensing the change in Cecil’s words, the Warrior stepped back, closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply. Cosmos, he prayed, give me strength. “I… understand.” Opening his eyes, he looked and saw before him a paladin in need, undergoing great stress and trying to find justice. “I am innocent,” he repeated, “but I swear I will help you try and get to the bottom of this.”

Cecil blinked, surprised at first, then, grinning slightly, nodded. Tidus, on the other hand, was not so forgiving. “Right. Well, first thing you can do is find us another guy in blue. How many of those have you seen running around?”

And then the stone wall behind them exploded.

Instantly, the five gathered around the wall hit the ground, shielding their heads as rubble came raining down upon them. Thankfully, the heavier pieces of stone were content to fall short of hitting any living being, though the cloud of dust that appeared made it difficult to see that this was even the case. The effect on the marketplace was instantaneous: after a mere second or so of surprise, a concentrated chaos began to emerge: merchants and vendors tried to move their carts away from the damage, creating a traffic jam that was not made any easier as the hundreds of shoppers each tried to run in a myriad of directions to try and find safety.

The dust took its time in settling to the point where sight was even an option. The clouds of ancient granite and cement particles hovered in the air, first in dense clouds, then finally dispersing into a grey haze. If nothing else, it cleared enough for the Warrior to see the damage to the wall: A gaping hole, at least ten yards wide, was now cleaved into the stone. Slabs of rock were strewn about the breach, though dispersed enough so as to not block the view of the surrounding forests in the distance.

Nor could it block the two silhouettes, standing tall amidst the ruin.

On the right, with ramrod posture the figure clad in sky-blue metal stood, one hand leaning on the pommel of his sword while the other hand was extended before him, like one who finished pushing something over. Yet, for some odd reason, the Warrior felt his eyes focus more on the man to the left. Like the other figure, he was clad entirely in armor, grey with a purple cape. Two great horns spurted from the sides of his helmet, and, unlike the sentinel in blue, two glinting eyes could just be seen behind the mask.

Which meant that the Warrior of Light could be sure that this new foe was looking directly back at him.

Coughing and wiping the dust out of his eyes, Cecil finally managed to see the hole in the wall, freezing as his vision settled on the foreboding form of Exdeath. The paladin stood in shock for a moment before, without taking his eyes off the azure knight, muttered, “Apologies.”

“Forgiven,” returned the Warrior, who, likewise, still kept his eyes on Garland.

The market place was in a stage of panic. Dropping all previous concerns, the citizens of Cornelia scrambled to try and find a place of safety, be it running to their homes, running into buildings, or trying to escape the city altogether. The confusion mounting rapidly to a fever pitch, the city guards available that might be investigating the crime were occupied with trying to stop the riot.

This did not appear to concern the makers of destruction. “As you can see, Garland,” said the knight in blue, gesturing at the five youths rising from the rubble, “it is well that we chose not to wait.”

“Hey!” Tidus barked, stepping forward before Firion placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Some people use a thing called a door!” The levity of his words was off-set by the anger in his tone. Though mindful this time of Firion’s concern, he still drew his sword (an oddly shaped, blue tined blade) and held it at the ready.

“If you believe that my actions are hindered by common courtesy, then you’re gravely mistaken.” Garland’s voice boomed loudly, in spite of the continuing pandemonium in the market square.

“If you think that we’re okay with you knocking a hole in the wall, you’re gravely mistaken,” shouted Firion, who was looking at the large swords the two intruders were bearing, and wondering how well they could use them. “Someone could’ve gotten hurt!” A pair of Bankaa’s, escaping from the main turmoil of the crowd, appeared beside the fighter, thought to try and escape through the newly made hole, but, seeing it blocked by the two villains, turned and fled back into the market square.

Exdeath laughed aloud. “I can assure you, the lack of casualties is only due to fortune, not through will.” Watching the retreating Bankaa’s, he raised his hand again. “Though I should hate for the effort to be for naught.” A cool mist surrounding his palm, and in a flash, a chunk of ice formed, hurtling forward in the air.

Thankfully for the Bankaa’s, the blizzard spell did not reach its target. With great speed, Cecil dashed in front of the civilians, shield held before him. The ice exploded as it hit the metal plate, and the paladin staggered back from the impact. He drew his sword, glaring up at the cause of this destruction. “I take it you’re the one responsible for the sinking of the ship?”

“I confess, without remorse.” Exdeath did not appear overly upset that Cecil blocked the attack. “Nothing worthwhile was lost.”

“Nothing worth... People nearly died!” Cecil yelled. “Innocent people could have lost their lives because of you!”

“Nothing worthwhile.”

The Warrior managed to hold Cecil back from charging the breach, a task not made any easier as Exdeath’s laughter rang loud and clear. Ignoring the taunting mirth, the Warrior spoke to Garland. “I don’t imagine you broke into Cornelia just to turn yourselves in.”

“Perhaps not in those terms,” answered Garland, “yet I did intend to come across our young paladin all the same.”

Cecil ceased his struggling, eyeing the grey knight with newfound curiosity. “And how do you know I’m a paladin?”

“For the same reasons I know of a displaced sports hero, an orphaned rebel, an ex-soldier turned mercenary…” Garland’s eyes settled once again on the Warrior of Light, and there was no mistaking the malice in his tone as he said, “And the minion of Cosmos. I confess, I hadn’t thought you would all band together so soon, but I suppose the Great Will shall always find a way.”

Cloud’s eyes had flickered as Garland hinted at his past, though he maintained his composure well. “So, I guess it’s no surprise that you’re the reason we all woke up today away from home?”

“I am merely one of the reasons,” dismissed Garland, airily. “There are several others. Not the least of which being the deity your young Warrior worships.”

The Warrior’s back stiffened, and his own tensions were not eased by the sudden switch of all eyes onto him. He remained aloof in his response, “You say you wished to find us. For what purpose?”

“Ha, doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out,” said Tidus, taking the opportunity to do a few quick stretches. “You don’t sink ships and blow up walls just for a polite chat!”

Garland raised his hand, palm flat to indicate peace. “Later, certainly. But not at this moment in time.”

“Oh, of course not,” sneered Firion, crossing his arms in defiance. “You might actually have to fight someone who has the ability to fight back!”

Garland’s hand clenched the hilt of his sword tightly, and his words seemed more forced into a conversational tone than before. “I do not need to vindicate my honor from you. All I need is time, and this little talk has given me that.”

Cecil felt the blood drain from his face, but still asked, “Time for what?”

“For many things.” As Garland spoke, Exdeath placed a hand on his shoulder. “Including making sure that this opening in the wall we’ve made doesn’t go to waste.” The ground around the armored duo began to glow as strange ruins and designs carved in light appeared below them.
 

It took a few moments for the Warrior to recognize the spell being cast. “Stop!” he cried, but too late: in a flash of light, both Garland and Exdeath were gone,

teleported to some unknown destination, and leaving the gaping hole in Cornelia’s wall unmanned.

Tidus’s arms fell to his side in disappointment. “What was that all about?”

Firion shrugged. “Posturing?”

“You don’t blow a hole in a wall just for a show,” said Cloud, who was already heading towards the breach to look for clues. Balancing on one of the many displaced stone slabs, he fruitlessly examined the ground the see if they left anything behind. “He said he needed time. What for?”

“What I don’t understand,” pondered Cecil aloud, as he looked back at the market and found it as panic stricken as before, with no signs of alleviating, “is why would they force their way into the city, only to leave at a moment’s notice?”

“Destroying the wall wasn’t for them,” murmured the Warrior, who joined Cloud in the breach, putting the pieces together as the, putting the pieces together as the

occurred to him. The ex-soldier glared up at the unwanted company, but the Warrior either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “They have the power of teleportation, they could have entered anywhere they wanted.” The clinking and clanking sound of running guards grabbed his attention. Looking back at the market place, the sentries that were guarding the main gate had only just made it to the scene. “They couldn’t use the gate, because it was too heavily guarded. And attacking near the market ensured greater chaos and confusion.” Frowning, the Warrior turned his focus to the now visible outskirts of town. Leaning on a particularly large rock, he looked at the forest surrounding Cornelia, the shadows underneath the trees rapidly growing as the sun slowly fell in the sky. “They stalled us with conversation, because they needed something to happen. But what could it…”

Even from this distance, the Warrior could see that the branches and leaves of the trees at the edge of the forest were being disturbed by some great movement.

“Get back behind the wall,” said the Warrior to Cloud, drawing his sword as he quickly walked backwards, watching as the movement in the forest increased.

“Don’t tell me what to…” Cloud’s defiance trailed off as he noticed the shapes begin to form at the base of the trees. Blinking for a moment, he soon began to step back as well. “…I think you might be right.”

Cecil’s eyebrows raised as the rest of the party began to follow suit, instinctively putting distance in between themselves and the breach of the wall. “I don’t understand. What did you see?”

“Hoy! Sir!” The Warrior whirled around. The additional guards from the main gate seemed to be making a difference in stemming the maelstrom in the market. At least, there seemed to be less of an inclination to stampede, and Biggs, finding that there were enough men on the job, found time to jog over to the scene of the accident. “Glad to see you’re all right.” Jumping slightly as he saw Cloud (who, in turn, regarded the guard with cool disinterest), his jaw dropped when

he looked at the hole in the city wall. “Land’s sake, what happened here? Listen, we’re trying to get things under control here, so maybe you’d best…”

“You need to get these people to safety.” The Warrior’s tone of voice made it clear that this was an order, though his usual stoic facial features were laden with
concern and dread. Without waiting for the confused expression to leave Biggs’ face, he pointed at the mass of citizens still present in the market. “You need to get them out of here. We’re about to be attacked.”

Biggs’ eyes widened, his jaw dropped. “A-attacked? What… but…”

“Take every Cornelian guard you can and clear the market. Make sure the gate is still being watched, they may try to get in that way.”

If nothing else, Biggs knew that a man such as the Warrior would not be one to be alarmed idly. Nodding and offering a quick salute, he began to jog back to pass on the word to the other guards, when he stopped to look back. “But… who’s going to ward off the attack?”

Instantly, the Warrior’s face resumed its accustomed solemn demeanour. Tightening the grip on his sword, shrugging the pack from his back, and drawing his shield, he replied, “I’ll take care of it.”

“We’ll take care of it.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Cecil walked to the Warrior’s side, drawing his own sword and shield. When the Warrior raised a hesitant eyebrow, the paladin simply smiled.

“Heck yeah!” Tidus gave his sword a few experimental twirls before going into his accustomed stretching routine. “You’d better believe I’m getting in the game!”

Unable to avoid grinning at Tidus’s excitement, Firion drew his bow and toyed with an arrow. “Well, I suppose I’d best stick around. You’d all just get into trouble without me.”

Expectantly, Firion glanced over to Cloud. The mercenary glanced at his friend, then to the hole in the wall, before closing his eyes, sighing heavily, and grumbling, “…Yeah.” Using both hands, he removed the buster sword from his back and held it at the ready.

Taken aback by the unexpected help, the Warrior found himself grinning slightly as he said to Biggs, “We’ll take it from here.” Then, as the guardsman ran off, the five guardians faced the breach in the wall, being all that stood between Cornelia and the oncoming assault.

Within ten seconds, the first of the goblins appeared over the wall.

[Daniel Black 1,981]

And this is turning to the unexpected "grabs popcorn" 

Keep going... 

[Zola 3,038]

CLIFFHANGER

[star7crystal 18]

I really, really love this!

Well done!

[Dave 5,715]

Chapter 7: Battle 

 

The first goblin over the wall didn’t make it very far. An arrow from Firion sent the monster back with so much force that it flew back out of Cornelia quicker than it had entered. Unfortunately, the loss of one didn’t compel the oncoming goblin gang to stop and take stock. They scrambled over the breach, shrieking with malicious glee, waving an assortment of rusting weapons as they dashed for the few fools still standing before them.

Bracing himself, the Warrior of Light stood fast, waiting for the madly dashing goblins to come to him. The frontrunner of the pack, wielding a notched, reddened cutlass, accepted the challenge, and made a beeline for the knight. The Warrior waited until the goblin was directly in front of him, its weapon raised to strike, before he moved. Lashing out with shield arm, he knocked the cutlass aside, and then followed it up with a lunge with his own sword, which drove itself clean through the goblin’s midsection. Swiftly, he withdrew the blade from the goblin just in time to parry a strike from another of the charging monsters. The goblin screeched its war cry into the Warrior’s face, silenced only when the knight punched it in the face with his shield, felling it.
 

“All right.” Readying himself once more, the Warrior stared down the approaching horde. “Listen, all of you. If we form a defensive line, we should be able to…”

“Not interested.” With a strong sprinting start, Cloud dashed into the front lines of the goblins, directly in front of the breach. Using the burst of momentum, he used all the strength of his body to swing the buster sword in a massive arc, battering the first ranks and sending the unfortunate monsters flying.

“Aw, yeah!” Taking heart at this sign of offense, Tidus also took a running start towards the nearest goblin. Rather than using his sword, however, the blitzball ace delivered a swift kick, sending the confused goblin hurtling into the air. Timing his jump right, Tidus leapt up alongside the midair monster, delivering another kick which sent the goblin rocketing into the city walls.

 

Cecil began to run forward, but was halted by the Warrior before he could get too far. The paladin was puzzled. “Shouldn’t we join…” The question was cut off by the immediate need to duel a goblin before him. The monster was wielding a large club with both claws, and the blows he was dealing against Cecil’s sword were staggering. Clutching the sword with both hands, Cecil delivered a swift kick to the goblin’s stomach, staggering it long enough for Cecil to deliver a killing stroke.

The Warrior was similarly dealing with a goblin of his own, the blade of his sword locked in the notch of an oddly crafted axe. “Any goblin that gets by them is going to make a break for the market place. We have to stay back to make sure the townsfolk are kept safe.” A quick look at the area around the breach proved this to be true: although Cloud and Tidus were making good progress in their own immediate vicinity, the goblins were still managing to sneak by them and press forward.

Making the Warrior’s life easier, the goblin before him was knifed by Firion, who was simultaneously smashing another goblin across the head with a hand axe. “Speaking of which…” A trio of goblins broke past the thin line and were running to the market place. The Warrior began to move, but before he could pursue, the weapons master was already sprinting after the monsters.
 

Running as fast as he could, Firion could see the market goers point and flee in terror as the goblins approached, and he could hear their screams of dismay mingle with the savage cries of the monsters. “Wait!” yelled the apothecary vendor, hiding behind his cart as the goblins zeroed in on his position. “You don’t want to do this! There’s nothing worth stealing here! You see those weapon dealers? Very expensive! Get them!” To no avail: the three attackers surrounded the cart, and the largest goblin, a green tinted beast wielding a battle axe, raised its weapon as it loomed before the owner.

“Pick on somebody your own size!” Leaping over the cart, Firion found enough time in midair to hurl a knife and hand axe to the sides, which both found their marks into the heads of the smaller goblins. Landing with catlike grace in between the apothecary vender and the large goblin, Firion wasted no time in taking another sprinting start, this time aiming the small buckler strapped to his arm at the head of the foe.

Unfortunately, the goblin caught the young man with the back of its clawed hand, the mighty slap sending Firion sprawling to the ground.
 

Momentarily dazed, there was just enough time for him to register the green goblin standing above to roll out of the way of the heavy sword that smashed into the ground. Firion rose to his feet, only to be forced to nimbly jump backwards to avoid being cleaved in to. Scowling at its failure to annihilate this pest, the goblin took another swing at Firion’s head. The young man ducked, the sword grazing the top of his bandanna, and retaliated with a punch to the monster’s gut, the buckler finding its mark this time. Grunting in pain, the goblin staggered back, giving Firion enough breathing room to finally draw his own sword:: a thin, blood red sabre. Recovering from the hit, the goblin charged forward again, slashing the sword at the warrior. This time, the monster’s weapon was parried to the side, Firion’s blood sword proving deceptively strong, and with another quick flash, the weapon master drove the blade clean through the goblin’s chest, sending it falling to the ground with a mighty thud.

Wide eyed, the vendor stared at the dead goblin, the up to Firion, who was gathering the previously thrown knife and axe. Placing the weapons in their holsters, the youth turned his attention to the shop owner. “Are you all right?”

Temporarily glancing at the number of weapon’s strapped to Firion’s person, the vendor coughed into his hand. “Ahem. Uh, yes. Thanks very much for that.”
 

“Good. Get yourself someplace safe.” As the shopkeeper hurried away, Firion assessed the situation in the market further. Biggs had done his job well: the Cornelian guards were herding the majority of the citizens back from the breach. Looking back at his friends, however, showed that the problem was yet to be solved: goblins were still coming in with great rapidity. Starting to move back to the front, Firion stopped as a thought occurred to him. Glancing about, he found the tallest building available (“The Magic Tower Inn,” notable for its many floors and housing abilities) and jogged there instead, hoping he would able to find the stairs to the roof.

~

“You see? It’s as I told you.”

Jecht grunted in reply. From the position he had in the alley, the battle by the wall could be seen over the heads of the still chaotic frantic marketplace. Though there were easily hundreds of heads to count in his line of vision, and the addition of the goblins by the hole in the wall only added to the cluster, he immediately recognized that ugly blonde hair cut, that ridiculous swagger, and those cry baby eyes of the speck farthest from him. “Dumb kid,” he grumbled, crossing his arms as he watched Tidus do battle with the goblins. “What the hell’s he doing here, anyway?”

“The same thing you and I are doing here.” Striding gracefully to Jecht’s side, the golden clad Emperor seemed grossly out of place in a Cornelian street, from his regal attire contrasting with the modest clothes of the locals, to his aloof calm at odds with the general panic. He gestured airily with his staff towards the backs of Cecil and the Warrior of Light, who even now were fighting four goblins together. “Drafted across time and space to take part in a battle of the gods.”

“Look at him,” said Jecht, “Putting his own neck on the line for a bunch of chumps. You leave him for five seconds, and he can’t even take care of himself. Look, he’s not even checking behind him.” If Tidus couldn’t spot the goblins slowly moving around his back, his father certainly could.

But then, Jecht had never found it hard to spot the flaws in his son.

“Cosmos is scraping the bottom of the barrel,” said the Emperor, his words laced with scorn and derision. “So thoroughly have we triumphed over her time and time again that she is now forced to resort to using mere children as her pawns.”

“So, that’s her game, huh?” Jecht laughed loudly, the sound of mirth at odds with the shouts and screams of Cornelia. “Chaos gets me on his team, and she runs out and gets Tidus to retaliate?” Still chuckling, he watched the boy realize he was being surrounded, only to run forward onto a goblin’s shoulders, backflip over the would-be ambusher’s, and then dash forward back into the melee. “Bet she thinks I’d go soft on the kid.”

“Cosmos only understands weaker emotions. Which is why she is on the verge of collapse, and why we shall emerge from this war victorious.”
 

Jecht punched the palm of his hand. “So I take the kid to the cleaners. Easy enough.” Clenching his fist, he diverted his attention from watching Tidus to look down at the cobblestone street. “And, uh, when I beat him, and this little scrap wraps up… what happens next?”

The Emperor glanced at the back of the ragged warrior’s bowed head, and grinned. “If there were no war, there would surely be no need for soldiers. I imagine that once the conflict ceases, we shall be permitted to return to our own realms. You, myself…” He pointed back to the distant fight, making Jecht look up once more. “…and, I imagine, the boy as well.”

Jecht could see a goblin chuck a stone at Tidus, only to have it kicked directly back at the monster. The brawler grunted. “Hmph. So, when do you want me to take him down?”

“All in good time.” Turning his back on the market square, the Emperor strolled slowly back down the alley. “There are far too many of his friends at present time, and even you should have trouble fighting them all. You shall fight Tidus when I tell you to.”

Jecht’s neck twitched.

Twirling around, he glared daggers at the Emperor’s back. “When you tell me to, huh?” he spat, hands clenching into fists.

“Correct,” replied the Emperor, who did not so much as flinch as he continued to walk.

“Look, Mateus…”

In a flash, the Emperor turned, his eyes ablaze with fury. “You will refer to me as Emperor,” he hissed, the former politeness of his voice replaced with venomous hate.
 

Taken aback slightly, Jecht still sneered back at the golden monarch. “All right, you’re Majesty, let’s clear the air. I know I owe you one, but what makes you think…”

“Hey, you two!” A Cornelian guard entered the alley, clearly winded from the amount of running he had been doing. “C’mon, get out of the streets. We’re gonna take you to...”

A dozen orbs of energy appeared around the guard, and in a moment’s time, blasted an electrical current into the man’s body. Jecht could only stare in shock as the man stood in agony, a hint of smoke rising from beneath his armor. At long last, the orbs vanished, and the guard toppled to the ground, dead.

 

The Emperor hadn’t so much as stirred, though the faintest hint of a grin toyed at the edge of his mouth. With a wave of his staff, a dark portal appeared out of mid-air. “Now, shall we part?”

 

Jecht looked down at the body, then up at the Emperor, before unclenching his fists and ruffling his shaggy hair with his hand. “Sounds about right… you’re Majesty.”

 

~

Sparks flew from the Warrior’s shield as he brushed an enemy spear, and with a quick swipe of his sword, another goblin was felled. With this latest killing came a temporary respite, as no other goblins seemed immediately interested in charging. It was well that he stumbled upon companions. He had not expected there to be this many goblins in the area, or that they would fight this viciously. Taking a deep breath, the Warrior leaned on his sword: only a few moments, and then he would be ready to continue the fight.

Looking up, he saw the back of Cloud, still wielding the gigantic sword to batter away at the goblins as they came over the wall. The Warrior rose back to his feet, straightening his back in the process.

Beside him, Cecil cleaned the black blood from his own sword. Shaking his head, he looked up at the Warrior. “They’re nothing if not persistent. Though I don’t think they’ll ever learn.”

Without warning, an arrow struck the ground between the two knights, careening off the cobblestone with a high pitched whine. Instinctively jumping back, the Warrior traced the source of the arrow, alarmed to discover that the goblins had scaled the wall, using the rubble as stepping stones, and were now in the process of arming themselves with bows. Worse, the monsters were no longer concerned with charging forward, compiling their efforts to get behind Tidus and Cloud to surround them. “I think they just learned,” said the Warrior.

Cecil just managed to raise his shield to block an arrow from his head. “They’re not going to last long out there without help!” he said, pointing to their allies in the fray.

“Right. Let’s go!” The duo ran forward, now only able to see the tops of their comrade’s heads: the goblins had them surrounded. Spotting the reinforcements, a few of the goblins ran to meet them. Cecil raised his sword as a pair of the monsters charged him, but as he stabbed forward, he hit nothing but air: the goblins dodged to the side at the last second, and, laughing wickedly, continued to keep running towards the town.

“Blast!” Before the Warrior could even speak, Cecil was chasing after the intruders back into the town. Thankfully, the guards had nearly cleared the market square, but there was still mischief for the goblins to make. The paladin gritted his teeth as he put on an extra burst of speed. The knowledge that he was leaving the Warrior on his own gnawed at Cecil. Things were getting out of control very fast.
 

Where the blazes had Firion gotten to?
 

The goblins, despondent that the market was practically empty, jumped as they saw the paladin pursuing them, and, with no loot to fight for, opted to run instead. As Cecil closed in, they darted into the alleys in between the shops, overturning an apple cart behind them to block the way. Cursing silently, Cecil was forced to climb over the cart, and by the time he was over and into the alley, there was no sight of the goblins.

Praying that the Warrior was doing fine on his own, Cecil ran through the alley, which proved to be more expansive than he thought: the number of shops and buildings in the Cornelian market place assisted in making a veritable maze of alleyways. Running as fast as he could, and not altogether certain he wasn’t lost, Cecil jumped over empty crates and trash cans as he tried to find any sign of the runaway goblins. It didn’t help that the rooftops and close confines of the buildings made it very difficult for any light to seep through, and trying to spot a clue at the pace he was going was next to impossible.

The sound of something heavy falling to the ground echoed loud and clear from the next right turn before him. Smiling grimly, Cecil readied his sword as he turned the corner.
 

There were not, however, any goblins staring back at him as he skidded to a halt. Standing tall and stately, with his arms crossed, was a man dressed black. Though the low lit alley did not make it easier to spot details, Cecil could see a long flowing cape, two large, spiked shoulder plates, and a helmet, embellished with two beetle-like horns, that concealed the man’s face entirely. He did not stir at the sight of the paladin, as though this meeting was anticipated.
 

Staggered with surprise, it was a few seconds before Cecil could even step forward.

The moment he did, images began to flash in his head. He could see a strangely lit room with a massive crystal at its center, the man in black gripping the shoulder of a blonde girl, and the paladin unable to act. He could see a massive blue tower, reaching up to the sky, impossibly grand in its design. Another flashback saw him inside the great tower, battling… no, on the ground, as the man in black prepared to strike him down, only to be blocked by a strange power, wielded by a woman in green. The last image that came into Cecil’s mind was himself once more looking at the back of the mysterious man, but there was no fighting or conflict to be had. For whatever reason, Cecil could feel himself almost becoming… sad.

All this information struck Cecil like lightning, and he almost fell to the ground as he tried to process what he had just seen. The man in black did not move, was not concerned with this reaction. Blinking, Cecil looked up at the man, and knew him to be the same person he recalled at the harbor. A shiver ran down his spine as he realized that this man was the key to all the answers, yet, for whatever reason, Cecil could not find himself as angry as he thought he would be, the final recollection still hovering in the forefront of his mind. Finding his mouth dry, it took a moment for him to finally say, “Golbez?”

With surprising speed, the man in black waved his hand, a thundara spell cracked in the alleyway, and Cecil blacked out.

~

The arrow grazed off the horn of the Warrior’s helmet, an unwanted nuisance added atop a mountain of problems. He lunged forward with his shield, but the goblin not only ducked the punch, but grabbed the Warrior’s arm in the process. He tried to yank the arm back, but the goblin held fast, cackling in the face of its adversary. Its laughs were cut short as the Warrior delivered a savage headbutt, forcing the monster back and freeing his arm in the process. Before the sword could be swung, however, yet another arrow connected with the blade forcefully enough to send reverberations through the Warrior’s hand, forcing him to drop the weapon.

Thankfully, the Warrior had done his job well: the goblins which had surrounded Tidus were no more, and the star player of the Zanarkand Abes was on hand to dispatch the pestering goblin with a quick swipe of the blue tinted sword. Wiping sweat from his brow, Tidus moved fast to dodge an arrow that was aimed directly at his head. Worry creeping over his usually bright face, Tidus watched the goblins atop the wall, trying to spot where the next dart was coming from. “Man, things are getting tricky.”

Grabbing his sword from the ground, the Warrior was relieved to find that most of the goblins had retreated to the wall, content to stay far from the defender’s blades, letting the archers do the dirty work for them. Unfortunately, a few yards to his left, Cloud was still beleaguered, surrounded on all sides. It was a testament to the skill of the ex-soldier that he was still standing: there were cuts on his forehead, and the left leg seemed to have a cut down the length of it, but none of this seemed to affect him at all. Swinging the buster sword in a wide, horizontal arc, he forced the closest of the goblins to back off, and once there was enough room, Cloud charged forward, another mighty upwards swing flinging the enemies into the air, with enough time left to raise the massive blade to block an arrow.

He was not, however, fast enough to stop one goblin from jumping on his back, gripping its claws into his skin while the other goblins recovered.

 

“Fall back!” shouted the already running Warrior to Tidus, he himself dashing towards Cloud. “I’ll deal with this! You just get out of range!”
 

Not only did the boy fail to fall back, he outpaced the Warrior in the race to the remaining goblins. “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen!” With a graceful leap, Tidus soared through the air, nailing an unsuspecting goblin in the back of the head with a dropkick.

The Warrior settled for using his shield as a ram, smashing through the small wall of goblins. If there wasn’t enough time to use the sword on them, the effect of surprise and speed were effective on their own: the surrounding goblins were momentarily stunned by the sudden onslaught, giving the Warrior enough time to reach Cloud, with a quick knock with the shield, send the grappling goblin tumbling from the mercenary’s back. Staggering forward from the impact, Cloud whirled around, buster sword ready to strike, and though he refrained from using the weapon upon seeing the Warrior, the irate scowl didn’t leave his face. “The hell are you doing here?”

The Warrior’s look of distaste matched Cloud’s perfectly. “At the moment, bailing you out.”

There were no signs of thankfulness in the sneer Cloud gave. “Who says I needed your help?”

“You don’t need to play the act with me. If you had just followed my orders to begin with…”

“Follow your orders? Who’s the one play acting?”

“Gangway!” The argument was brought back to more pressing matters as Tidus hopped backwards to avoid a shot, landing next to the Warrior and Cloud. The goblin, recovering from the shock, were moving back in, forming a perfect circle around the remaining three fighters. Their differences momentarily forgotten, Cloud and the Warrior positioned themselves alongside Tidus, the three forming a circle of their own, weapons at the ready. From his position, the Warrior’s eyes were kept busy flitting from the gang of leering faces and rusted weapons immediately in front of him to the archers on the walls, readying their shots, holding their fire as if to savor the tension.

He heard the unmistakeable whistling sound of an arrow cutting through the air. His muscles tensed. The goblin in front of him started to move forward…

And then the monster fell to the ground, an arrow embedded in its head.

If the Warrior was confused, the goblins were positively befuddled. The archers atop the wall looked at one another, trying to find a traitor amidst them, when suddenly, another arrow flew through the skies, this one finding its mark in the heart of a goblin archer, then another. Trying to trace the arc of the arrows, the Warrior turned his head back to the market square behind them, and had to look up to the top of the Magic Tower Inn to see the very distant, but very welcome, shape of Firion, using his the advantage of height to wield his bow with devastating accuracy.

The sudden rain of arrows mowing down their ranks bore the same reaction as the destruction of the wall on the market goers. Surprised to find their own advantage turned against them, the goblins found that the odds were no longer in their favor. The archers on the walls, finding themselves under particularly heated fire, leapt from the wall and out of the city. The sign of this retreat triggered a similar response in the goblins, who scrambled back to the hole in the wall as fast and as madly as they had ran to enter. Leaving behind their weapons in their sprint for safety, the monsters clambered over the rubble, stepping on one another’s heads in a bid to get out first.
 

“Yeah, that’s right!” called Tidus, who, in spite of his impulses, decided to not pursue the fleeing enemies. “You’d better run! You call that an attack? That was laughable! AH-HA-HA…”

He was hushed by the Warrior, though even the stalwart couldn’t help the vaguest hint of a grin from forming. “That’s enough. Be thankful that Cosmos bestowed a victory upon us.”

Cloud rolled his eyes, and was considering commenting, but no sooner had he opened his mouth than something more interesting was brought to his attention. “…What’s that?”

The sight of the breach in the Cornelian wall was scarcely improved by the many goblin corpses strewn about it, though the watching the backs of the remaining goblins run back to their forest might be considered encouraging. But that was not the reason the three heroes were staring in confusion at the wall. From over the rubble came walking a new figure, not goblin, nor indeed like any monster that the Warrior was familiar with. Its shape was humanoid, but without any defining features, either in the face or body. It looked as though it were made of glass, though the texture appeared to be glisten as though fluid, and it shone with a pink hued radiance. Walking slowly, it approached the party, halting a few yards away.

Cloud held the buster sword before him, keeping the thing at a distance. “…Anyone?”

“I got nothing,” shrugged Tidus, who had taken a step back. 

 

“I’ve no idea,” murmured the Warrior. The thing hadn’t moved, though it was craning its neck as though looking at them with unseen eyes. Perplexed, the Warrior cleared his throat and said, “May… we help you?”

 

The thing turned its head to face the Warrior, pausing for a long period of time, as though in thought. Slowly, the glass like skin began to shift, almost liquefying, and began to reshape itself. The body began to grow and bend, rending itself to look like a suit of armor. On the head, the scalp began to form itself into a kind of helmet, with two great horns sprouting up. Within the newly shaped hands, a sword and shield forged themselves, glinting as dangerously as steel. But the Warrior could only stare in abject horror at the face of the creature: for after only a moment’s time, after the shaping had been completed and the strange substance had hardened itself back to its crystalized shape, the Warrior of Light was staring at a carbon copy of himself, down to the slightest detail.

Shaken, the Warrior was at a loss for words. The manikin stared back at him, cold, unfeeling. “What on earth…”

In a flash, the manikin stabbed forward with its sword, the Warrior having only enough wits left to jump back. Tidus moved to attack, but was met with the manikin’s shield, which, if artificial, proved itself to be as hard as the Warrior’s, and the blitzball ace fell to the ground, clutching his chest in pain. Now cursing himself for not attacking first, Cloud heaved the buster sword in a vertical arc, but only connected with the ground as the manikin rolled out the way, swinging its sword as it rose. The faux blade caught the hand of Cloud, cutting through the glove of the mercenary and forcing him to drop the buster sword.

From his perch, seeing that his friends were in trouble, Firion notched another arrow to his bow and shot at the imposter. Looking up in time, the manikin raised its shield, deflecting the arrow, while still having enough time to parry the slash of the real Warrior’s sword. Putting his trepidations to the back of his mind, the Warrior glared at the manikin, which mimicked the expression in turn. It lashed out with its foot, kicking the Warrior in the gut, instinctively forcing the knight to reel in pain. Gritting his teeth, the Warrior raised his sword in enough time to deflect a killing blow from the manikin, but at a cost: the force of the impact wrenched the sword from his grasp, sending it clattering to the ground. His mind racing, the Warrior punched out with the shield, making the manikin go back long enough for the knight to gain a second wind. With both likenesses on their feet, a standoff soon developed, with the Warrior trying to decide how quickly he could raise his sword before the replica could attack.
 

“Hyaah!” With the manikin’s focus on the Warrior, Cloud managed to sneak from behind and deliver a heavy punch to the enemy’s face, still holding his bleeding hand gingerly to his body. Staggered, the manikin delivered its own punch with the shield, uppercutting the mercenary and sending Cloud flying backward, unconscious. Seizing the opportunity, the Warrior ran for his sword, and turned to face his doppleganger, only to find it standing above Cloud, sword raised to stab him through the heart.
 

The sound of breaking glass rang loud and clear as an arrow from Firion drove itself clean through the shoulder of the manikin, sending shards of pink crystal scattering from the wound. Apparently capable of feeling pain, the manikin clutched the gaping hole in its shoulder, screaming in a distorted version of the Warrior’s own voice. Dashing forward, the Warrior leapt at the manikin, swinging his sword in a mighty slashing arc. The blade met its mark: the manikin was cleaved in two, shattered crystal flying in all directions. The manikin gave a final cry before it hit the cobblestone, where it broke into further pieces, and was still.

Breathing heavily, the Warrior kicked at the broken shards with his foot to make sure that there was nothing more to worry about, before falling to the ground, exhausted. Beside him, Tidus was groaning in pain, Cloud still out to the world. From atop the Magic Tower Inn, Firion leaned against the parapet, allowing a sigh of relief as a long awaited gust of wind rustled through his hair. The market was empty, and for this moment, there was only silence hanging over Cornelia.

 

The battle was over.
 

[Zola 3,038]

You are my hero, Dave.

[Dave 5,715]

Chapter 8: Sight

 

“Now, the Shell spell. Handy, to be sure, if you’re planning on standing still. But I find it much wiser to move out of the way before the foe hits you.”

Terra nodded, not interrupting the Onion Knight as he discussed (in a rather one sided conversation) the benefits and detriments of various spells. If there was one thing that could be said for the young knight, his lungs were surely the envy of many, for he scarcely stopped talking since they met earlier in the day, and it was nearing evening now as they continued their long trek. Yet not once did Terra mind the chatter: it felt nice to hear a kind voice, and the company was always welcome.

 

“So, if you have limited time, I would prefer to use Protect. Blocks magic, don’t you know? Magicians are more cagey when it comes to throwing spells around, and it’s them you should be worried about.” He paused, holding his hand above his eyes to block the glare from the slowly setting sun. “Ah, good, we’re almost there.” The Knight’s educated guess had been proven correct: walking south had led them to a large body of water, and by following the beach, they could now see the vague silhouette of a port town, almost glowing red as the sun reflected off of the water.

 

Terra grinned slightly. “Sir Knight, you seem to know as much about magic as any one does.”

 

“Why, thank you!”

“And earlier, you gave a very interesting perspective on the skills it takes to be a good treasure hunter.”

“Well, most people call it thievery, but yes, I believe I’m fluent in it.”

“And before that, your story of how you defeated a behemoth involved being able to use all your skills as a trained fighter.”

“Ha! He never saw it coming. The trick, like I said, is to move before they can hit you…”

“The point is, Sir Knight,” Terra interrupted, “that I’m not certain if you are the most amazing boy in the world, or you’re pulling my leg.”

In spite of the jesting tone in Terra’s voice, the Onion Knight’s looked positively hurt at the remark. “Am not!” he said, huffily.

Not intending to upset the boy, Terra quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just… it seems implausible that someone your age can be as… studied as you are.”

 

The Onion Knight shrugged, albeit it less jauntily than before. “It’s merely a matter of academics. One can master any profession or job if he or she studies it long enough. All I do is study what the masters of their trades do, and apply it myself.”

Terra looked at the rapidly approaching town: the glow of lit streetlamps made it look all the more a sanctuary from the wilderness. “So would it be safe to simply say that you’re a blue mage?”

“Oh, no,” said the Onion Knight, shaking his head vehemently. “I never learned how to do that.”

Terra had to blink a few times before the boy’s straight face cracked, and the sound of the two traveler’s laughter carried loud and clear in the twilight. They were still chuckling softly as they walked past the sign reading, “Welcome to Pravoka,” entering the town just as the sun began to dip over the horizon.

Going against what popular lore said about seaside towns, Pravoka looked to be an altogether well-kept town. The stone streets were well swept and clean, aligned neatly with the various houses and buildings. Sloops and ships of all sizes could be spotted in the docks, the evening breeze rustling the linen sails. And on nearly every street corner, a lantern was hung on a pole, making it easy to see down the length of an alley even in the falling night darkness.

 “Well,” said Terra, smiling, “it looks pleasant enough.”

“Hrm.” The Onion Knight paused in midstep, taking a long look down the road they were on. The various signs hanging from eaves indicated various taverns, dining areas, and at least one gaming hall. “This many places of business in one area would indicate a lot of foot traffic.”

Assuming the Onion Knight was providing exposition for his own sake, Terra added, “At least it shouldn’t be too difficult to find lodging.”

“Terra,” muttered the Onion Knight, rubbing his chin in thought and speaking in a tone far less pompous than the one he spent the afternoon using. “What do you hear?”

Puzzled, Terra replied with the obvious answer. “Currently, only you.”

“Precisely. There are no other sounds.” Turning as he spoke, the Onion Knight looked all around him, the street lamps making further analysis easier. “We find ourselves in a town that, for all immediate appearances, is doing well for itself, commercially and publicly. We can assume that enough people pass through this street to make it financially sound to establish a business. Yet, if you will take a look at the window of the ‘Magus Sisters’,” he said, pointing at the closest tavern to them, “you will notice that there are no lights on, there is no sound, and the curtains are drawn.” Then, with a sweeping gesture of his arm, “In fact, that seems to be the case with every building down this way. And what’s more,” he continued, scratching his head (more for show than actual itch), “in a city that surely must be bustling with citizens, you and I are the only ones outside.”

 

A well timed breeze, chilled from blowing over the sea, rustled Terra’s rose-colored cape, causing her the slightest of shivers. Somehow, thinking about the Knight’s observations made the luminescence of the street lamps discomforting, as they could only show just how empty the streets were. “Perhaps they’re used to turning in early?”

“I doubt it,” scoffed the Knight. “It’s barely evening. There should be some sort of night life. Besides, these streetlamps should make anyone feel safe after dark.”

Ire slightly raised from the abrupt dismissal, Terra began to walk further down the street, ignoring the sights of apparently abandoned buildings flanking her all the way. The Onion Knight looked in surprise, having to jog for a moment in order to keep up with her determined march. “Now, hold on,” he stammered, “it could be dangerous! We should go into this carefully…”

 

“I’m not going to begin shouting and making our presence known, if that’s your concern,” Terra coolly replied, making sure to glance down the alleys as she passed them by. “At this point, I’d like to know if there’s anyone present in this place at all, and we won’t find that out by just standing.”

The Onion Knight opened his mouth to protest, closed it as he thought it over, then opened his mouth again. “Even still, we should gather reconnaissance from a distance. No point in going in with one boot off…”

“You are more than welcome to do so if you wish,” said Terra, looking ahead as she walked. There was certainly no one down this way, and the previous inference of the buildings being deserted was affirmed by the complete lack of life to be seen in any of the businesses she passed.

The Knight looked behind him at the empty street, then, shaking his head resolutely, began to march alongside Terra with his head held in determination. “No, ma’am, I wouldn’t leave you to face danger yourself. I said I’d protect you, and I mean to.”

 

Terra glanced down at the stocky, almost comical figure of the boy in the bright red pantaloons strutting as if ready to face Odin himself. Grinning in spite of herself, she brought up a new thought. “We’d probably have more luck by the docks. There must be someone tending to the ships. No one would leave a vessel unguarded.”

“Sage idea,” agreed the Knight, nodding eagerly. “And should any ships just be coming in, we can garner information from them as well.”

As it was, however, it appeared that Terra’s guess was amiss. The walk to the docks (aided as always by the street lamps) proved uneventful, meeting not a soul on the way. Yet, as they passed through the residential areas of the town, it so happened that once or twice, they would approach a house that clearly shone light from underneath the cracks of the doors and in between the shutters of the windows; but, as the conspicuous sound of the duo’s footsteps on stone approached nearer, the lights would vanish hastily. “At least we know that they’re alive,” whispered Terra as they passed one such house. “It just looks like they want to be left alone.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” muttered the Onion Knight, quietly (the lengths the townsfolk were going through to avoid being seen made speaking ordinarily seem inappropriate). “A place like this is built and relies on outside business. Why would they be going out of their way to not have any part of it?”

The clip-clop of their footsteps on the stone street changed to the strained creaking of wooden planks as they passed the last of the houses and found themselves on the piers of the docks. By all accounts, the port should have been bustling, if one were to consider the number of ships present. There was scarcely a free pier to be seen, but despite the cluster of boats, there was not a soul to be seen, either aboard the vessels or around them. The clear sound of waves hitting the docks, and the odd occasional rustling of wind through sail, only helped to emphasize the further lack of chatter that might have been occurring below decks, making this area just as dead as the rest of town.

Until a shrill cry cut through the evening air, causing Terra and the Onion Knight to nearly jump out of their skin.

“Kupo! Hey! Cut it out! Back off!” Over near the end of the docks, by a small, single masted boat, two faint shapes appeared from behind the cover of the ships: a large, burly figure, and a tiny creature, both holding either end of a large sack.

 

“Don’t lose yer pom pom over it,” laughed the larger man. “Just consider this a tariff!”

 

It took a few moments for Terra to begin stepping forward to the scene, but the restraining hand of the Onion Knight grabbed her by the wrist. “I don’t really think this is the time for watching,” she hissed, trying to keep her annoyance as quiet as possible.

“Indeed,” agreed the Onion Knight, who reached into his pack and retrieved a small pouch, which he then placed into his pocket. “This is the time for a cunning plan.”

“Pardon?”

Winking up at the puzzled woman, the Knight, with his hand still holding her arm, began to walk towards the scene of the crime. As they approached further, the details began to be filled in: the smaller creature was, as Terra assumed, a moogle, wearing a pair of goggles on his forehead. The man was a more imposing figure: he wore a ragged shirt, the sleeves cut off to show the tattoos running down his arm, and the oily bandanna on his head didn’t help to improve the image of his sneering face.

 

With a loud ripping noise, the bag being used as the tug-of-war rope tore, spilling its contents out: a variety of small devices, all intricately designed with more than a few parts attached to them, and the uses of which were any non-moogle’s guess. The moogle in question, however, was distraught at the sight of his wares strewn on the ground. “Well, that’s just kupo!” he moaned, throwing his hands up in the air.

Reaching down, the man picked up the only logical thing that appeared to be in the mess: a pocket watch. “Why can’t you fur balls ever build somethin’ worth stealing?”

The moogle’s whiskers bristled. “I’ll have you know that I happen to the leading expert in accessory building, and that ‘nothing’ you’re holding is worth a pretty gil to anyone with a functioning cerebellum, kupo!”

 

Not knowing what a cerebellum was, but certain he was insulted, the man punched the palm of his hand with a heavy thud. “So, s’posin’ you were dead and couldn’t make anymore. This stuff would be worth even more, eh?”

 

The moogle’s pom pom stood rigid on his head. “Uh, er, well, that depends on the market… uh, that is… say, how about we talk this one over?”

 

“My, what a fine evening!” The thug and the moogle ceased their conversation to turn and stare at the brightly grinning Onion Knight, who was gesturing broadly with his free arm while looking up at the sky. The boy, for all appearances, was oblivious to any kind of strange goings on, even unaware of the bewildered look Terra was giving him as he held her by the arm. “Didn’t I tell you, my darling? A beautiful night for a walk on the boardwalk.”

Terra’s eyes went as wide as the slowly rising moon. “Darling?”

The Onion Knight looked up at her, quizzically. “Yes?”

Tucking the watch into his pant pocket, the thief pointed at the approaching couple. “Well, well,” he said with a broken-teethed grin, “looks like my lucky night.”

Looking at the man with wide eyed terror, the Onion Knight threw his hand over his forehead in dismay. “Oh, no! Vagabonds! What will we do?”

Blinking, Terra could only stare at the boy, wondering how fast they could run if this bizarre plan went awry. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “What will we do?”

“What yer gonna do,” growled the thief, failing to pick up on the Onion Knight’s overacting, “is fork over any and all valuables you got real quick, or the girl gets to watch her pipsqueak boyfriend not make it to puberty.”

A look of indignant rage flashing across her face, Terra struggled to maintain her composure as she replied, “I beg your pardon?”

“Hang on,” said the Onion Knight, glancing sadly up at Terra. “We’d best do as he says, if we want to avoid trouble.” Raising one hand above his head in surrender (and nudging Terra to do the same, though the woman firmly kept her hands to her sides), he reach with the other hand into his pocket. “No tricks, now,” he assured the thief, while producing the small satchel and held it in the palm of his hand.

The thief nodded. “Good boy. Hang on, there!” he said, pointing at the sword hanging from the Knight’s belt. “Don’t come close. You just toss the purse here.”

The Onion Knight nodded. “As you wish.” With a quick flick of the wrist, he tossed the satchel sharply at the thief’s head. Immediately after contacting the ruffian’s head, the bag burst, and instead of gil, out came pouring a cloud of dust and sand. The dry dirt causing him to hack and cough while simultaneously trying to rub it out of his eyes, the thug was totally unable to see or counter a flying kick from the Onion Knight, which sent the bigger man tumbling head over heels. The boy stood poised for another quick strike, but the villain had no inclination to fight when he could neither breathe nor see, and did his best to flee the docks and stagger back to town.

“And let that be a lesson to you, sonny!” called the Onion Knight at the retreating figure. Then, once the thief had disappeared behind the buildings, the boy wore a broad, cocky smile as he turned back to face Terra and the moogle. “Ordinary bag of dirt,” he said, examining his nails (which were already very clean). “Can be used as a weight, weapon, and occasional smokescreen. One thousand and one uses, really.” Tapping the side of his head with his forefinger, he winked at the moogle. “It’s all about planning ahead.”

 

 While grateful for the intervention, the moogle hardly appreciated the wink. “Still made off with one of my watches, kupo,” he mumbled. He looked up at Terra, and grinned. “Thank you both for the assistance! Don’t know what I would have done without you, kupo.”

 

Smiling back at the creature, Terra bowed politely. “You’re very welcome.” Then, looking down at the variety of small baubles and machines strewn about the torn sack, commented, “I’m sorry you went through that.”

Grumbling, the moogle began to shove his wares back into the bag. “I’ve never seen anything like it, kupo. I’ve been selling my accessories in Pravoka for near fifteen years, and never once have I been mugged! The indecency, kupo…”

Picking up an earring and handing it to the merchant, the Onion Knight asked, “So this sort of thing is uncommon, then?”

“Well, of course it’s uncommon!” returned the moogle, snatching the earring away from the boy. “There ought to be someone up and about at this hour, and in a town this big. Didn’t you think of that?”

 

Trying her best to fight back a laugh at the sight of the boy’s unimpressed glare, Terra said, “What he meant was, we’ve only just arrived in this place, and we haven’t seen another person aside from you and the… other gentleman.” Frowning, she added, “Which brings up the question, I suppose, of who he was?”

 

“A pirate, like it as not, kupo,” said the moogle, who, having placed all his goods back where they belonged, began to gingerly haul the sack back to his small ship. “A rich town like Pravoka draws more than a few bad eggs looking for an easy picking.”

The Knight rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Pirates, eh? Fought them before, too. Silly sort of person: clad themselves up to look rough, but you show them one little picture of a ghost, and…”

“But isn’t there some sort of local guard that takes care of these things?” interrupted Terra, watching as the moogle boarded his vessel.

“There should be, kupo, but it’s not something I feel like finding out about right now. I’m staying put inside where it’s safe, and you’d be smart to do so too, kupo!” Then, the moogle and his bag of goods disappeared into the ship’s cabin, and the door was closed tightly behind him, leaving Terra and the Onion Knight once again alone on the pier.

 

Adjusting his cap, the Knight shrugged. “Well, if nothing else, we know why people tucked themselves in early for the night.”

 

Terra frowned, looking from the moogle’s ship to glancing the length of the dock. “It doesn’t make sense,” she said, hugging her arms as a cool sea breeze passed by. “If it was known that a thief was running around, wouldn’t the town guard be out in force?”

“I can’t be certain,” said the Onion Knight, who began to walk back towards the town, and gestured for Terra to follow. “But I think that’s a question that can wait until morning. We’ve been walking all day, it’s getting late, and I don’t really care to run into our foul friend again. Let’s find someplace to spend the night.”

As expected, finding  a place open took some time. Returning to the street in which they had first arrived, it wasn’t until walking nearly three blocks that they finally found an inn (The Leviathan, according to the sign). As good news as this was, Terra was more grateful that no one appeared to be interested in them: she had been anxiously checking over her shoulder as they walked, lest another bandit be lurking around the corner.

 

It was almost shocking to see the well-lit, lively room once they entered the building: the warm candlelight, giving the place a homely feel, was a welcome change from the lonely street lamps. More surprising still was the amount of life present in the building: adjacent to the check-in counter (where a middle aged man with bags under his eyes currently stood) was a common room and bar, from which a loud cacophony of conversation and the occasional sea shanty could be heard. The man at the counter seemed to be taking a great deal of interest in scribbling something in his book as Terra and the Onion Knight approached. It wasn’t until the boy cleared his throat that the man finally looked up, grumpily. “Oh, what do you blokes want now… Oh!” Upon seeing the two guests, the older man’s expression softened considerably, though the bags under his eyes seemed to almost grow. “Oh, er, beg your pardon.” Then, with a nervous glance over to the common room, he asked, “And how may I help you?”

“Ah, hello, my good sir,” said the Onion Knight. “We’re looking for accommodations for this evening. Could we possibly rent out a room?”

“No!” The swiftness of the response caused Terra to jump slightly. “Er, that is,” stammered the man, noticing that a few people in the common room glancing over, “I… suppose we have a room or two. But you probably wouldn’t want them. Not very good.”

 

Terra’s brow furrowed as she watched the man dab his forehead with a handkerchief and almost mechanically glance over towards the guests in the next room. The Onion Knight gave a dismissive, cheery wave. “Oh, don’t worry about creature comforts. I’ve slept in worse conditions. Why, once I had to sleep on a bed of Cactuars…”

“Is there a problem?” asked Terra, concerned.

 

“Ha, ha! Goodness, no,” forced the man, putting on the least sincere smile that Terra believed she ever saw. “No, not at all. I, er, I guess I’ll pencil you in.” Scribbling into his book, he then handed the Knight a pair of keys. “Room 404. And you’d best get to bed quick. You look as though you’ve had a long day.”

“Sound advice,” agreed the Onion Knight. Taking the keys, he began to head towards the nearby stairwell, before another idea caught him. “Oh, incidentally, who happens to be in charge of law enforcement in Pravoka?”

The man behind the counter wore a sour expression as he answered. “As of recent events, that… honor goes to Mr. Bikkes.” The level of venom in his voice was high enough to make even a Malboro cautious. “He happens to be in the common room now.” On cue, a swell of raucous laughter sounded from the next room.

The Onion Knight beamed at the luck. “How fortunate! I wish to report a crime. I shan’t be long.”

 

“Wait!” cried the innkeeper, too late to stop the boy from strolling into the common room. As Terra followed, she couldn’t help but look back at the man, who even now was brushing his thinning hair back in nervous anxiety.

Most striking upon entering the common room was that the clientele seemed to consist entirely of sailors and mariners. All looked weathered at sea in one way or another, be it the scars on their arms, the toughness of the skin, or the ragged, beaten, sea salt crusted attire that came in all varieties. More unsettling was the way each person the duo seemed to pass would glance over in suspicion, recognizing someone who wasn’t of their own kind. Receiving a particularly withering leer from a man with one eye and a scar that went the whole length of his face, Terra felt compelled to mutter, “Sir Knight, I think the innkeeper might have meant something when he wanted us to not stay here.”

“He seemed a bit frazzled, I agree,” said the Knight, oblivious to the number of mariners pointing at the diminutive figure and starting to laugh. “Did you see those bags under his eyes? He likely needs to get more sleep. I wonder if they’re understaffed?”

“I think it’s more dire than that,” returned Terra. “I think it might be wise to do as he says…”

“And we shall, after I report the theft.” Before Terra could argue further, the Knight tapped the shoulder of a particularly large man, sitting on a stool at a table full of other sailors. Slowly, the man turned, and, after looking both left and right to try and see the intruder, finally looked down at the Onion Knight. “Pardon me, sir,” he said, as relaxed as he would be should the man be half his size. “Is there a Mr. Bikkes here? I wish to speak to him urgently.”

Terra could see that the man was fighting to keep from bursting out laughing. His face didn’t seem as scarred or torn as many of the other people present. In fact, wearing a red coat with gold lace, his hair tied back into a ponytail, he was almost handsome. She also noticed the look of expectance that the others at his table were giving, deferring to him what would happen next. With a wave of his hand to his cronies, the man leaned down and smiled at the short Knight. “And lucky you are, little mate, for he sits before you.” Then, leaning back and crossing his arms, added, “And a good thing that I’m sitting, for should I have stood, I wouldn’t have seen you at all.”

 

Everyone at the table laughed obediently, and Terra noticed that a good many of the surrounding tables were laughing as well. The Onion Knight, coughing into his palm, muttered, “Very droll, very droll. Now, if we are quite finished with the jesting, I understand that you are in charge of law enforcement in this town?”

Bikkes nodded, trying his best to look wise. “Oh, aye, that I am. Thrust into public service, one of the few brave souls noble enough to see to the welfare of the many.” This again earned a few snickers.

Not really liking the callousness in which the man was behaving, the Onion Knight crossed him arms. “Then you might know that there was an attempted theft this night near the docks.”

 

A synchronized, mocking, “Oooooh,” sounded in the room, and Terra realized that everyone inside was partaking. “Well, fancy that!” said Bikkes. “You’d best give me all the details, little mate.”

“Well, my friend and I were entering town, when we came upon the docks…”

 

“Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke,” interrupted Bikkes.

 

Terra glanced at the faces around the room. They were all looking intently at the conversation between Bikkes and the Onion Knight. She saw a pair of mariners nudge each other knowingly, and in the corner, it looked as though someone was taking bets on something.

“And then, we happened upon a robbery: a moogle merchant, just recently landed, having his bag stolen by a ruffian.”

“Well, that’s intolerable. I thought I made it clear: no mugging moogles after dark!”

 

Troubled, Terra looked back towards the door, wondering this was what the innkeeper had in mind when he told them they ought not stay. In fact, the check-in counter was vacant, the old man having already fled to his own chambers. But that was only a fleeting realization compared to what held Terra’s immediate attention: slipping out from the common room, heading towards the door, was the very same thug they met on the docks.

“My good sir, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously!”

“No, I ain’t. Why are you?”

Eyes widened, Terra turned back to the Onion Knight. “Sir Knight, I think…” She trailed off as, out of the corner of her eye, she could see the sheen on the polished metal casing of the moogle made watch, just peeking out of the pocket on Bikke’s coat.

“Yes, Terra?”

 

Realizing her mouth was very dry, Terra managed to say, “…I think we should go now.”

 

“Indeed!” agreed the Knight, grumpily. “If this is the sort of policing that goes on around here, it’s a wonder the town isn’t a smoldering crater yet!”

 

The duo turned to leave, but no sooner had they declared their intent then the pirates closest to the entrance rose, forming a very mean, very intimidating wall. “I can’t stand tourists,” said Bikkes, the level of mirth in his tone dropping. “They come in with no respect for local customs and traditions, and then have the nerve to offer criticisms.” Cracking his knuckles, he rose from his stool, and with him, every other member of the common room followed suit. A few overzealous members even began to draw weapons.

Stepping closer to Terra, the Onion Knight swiftly drew his own sword, holding it out with both hands to try and ward of the closing circle of unfriendly faces. “Ha! I think Pravoka needs to raise taxes, if all they can afford to hire for guardsmen are livestock!” Terra noticed only the slightest of wavering in the taunt, but not a shred of fear was present on the face of the boy as he stared up at Bikkes.

 

Drawing his own weapon, a silver rapier, Bikkes pointed the blade at the youth. “And well they might have. It was no trick, sailing in here, slitting a few throats, and walking off with the whole town.”

 

“It’s not wrong to assume you’re pirates, then,” said Terra, whose hand toyed with the hilt of her own rapier, though she did not draw it.

 

“’Pirates’ is a nasty term. We prefer ‘gentlemen of fortune.’ And with fortune being ever so kind as to blow us into the lovely town of Pravoka, we saw only fit to take up fortune on her lovely generosity by teaching the locals some manners, doing away with unnecessary offices, and setting up the kind of municipal government that, I think you’ll find, does the job just nicely.” The common room hooted and cackled at this explanation, and slowly began to move in on the pair.

“T-Terra.” The Onion Knight’s eyes flicked from target to target, trying to figure out which one would strike first. Before him, Bikkes was holding the rapier tightly, not making too quick a move. “Don’t worry, I’ll…”

“Close your eyes,” Terra whispered, taking a step backwards to keep distance between her and the array of cutlasses and swords.

“What?” Bikkes hand still wasn’t moving.

“Just close your eyes.” Terra’s back was now against that of the Onion Knight, and the pirates were only inches away.

“What?” With lightning speed, Bikkes raised the rapier back, ready to thrust it at the boy’s heart.

“Blindna!”

A bright, white flash of light burst through the room, cutting through every shadow in its illumination. Instinctively, every pirate in the room tried to shield their eyes, but too late. The moment the light dissipated, the rogues were blind to the world, the multitude of spots and stars clouding their eyes making it impossible to see a thing. “Blast!” yelled Bikkes, clutching his eyes with both hands, dropping his sword. “What the blazes was… Woah!” He was cut short as he bumped into another pirate, sending both men dropping to the floor in a heap.

Grinning at the success of the spell, adrenaline flowing through her veins, Terra shouted, “Hurry! Let’s go!”

“Terra! Is that you? I can’t see a thing!” To the woman’s horror, the Onion Knight was rubbing his eyes furiously with one hand, while the other was outstretched to try and feel his way around.

“Sir Knight! I told you to close your eyes!” Grabbing the boy by the arm, Terra ran, weaving her way through the bumbling pirates, and bolted out the door of The Leviathan and back into the street.

“A Blind spell! Ingenious!” commented the Onion Knight as Terra led them through the street, running as fast as one could with one half that couldn’t see. “Quick to cast, effective, and best of all…”

“Sir Knight, please, now is not the time!” She wasn’t certain how long it would take for the spell to wear off, but one thing was for certain: once it did, the pirates would come looking. Only now, as she was running from danger did Terra realize the malicious nature of the streetlights: with every alley illuminated, it was all but impossible to hide. “We’ve got to find someplace safe, before…”

From atop the awning of an items shop as they passed, something jumped down on the pair, sending Terra face first onto the street and the Onion Knight rolling blindly on the stone. “Terra? Terra!” Not even the most pompous of pretenses could hide the scared tones in the boy’s voice. “Where are you… Ah!”

A heavy kick hit the Knight in the side, and the thug from the docks sneered down at the sight of the unseeing boy. “Ha! Can’t see a thing, eh? Not so funny when it happens to you, huh?” Another quick kick garnered a shrill cry from the Knight. “Let’s see what you can do with my boot in your face!”

 

“Leave him alone!” Bleeding from a scrape on the forehead, Terra rose shakily, pointing at the pirate.

Unimpressed, the man guffawed loudly. “Aaw, I’m sorry. Don’t you like it when your boyfriend makes sounds like… this!” Another kick, this time to the face of the Knight. Grunting in pain, the boy tried to wave his sword in the air to fend off the unseen attacks.

“I said stop!”

The pirate grabbed the Knight’s arm by the wrist, and with little effort, wrenched the sword away. Now with the weapon, the pirate gave the sword an experimental twirl, and raised it above the Onion Knight.

“No!”

From Terra’s outstretched hand, a massive block of ice formed and shot out at the pirate. The Blizzara spell connected, the shards of ice cutting into the man’s skin, the force of the impact sending him flying back.  Another spell formed, this time a great ball of fire, with struck the pirate with explosive might, sending him and his singed clothes hurdling into the wall of the items shop. Shoulders hunched, teeth clenched, her hands gnarled as though beastlike claws, Terra staggered over to the man, who was rubbing his head and trying to regain his senses. She looked up, raising her arm overhead, and she could see, forming just a few yards above in the sky, a mass of electrical energy, rapidly congealing into one bolt. A grin flitting around her lips, she looked back down at the pirate that assaulted her friend.

 

And saw a scared, bewildered man, shrunk up against the wall, at the mercy of her and her magic.

She saw the bodies of soldiers, each struck down dead, lying before her feet, contorted into grotesque positions.

She saw the ruins of Narshe, burning brightly, melting the snow as it fell, the sounds of people crying out in fear and terror.

She heard the laugh.

 

The Thundara spell began to shrink, eventually disappearing as the electricity vanished. The pirate, seeing the sword of Damacles vanish, almost breathed a sigh of relief, but felt the motion freeze in his throat as Terra grabbed him by the collar. “Go away,” she said, her voice dead and unfeeling. Eager to oblige, once the woman let him loose, the pirate scrambled to his feet as best he good, and without a look back, began to scramble his way back down the street, away from the woman and her knight.

 

And was immediately struck in the back by a glowing white orb, which sent the man tumbling to the ground, where he laid still, smoke pouring from his back.

“What a ghastly creature.”

Shocked and horrified as she was, it still took Terra a few moments to react to the voice. Turning around revealed a sight most unexpected: appearing out of thin air was a man with long, silvery hair, the lamps helping to illuminate his almost elegant face. A black vest and silken sleeves were draped over his torso, and he wore a fashionable pair of short cut trunks, his legs covered in sharp black boots.

“And you, my dear canary,” he continued, flourishing his arm with poetic grace, a smile that defied a murder even took place. “How can you expect to ever fly if you insist on clipping your wings?”

“Terra? What’s going on?” Feeling about the ground for his sword, and thankfully finding it, the Onion Knight was having difficulty getting back on his feet. He managed to stand briefly before the pain in his side compelled him to drop to one knee.

“Sir Knight!” Running to her friend’s side, Terra gingerly helped the boy stand upright. Placing his arm over her shoulder (which required her to stoop rather uncomfortably), she glared over at the mysterious man, who was watching them with a bemused expression. “Who are you?”

 

The man laughed aloud. “Ha! You may consider me the leading man in this play of ours. Which,” he chuckled, “I suppose makes you little more than members of the chorus.”

“You take that back!” snarled the Knight, who was attempting to put his full weight back on his legs.

“Oh, cheer up, my little tomato. After all, the role of the chorus is to embellish the lead, and rest assured, you shall play your parts well.”

“Shut up!” barked Terra, the levity in the man’s voice raising her blood to boiling. “You just shot a man in the back!”

“Oh, you say that like he matters,” groaned the man, rolling his eyes. “Besides, it’s not like you weren’t about to do the very same thing.”

“I was not!” yelled Terra, more sharply than she meant to.

“I’ve heard enough!” Pointing his sword directly at the stranger, the Onion Knight gave a challenge. “See how you like it when you have to fight someone looking at you!” 

 

Terra blinked, still trying to help the boy stand, which was no easy feat when he was trying to duel. “You… can see him?”

“All too well! I hope you don’t mind a few stab wounds in those pretty clothes of…” The Knight’s voice trailed off, the stranger raising a wry eyebrow as the realization struck the boy. “Hey, I can see.”

“Oh, joy,” taunted the stranger, applauding sardonically. “And while I’d love to take you up on your offer, I’m afraid that you won’t have the time.”

“Trust me, it won’t take long to…”

 

“Sir Knight!” Terra shook his shoulder slightly. “Don’t you understand? If the spell has worn off on you, than…”

 

From further down the street, the rumble of angry voices slowly began to sound closer and closer. Jaws dropping slightly, the duo looked behind, then to the stranger. For his part, the man crossed his arms and gave a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Bye, now.” Glaring, Terra led the hobbling Knight as fast as she could, and with a quick dash into the nearest alley, disappeared from sight.

Smiling, the silver haired man glanced down as his shoes, distastefully noticing that filth from this unkempt burg was accumulating on the toe. “Vile.” Contemptibly, he wiped the boots on the corpse of the pirate, finishing his cleaning just in time for Bikkes and his crew of buccaneers to come barrelling down the street, stopping just before him.

The pirate captain looked down at the dead thief, saw the flaming hole in the back, and spat on the ground. “Cursed witch! I’ll split her in two for that!” Then, upon looking up at the much shorter figure of the strange man (who was currently examining his nails to make sure that no other disease infested earth was touching him), he staggered back slightly, before issuing further orders to the crew. “Well, don’t just stand there, you nitwits! They can’t have gone far! Search the city! Smartlike!” As the pirates ran off to do their master’s bidding, Bikkes sneered down at the man. “Fancy meeting you again. Kuja, wasn’t it? What do you know about all this?”

 

Still looking at his nails, Kuja responded condescendingly. “I know that I came to you this morning and told you to your face that I doubted very much your barnacle brained bevy of buffoons would suffice to keep your new vocation afloat.” Pleased with the look of outrage that Bikkes was giving him, he continued. “I know that I offered you a far better deal, and you said you’d think about it, but you didn’t think it necessary.” Finishing the inspection of his hands, Kuja grinned with all the satisfaction of a cat about to eat a sparrow. “And now that you’re dealing with a mage clearly capable of felling your meager lot, I’m inclined to believe that you’re more in a position to listen.”

 

Bikkes didn’t care for the smarmy newcomer, but crossed his arms sullenly. “You said you were an arms dealer. What sort of game are you running?

 

“The best kind of game, my dear captain.” Kuja snapped his fingers, and much to Bikke’s disappointment, nothing immediately happened. It wasn’t long, however, before a heavy, clomping shuffle could be heard. The pirate turned, and walking down the street, ominously silhouetted by the streetlamps, were three new figures, coming from the same direction which the pirates themselves had ran. Thoughts of how these things appeared without his noticing were soon replaced by the feeling of his gut twisting as the captain finally saw what these things even were. Glowing with a dark blue hue, they looked to be made of a glossy crystal that shone with its own private radiance. They defied any human characteristics: their squat figures were clad with heavy gloves, large boots, and broad vests, and tall, pointed, wide brimmed hats covered their heads, so that the only sign of life that could be seen were the eerie yellow eyes, unblinking. Dutifully, they marched before Kuja, stopping only when he snapped his fingers again.

The young man glanced up at the pirate. Bikkes was shaking. Kuja gave a small, clear laugh. “It’s the game you can’t lose.”

[dusk 910]

Now I am really wondering why I haven't seen this Fanfiction before. .Amazing job Dave! I have rarely seen this well written Fanfic!