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Final Fantasy VI

After the Fall//Prelude to Hope

Cyan & Gau

“Look, pretties!” said Gobbledygook 1.  “Fresh meat!”

“Fresh meat!” chanted the other three.  The imp-like denizens of Zozo all salivated over the man they discovered among a section of rubble cast off from the armor shop.  The far northwest corner of the town had not seen much activity, even less so since the calamity left the world unraveled.  Nevertheless, Zozo’s dissident inhabitants relished in it, discovering new treasures, new visitors, and new loot to obtain.

The gaggle of Gobbledygooks searched the remnants of the armor shop, long since abandoned and forgotten.  Yet the scraps and dregs of humanity remained, nestled in the cozy confines of a rain-soaked sanctuary of misery.

“Quick, harvest the flesh before the Gigas arrives!” Gobbledygook 3 shouted, brandishing his knife.  Another pair emerged from the shadows to join their brethren, each wielding a weapon of their choosing, varying from knives to wrenches to hammers.  They were still cautious in approaching the body on top of the debris, paranoid about making the first move.  Yet if they failed to work in haste, the Hill Gigas would eventually stir from his sleep and wonder what the commotion was about.

The gaggle hopped and danced around the body, anticipating who would strike first.  When he began to stir, they all jumped back at once, screeching and hissing in response as though threatened.

“He moves!”

“He moves!”

“Kill him before he moves again!” shouted Gobbledygook 1.  He hopped and skipped forward, ready to stab when the body’s eyes opened beneath a mane of black hair that was matted to his face from the rain.  Without thinking, the body unsheathed a short blade and pierced the Gobbledygook through the chest, leaving it hanging in the air.  Blood oozed from his mouth before he went limp.

Staggering to his feet, the man flicked his blade to toss the dead Gobbledygook aside unceremoniously.  The gaggle watched it tumble and roll down lumber and stone until it stopped along the paved street.  They screeched and hissed again, ready to attack.

“Kill him!”

“Kill him!”

“Our meat!”

“Our flesh!”

They continued chanting and waving their knives until the man staggered forward, forcing them to step back with a single look.  Water dripped freely from his hair and mustache while the blood of the Gobbledygook washed off his blade.  He sheathed it behind his back, readying the katana at his side to engage the rest.

“Eeeee!” they screeched in unison, hopping and dancing.  The man nudged his blade out of its sheath with a thumb, grasping the hilt in his other hand.  He circled the gaggle, albeit still shaken from where he had lain.

They moved to flank him, assuming that their numbers were enough to overwhelm him.  Yet, without warning, they found themselves sliced, skewered, and dismembered in quick successive motions until they were a mess of body parts littering the cold, damp street beneath them.

Staggering a few steps, the man waited until the blood washed off his katana before sheathing it.  Brushing the hair away from his face, his attempts to shake the water off proved pointless.  He needed to seek shelter from the downpour.

While under shelter from the rain, he could see no reprieve from it.  Instinct continued to nag at his brain, screaming to get out of this place.  He searched around, trying to determine where it was he fell.

Falling.

Fragments of memory were starting to sort themselves in his mind.  There was an airship, that much he could remember. As he tried to conjure more, a wave of pain throbbed from the back of his head.  He reached with his hand but what he felt was thicker than water.  He could not conceal his shock when his hand revealed blood, his blood.

“Wherefore did I land?” he whispered, ignoring the wound for now.  He wanted to investigate but was interrupted by the loud impact of feet along the ground, splashing water.  He sought a pile of wooden crates to hide, watching from behind until he could see who was making those footsteps.

A Hill Gigas stomped into view, curious about the commotion that took place a moment ago.  A three-story hulking mountain of muscle and chains with a mane of hair,  it examined the dead Gobbledygooks, nudging and rolling some over with a flick of his finger.  He breathed a loud sniff from his nose before grunting a sigh.

The man waited until the Gigas began walking away to gauge more of his surroundings.  He examined his body for more injuries, looking back at where he landed.  The debris from the building he crashed into must’ve cushioned his fall, albeit barely if it left a gash in his head.

With nothing dry enough to clean and dress his wound, nor a healing potion of sorts, he searched for the bag he had on him.  He scoured the debris, only to find nothing essential or valuable.  All he could see on him were the two sheathed blades along with a single green stone that shone a mysterious glow tucked in his pocket.

The stone triggered a memory from not too long ago.  Trying to remember through the fog of pain was like trying to push a large boulder blocking the entrance separating the outside from the dark recesses of his mind plagued by a constant throbbing.  Yet, after thinking hard enough, the word Magicite eventually formed in his head to give a name to the crystal.  Whatever else he could piece together would have to wait until he sought a dry location to settle and recover so he could at least figure out what had happened.

Rising to his feet was still a struggle.  He lost a considerable amount of strength from crashing into that building, using all he could to fend off the gaggle.  If he could avoid the Gigas entirely, he’d be able to seek a clear path out of this rain-soaked town.

Another memory forced its way through the crevice, adding to the pain.  Each memory that returned only added to his headache.

“Zozo,” the man whispered.  “Malcontents, rainfall, creatures at the ready to pillage and pilfer thee.  My eyes doth not deceive.”

Now that he knew where he was, he desperately needed to leave to find shelter.  The closest town he could manage through this annoying headache was Jidoor, in name only.  However, there was something else just as unsettling as the environment he found himself in.  He looked up at the sky and felt a sense of foreboding that sent a chill through his body, far colder than the chill of the rainfall.  The blackened clouds that produced this rain were rolling around unnaturally.  Equally disturbing was the lightning that forked from them.  One bolt stopped, frozen in the sky until it resumed to strike its intended target.

Sprinting from behind the crates, he hoped he had enough strength in his legs to move fast enough to avoid the Gigas, only to round a corner, nearly colliding into a group of thugs facing away from him.  He immediately sidled along the wall, peeking over the corner to eavesdrop.  The thugs had begun moving again, only towards the Hill Gigas.  He perked his ears, listening to them.

“Why the long face, chum?” said one of them.

“GOBBLES BROKEN,” said the Gigas.  “GOBBLES IN PIECES.”

“Wuzzat, then?  Something happened to the Gobbledygooks?” asked another.  The Gigas belted a low rumble, slamming his fist through a brick wall.

Watching the Gigas’s violent outburst made him gulp.  He’d not want to find himself at the receiving end of that.

“A’ight ya big oaf!  Calm yer britches!” said the first thug.  “Show’em to us.”

The Gigas stomped forward, leading the thugs to the street where the man had slain the gaggle.  He felt a gentle gust of air from the Gigas brushing past him, followed closely by the thugs.  He counted at least four of them, all gnarled and ugly-looking as the Gobbledygooks.  Zozo’s inhabitants were never one for outward appearances.

“Well lookit-that, someone sure did a number on ‘em,” said the thug.  “All slicey-dicey they went.”

“We’s got an uninvited guest, we has,” said the second thug, licking his lips as he unsheathed his knife.  “Keep yer eyes peeled.”

They spread out, knives drawn, searching for the one responsible.  The man sidling along the wall needed this moment to make a run for it while they were in the middle of their search.  It didn’t help that his legs had the consistency of a flan monster, the aching gash making him think he’d taken a thousand punches to the head, and his body soaked to the bone, risking illness.

No sooner than he was a few steps out in the open that one of the thugs caught sight of him.  “Hey!  You there!” he cried.

“Confound it all,” the man said.  The thugs and Gigas gave chase, pursuing the man through the streets, splashing water everywhere.  Zozo was like a maze if you didn’t know where you were going or where you started.  The man had no clue where he had landed, only able to remember enough what town this was.  He rounded corners until he stumbled upon more Gobbledygooks and thugs, surprised at the unfamiliar face.  He was considerably outnumbered now.

Backed into an isolated section of the street near a rear building, the man unsheathed his katana once more, ready to fight back.

“Let mine blade strike true and swift,” his low voice said to his blade.  Moving another few steps back, he inched closer to the building.

He might have had a fair chance at surviving had he not seen a second Hill Gigas emerge from the rocky hills to his left.  It leapt and landed with a resounding crash, sending water and paved stones flying.  The man cleaved one of the stones in half before the Gigas stampeded towards him.

Redirecting his katana to the hulking brute, he could only see one opening that he could exploit.  Engaging the Gigas, he ran until he made two quick slices along the Gigas’s legs to fell the beast, tripping it forward until it face-planted itself into the building where the man once stood back-to-back.  He only had so much room to maneuver until his eyes caught sight of someone hiding behind a bundle of crates away from the mob of Zozo freaks, ready to tear into him.

“This way! Hurry!” the stranger shouted, rising from his hiding spot.  He waved the man to follow him, leading him to the building ahead.  He jumped to grab one of the railings above, using one of the crates as leverage to give him a boost.  He reached down with his arm.  “Grab on! I’ll pull you up!”

Instinct once again told the man to trust this stranger.  Sheathing his katana, he boosted himself off the crate and took the stranger’s hand.  After he was pulled up safely, the stranger began running up the stairs.  “Follow me!” he shouted.

Ascending several flights of stairs until they reached the top, the stranger produced a set of keys, selecting the one he needed. The thugs and Gigas were not far off, catching up to the building to pursue them up the stairs.  The Gigas used its strength to create foot and handholds to climb faster than the thugs, but by the time they all reached the top, both the man and the stranger were long gone with the door locked again.

Navigating the mountain trails through a series of inter-connecting tunnels, the stranger kept moving, not stopping once.  The man followed but was still weakened from his ordeal.  Everything began to blur in his vision until it faded to black.

He awakened to find himself under a thick blanket on a worn-out sofa overlooking a fire.  His clothes were hung before it to dry, leaving him bare underneath.  A wave of pain seared into his skull, jolting the memory of the gash he had suffered when he first regained consciousness.  Bandages were now tied firmly around his head.

He rose, holding the blanket close.  The sensation of a warm fire reminded him of many occasions back home of reading from a book to his son as he sat on his lap.  Stories of brave warriors fighting hundreds of men to defend the castle or tales of a mighty dragon slain by the king.  Each adventure that he read lulled the boy to sleep until he was carried to his bed, nestled comfortably beneath a quilt his mother had woven for him, the crest of his kingdom sewn into the front.

Dark flashes of pain illuminated his mind.  The sight of the sweet child nestled into his bed shifted to him collapsed on the floor, blood leaking slowly out of his nose and mouth.  The mother, who had just tucked him in, lay not far off, succumbed to the same condition.

A river of poison flowed through his kingdom, sweeping all under its wake.  An incurable concoction of murder only a madman could craft.

The dark flashes resumed until they were engulfed by laughter.  His laughter.

He reached for his katana but panicked when he could not detect it nearby.  He scanned the room, only to see it nestled beside his short blade on a mantle above the fireplace.  It was relieving to at least recognize something familiar in this strange room.

He bolted to his feet the moment the door swung open to reveal the stranger who had helped him escape the mob in the rain-soaked streets of Zozo.  He eyed his katana, ready to defend himself if needed.  Perhaps the rest from losing consciousness had returned some degree of strength to his body, affording him enough speed to retrieve his blade.

“If you plan on standing there naked as the day you were born, my friend, best make use of the fire to keep you from catching cold,” the stranger told him, motioning to the dancing flames confined within the fireplace.  He jostled the logs to rekindle the fire, adding another to keep it fed.  He then deposited a bag onto a table, clearing several items that the man could see were floral designs of some kind.  “You must be hungry, fella.  I scavenged a few items from downtown.”

Wrapping the blanket around himself, he sat back down on the sofa.  The stranger did not give off a threatening aura, not with the manner of which he spoke. Instead, he waited silently until the stranger began emptying the bag of its contents.

“Not much to go around, I’m afraid,” the stranger said, offering a loaf of dried bread that he was sure was still edible with some sticks of jerky.  “Dried meat’s about all the protein you’re going to find here unless you want to gander at one of the bears that dwell in the mountains past the door.”

“Bears…?”

“Mugbears, more specifically,” the stranger said.  “Annoying creatures who have a thing for shiny objects.  The glint of gil sets them on a frenzy, and they won’t stop until you’re pilfered dry.  But I’d say you have the look of a man capable of handling such a beast if that sword of yours is any indication.”

He offered his hand.  “I’m Paul, by the way.  I’m a scavenger by trade and the only honest person you’ll ever meet in Zozo. Of course, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need to until you’re well enough to head to wherever you need to go.  But I should warn you about the world you’ll find yourself in once you travel outside of Zozo.”

The man took Paul’s hand.  A welcomed handshake with a firm grip.  “I am Cyan.  I once was the retainer to my liege in Doma.”

Paul’s face lit up.  “A Doman?  A real-life Doman, here in my dwelling?  Is, is this surreal?”

Cyan looked back, confused.  “Doth my guise perplex thee?”

Paul waved his hands.   He took a gander back at the drying clothes and katana, only now piecing together what he had just rescued.  “No.  Forgive my outburst.  I heard rumors that the Empire wiped out everyone in Doma, leaving no survivors.”

“That the Empire would disperse such rumors doth not surprise me,” Cyan said.  “I and one other had the grace of the gods bless us with the fortunate luck of not consuming the poisoned water.  I only wished that grace hath been extended to his excellency and my family.”

“Well, looks like you were blessed with survivor’s luck again, it seems,” Paul told him.  “Though I can’t say the same for the rest of the world, however.”

Cyan could sense the lingering fear in Paul’s voice as it teetered on the brink.  The scavenger strolled to a separate door, opening to reveal a path leading to a cliff.  He leaned against the door frame.  “You were out since yesterday when I rescued you. So I’d say today marks the third day since the great calamity,” he began to explain.

The news came as a surprise to Cyan initially.  Then the memories poured in as if from a broken dam’s sluice.  The airship he was on was torn apart by ravaging storms of unnatural might.   He had companions, yet they were all scattered across the winds, disappearing out of sight. Sizeable pieces of the continent that floated eerily in the sky broke off and fell to the planet.  Some crashed in the oceans while others collided into the land, sundering the ground as it cracked and bubbled with flames and earthquakes.  The clouds darkened to a blackness Cyan had never seen before, only to have one of its lightning bolts narrowly strike past him to ignite a forest below.  The heat and power of the electricity were enough to knock him back, sending him on a one-way trip to the ground.  The shockwave then knocked him out before he could gauge where he would land, free-falling to what eventually would be Zozo’s armor shop.

“When the skies blackened, the first thing I heard was the horrifying screams of birds and land mammals.  I was on my way back from Jidoor with a fresh set of supplies so I could restock my pantry.  The next thing I knew, I was running as I had never run before, dodging and weaving past debris and balls of fire as they struck the ground everywhere.  I gunned for Zozo only to find the storm clouds above twist and convulse, changing into something indescribable.  It hasn’t stopped raining above Zozo since.  If what has been said was true, magic has indeed returned to the world after the War of the Magi, and we’re now caught in the wake of its foul remnants.  Magic unraveled the world, and whoever was still alive after the initial destruction would have to piece together what remained.”

Paul spotted the piece of Magicite beside the katana on the mantle and examined it in his hand.  “This crystal looks like one of those whatchamacallits the Auction House was selling.”

He casually tossed it to Cyan.  “Aye, ‘tis a piece of Magicite.  The essence of an Esper after their life expires and shuffles off the mortal coil,” he said to Paul.  Cyan turned it around in his hand.  The soft green glow concealed within its emerald casing centered his sight onto its red sphere.  He could almost see an image forming inside the sphere, that of one of the Espers.  It was still an unshapen silhouette, however, yet Cyan continued studying it until he concluded that it hadn’t taken a proper shape.  If only making use of Magicite was more straightforward than handling machines.

“Espers, Magicite, Magic,” Paul recited, shaking his head.  “If you ask me, I think those creatures caused all this destruction.”

“No,” Cyan replied quickly.  “The unraveling of the world is not the work of Espers.  Blame layeth only at the hands of the entity responsible.”  His eyes then narrowed.  “Kefka,” he hissed through his teeth.

“Kefka…!” Paul whispered.  “Geez…!”

“The very machination of madness that is Kefka orchestrated the destruction of the world as you hath seen before you,” Cyan added, eyes burning with hate.

“I see how that would make sense,” said Paul, turning to face him fully.  “The magic that ravaged the planet had affected some of the people as well.  You’ve seen first-hand the change in the people in Zozo?”

Cyan nodded.

“A town of thieves and liars, now degenerated to vigilantes and cannibals.  Some are still normal enough to cough a fib or two, but the gaggles who nearly had you for dinner were never this vicious.  At least the Gigases of this area aren’t all that different.  Lumbering brutes still too stupid to conjure a string of words.”

Paul breathed a sigh.  He slumped into his chair, exhausted from speaking, and reached behind him to retrieve a bottle with a stopper.  “I figure a drink is in order for the both of us.”

Paul then grinned when recognition hit Cyan’s face once he saw what kind of bottle it was.  “I knoweth such a shape.  Doman rice-wine.”

Pouring two small glasses for himself and Cyan, they clinked them together.  After downing the contents, Cyan’s mood had slightly ebbed from its morosity.  He set the glass down to examine his clothes for dryness.

“Oh, by all means, if you need to get dressed, I’ll leave the room,” Paul told him, standing up.  “I believe they should be dry enough by now.”

After Cyan secured everything on again, Paul returned to the room, only to stand at the doorway.  “The view’s still nice out back if you want to take a look?” he told him.  Cyan took him on his offer and exited to the cliff-like exterior.  A sinister blood-colored hue lingered in the sky, masking what little sunlight could be seen in the skyline.  Reds, oranges, and yellows painted the mountainous landscape before Cyan, yet there was still some degree of serenity he could make from his vantage point.

Cyan drank in the view.  The mountain air was still crisp, yet the stain of magic had saturated it with a lingering staleness.  While his breathing had not been labored, the staleness had left its mark regardless.  This was the world now, tainted by Kefka’s hand.  As content as this view was, it did little to ease what Cyan had come to grips with.

The pain in his head was still an issue.  However, the additional emotional scars of losing his loved ones still ached in his heart.  The longer he stared at the scene of a scarred planet, the worse his guilt was until Paul noticed Cyan’s bottom lip quivering.

“Are you okay?” Paul asked.

“I hath invited dishonor in my heart, sir Paul,” Cyan said, shielding his eyes from conveying its agony to Paul.  “I could nay protect them.  My kingdom, his excellency.  Oh, Elaine…Owain…!”

He sank to his knees.  “How could I bear the burden of a warrior if I cannot protect what matters most?  I failed to protect Doma.  I hath failed to protect my friends.  Not even the world hath been spared.”

He unsheathed his short blade.  Laying it on his lap, he watched his tears fall onto the metallic surface.  “Leave me, Sir Paul.  I thank thee for the hospitality, but I cannot continue to bear this burden.  I should at least spare you the sight.”

“Hey, what are you planning?” Paul asked.  Cyan’s eyes were still fixed on the blade.  “I must reclaim my honor.  I hath no place in a world destroyed by magic.  I stand before forces which no mere blade forged hath the power to strike against.  Leave me so that I may reclaim what I hath lost in silence.”

Paul quickly laid his hands on the blade, suppressing it.  “I know this is a lot to take in, Cyan.  But you didn’t have the look of a man who was ready to end his life a moment ago. So what’s with this change in attitude?”

“I hath no home to return to, sir Paul,” Cyan said.  He gripped the blade in his hand until the edge cut into his skin.  He stared at the fresh blood that trickled off his hands and onto the metal.  “No kingdom.  What honor is there in a warrior doomed to roam the wasteland that was once a beautiful planet?  What good doth it make to dwell among the living when my wife and son await me on the other side?!  My home is there, in the great beyond.  I shan’t keep them waiting longer.  If my companions are yet among the living, they surely hath better fortune to slay Kefka than I do.  My soul is as broken as my blade, and only in death do I have the means to reforge it.”

“No,” Paul said, snatching the blade out of Cyan’s hands.  “I won’t allow someone eager to throw his life away so quickly.”

“Please? Give this tired, aging face his reprieve?” Cyan pleaded.  Paul stared defiantly until he cast the short blade off the cliff, watching it fall below.  It clattered a few times against the jagged rocks until it disappeared out of sight.

“Look, Cyan.  Had I known you were so desperate to throw your life away, I’d have left you back there in the streets.  But I ain’t that kind of guy, alright?”

Cyan still stared disbelievingly at the blade Paul had thrown over the cliff.  He reached for his katana, only to have Paul’s hands stop him.  “Look at me, friend.”

Paul’s face softened.  “Your loved ones will still be there waiting for you when you eventually do pass on.  But can they honestly look at you as that same hero who fought for his people, knowing that you’d come to them a broken shell of a man who gave up?  Go to them as they remembered you.”

Paul pulled Cyan to his feet.  “So you can’t retain a kingdom anymore.  That doesn’t mean there’s not some other town or kingdom out there worth retaining.  Even if you couldn’t protect your friends from some crazed lunatic, it doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there that needs protecting.  If your friends survived, then they’re still worth protecting once you find them.”

It was as if a fog had been lifted in Cyan’s mind.  Could Elaine and Owain truly accept him if he had done the deed and ritually killed himself?  Another question haunted his realization even more.  What if the others were still alive?  What would they say if they heard Cyan of all people had given up on life?  The shame of knowing how they’d view him for eternity if he went through with it rather than fight alongside them against Kefka made him shiver.

“I wish you hadn’t unceremoniously tossed my blade, sir Paul,” Cyan said, glancing over the cliff.  “It was finely crafted Doman steel.”

“Sorry I had to do that to you, friend.  But at least it got your head out of the clouds,” said Paul, clapping Cyan on the back.

“Indeed.”

When they went back inside, Cyan eyed the floral designs that Paul set aside on a box.  “Your craftmanship hath piqued my curiosity, sir Paul.  Might I inquire on these?”

“Certainly,” Paul said.  He picked one of them up to show Cyan.  “Silk bouquets.  Found out there’s a lot of silkworms crawling around the caves. So I scavenged a few supplies from Jidoor and Zozo to craft dyes so I could make these flower bouquets.  I figure a little sprucing up wouldn’t hurt this daft, dusty old place.”

“You hath quite a talent, sir Paul,” Cyan said, admiring the delicacy at which the flowers were made.  Paul then set it aside to rummage through his chest, fishing out a pair of bottles with stoppers on them.  He handed them to Cyan.  “Before I forget. Healing Potions.”

There was a considerable measure of relief in Cyan’s face once he saw the potions in Paul’s hand.  He downed one immediately.  The pain in his head and hands vanished just as fast as he drank, breathing a sigh once he set the bottle back down.  “I thank thee for all that you hath done, Sir Paul.  I am in your debt.”

“Go find your friends, Cyan.  That’s all I ask in return,” Paul told him.  Cyan nodded.  “It shall be done.  I suppose the residents of Jidoor might supply some needed information,” he told him.

Paul dusted an old leather bag from the chest.  It looked remarkably intact and sturdy for a bag, which Paul began to fill with extra healing potions, antidotes for poison, eye drops, and food that he wrapped in a cloth.  “That should last you on your journey.  The world has since settled after the calamity.  I’ve no doubt your katana will aid you and keep you safe.”

“Indeed it will, Sir Paul,” Cyan said.  They clasped hands at the forearm.  “My home is always welcome to you should you ever return, Cyan.  You needn’t call yourself a man without a home anymore.”

“I thank thee for the generous offer, Sir Paul,” Cyan said.  “I shall return one day in the hopes that I shan’t return alone.”

Cyan was ready to leave via the front door when Paul cleared his throat, opening the back door.  “Instead of going back through Zozo, I have a better route,” he said.  Cyan nodded and followed him out back.

“Climb up this ledge, and the way forward will be flat enough for you to trek safely out of Zozo’s region without navigating the maze of streets.  Plus, you’ll stay dry,” Paul explained.  “You can descend from there and walk a straight path to Jidoor from then on.  Good luck.  It’s a dangerous world now. But, I have faith you’ll brave it.”

Cyan said nothing else, only giving Paul a nod of appreciation.  As he climbed to the top of the mountain range, Cyan could only think of his moment of weakness, harboring resentment at his most vulnerable moment. If Paul had not been there to speak sense to him, he’d likely cast himself down the ravine below after gutting himself with his blade.  Sir Paul is a braver soul than most, Cyan thought.

The way forward was exactly as Paul explained it.  Most of the monsters he killed along the way were of the avian variety, yet other land-dwelling foulness that infested this new world did not last long either against Cyan’s katana, of that he was certain.

Jidoor was a half-day’s worth of trekking, giving him all that he needed to witness once he had a chance to drink in the scenery.  Lush greenery had decayed and torn from the magic that rained down on the world.  Nothing but a barren wasteland of charred trees and ground.  It did not dampen Cyan’s resolve, however.  He dared not allow the morbidity to erode his soul.  The pain of what he had lost spurned him on, fueling his desire to find them.  If anything, they’d have to be equally determined.

By the time he arrived, Jidoor was a welcome sight, or so he thought.  An open landscape with no guards or barricades to speak of.  Nothing looked much different than his first visit sometime before the calamity.  The first thing that struck Cyan as odd was that the Chocobo stable was boarded up.

Something else tingled in the back of Cyan’s head.  Not quite the sensation of remembering the gash he suffered when he crashed, but the feeling that something was amiss at the far north section of town.  Up ahead, he could see the most prominent mansion ever constructed.

Once Cyan’s head had cleared from the effects of the healing potion, he remembered everything leading to when the floating continent fell.  His companions had been here before.  Terra, the girl who could wield magic, had bought Magicite from the famed Auction House, namely the one Cyan had on him.

Retrieving the Magicite from his bag, it glowed with a familiar resonance, as though its connection to Jidoor was still strong.  Terra bragged about spending a great deal of gil to acquire it.  “The Esper half of me was drawn to this place,” she told the group afterward.

Cyan’s top priority was to secure a room at the inn before interrogating the citizens about whether they’ve seen his friends or not.  Gil acquired from the monsters along the way afforded him an overnight stay with a rejuvenating bath and a comforting bed.  The haute-couture aesthetic of Jidoor would have to provide quality food, if anything.  At least he would’ve hoped for that if the world was not as it was.  He’d have to make the best of it.

It would’ve also been a peaceful sleep had the nagging feeling before entering Jidoor not woken him up in the middle of the night.  That mansion wouldn’t relent on its sense of foreboding, drawing Cyan to the window.

“A foul presence,” he whispered.  Seated on the windowsill, he casually cleaned and sharpened his katana while watching the mansion.  Despite the illumination of the lanterns along the streets leading to the grand stairway, the lights surrounding the mansion cast an ominous shadow about it, an unnatural shadow.

Sheathing his katana, Cyan felt compelled to investigate.  In the dead of night, he was the sole pedestrian along the streets.  The closer he approached the stairs leading to the mansion, the more chilling the air tickled his mustache.  He climbed the stairs, hand at the ready on his hilt.

GO BACK.

Cyan’s heart jumped at the voice, halting him mid-way.  “Where art thou?  Show thyself!” Cyan shouted, drawing his blade.  It was unmistakeably female from its sound, yet it carried with it an intense feeling of malice while still sounding melodious.

GO BACK.

The voice resonated more loudly, adding another layer of frost to it.  It was enough to force Cyan to take a step back without realizing it until he discovered that he was back at the bottom of the staircase.

YOU DO NOT BELONG.  GO AWAY.

Cyan often did not have to swallow out of concern, yet that troublesome excursion on the Phantom Train some time ago had given him pause to reflect on how dangerous these spiritual creatures were.  Sighing, he sheathed his katana, walking back to the inn.  He decided to dismiss the situation altogether for the rest of the night, falling to sleep without thinking of anything else.  The last thing he heard from the voice was a playful chuckle.

Once he exited the inn, he was nearly run over by a young male in tears.  “Slow thyself, sir!” Cyan cried, grabbing him.

“Leave me alone!” shouted the young man through sobs, shoving Cyan away before leaving the town.  Pursing his lips, Cyan shook his head until he was able to flag one of the aristocrats strolling down the street with an umbrella in her hand.

“Pardon me, madam,” Cyan said.  The woman eyed him suspiciously, obviously dressing him down with her eyes as Cyan had expected of these people.  The shift in the air was still there, not specifically from the voice that forced him back, but the overall feel of this town.  Even the innkeeper was reluctant to provide a room had Cyan not given him extra gil to compensate.

The woman harrumphed, turning her nose away and strolled onward without even giving Cyan a second glance.

He noticed the demeanor of the upper-class citizens was similar to that of the snobbish woman.  Many turned their noses upward, ignoring him.  Some commented on his manner of dress, critiquing his appearance as a “man of filth and degradation of culture.”

“Hath the calamitous magic affected them here, too?” Cyan asked himself.  There had to be someone in this town able to help him with some information.

A gentleman in a tailored outfit descended the staircase from the mansion ahead.  Cyan hoped that at least he was capable of aiding him without turning his nose upward.  Yet on closer inspection, something was off about the way the gentleman looked and moved.  His gestures were quick, as if in a hurry.  His eyes were shifty, and his face was paler than most. Moreover, while the aristocrats had enjoyed some degree of sunlight that tanned their skin a slight shade darker, the gentleman in question was nearly white as a ghost.

He belted a scream when Cyan approached him, holding his hands.  “Please don’t hurt me, sir!  Let me be on my way!  Master Owzer is rather grumpy when impatient!”

“Pray tell, good sir, what hath spooked thyself so?” Cyan asked.  The shifty gentleman, whom Cyan assumed was this Owzer’s butler by the mention of “master,” kept directing his sights onto the item shop.  “I have been instructed not to interact with anyone other than the shopkeeps!” the butler told him before brushing past him.

“Wait!” Cyan shouted, chasing the butler down.  The snobs he passed by kept casting sneers and grimaces his way, but Cyan ignored them.  The butler had to be aware of something or at least knew someone who passed by.

“Wait, I say!” Cyan repeated before sprinting past the butler to block his way to the item shop door.  “What manner of fearful tripe is this?  Cannot a man be inquiring about the current state of this town?”

The butler said nothing.  In his panic, he forced himself past Cyan to open the door, but all Cyan did in response was jab the end of his hilt in the butler’s stomach to wind him.  He collapsed on his knees, gasping and clutching his midsection.

“I ask that you simmer down, good sir,” Cyan said politely but firmly, squatting down.  “No harm shall visit thee.”

The butler’s eyes continued searching everywhere except directly at Cyan, forcing him to grab him by the lapels of his overcoat.  “I say that’s enough!” Cyan shouted, giving the hapless fool a good slap.

“I’ll allow thee the courtesy of acquiring what you need from this shop on the condition that you explain what befell this town.  I also hath need of information about any recent travelers that visited here since the calamity.”

Cyan waited to see whether anything he had done had brought the butler back to his senses.  He rose, rubbing the side of his face.  “Thank you for that, sir.  I have been quite restless, as you can see,” he said.

The butler was then led into the shop to make his purchases.  The shopkeep leered at Cyan the entire time he was inside until he left with the butler.  Through the window, Cyan could see that the shopkeep’s face no longer had such a distrust to it.

“Have these citizens and shop owners always behaved in such an odious manner, sir butler?” Cyan asked.  The butler shook his head.  “Not before the calamity, sir.”

“Dear me,” Cyan said, his face going flush.  “Could Kefka’s madness hath infected the populace?”

“I cannot say for certain, sir.  They regard themselves indifferently, yet when outsiders visit, they are met with the same looks as you have most certainly been privy to,” said the butler, watching the townspeople give Cyan a dirty look before turning back to converse naturally.

“I was nearly toppled by a weeping lad earlier.  He seemed to have fled from the mansion above,” Cyan said, pointing at Owzer’s mansion.  The butler sighed.

“Another rejection of Master Owzer’s doing,” he said.  He led Cyan to the staircase, yet Cyan could not bring himself to move further.  The same chill from the night before brushed past his face to prevent him from ascending the first step.  Cyan was sure he heard an echo of the voice last night telling him to go back.

“Hath odd occurrences been happening at the mansion, sir butler?” Cyan asked.  At first, the butler said nothing, only clutching the bag in his hands until his knuckles went white.

“I can only say this much, sir,” said the butler.  “Master Owzer has been obsessing over a crystal I recently acquired at the auction house on his behalf.  He sends me to commission artists who will paint him a portrait of the crystal’s representation of the goddess Lakshmi.  However, I sensed nothing but darkness and ill-gotten fortune once the crystal was in his possession.”

He glanced back as though caught off-guard.  “Yes, I understand.  I’m sorry,” he said.  Cyan arched an eyebrow, confused as to whom the butler was addressing.  “Pardon me.  I must go,” the butler added, climbing up the stairs without looking back.

Cyan narrowed his eyes at the mansion.  He gripped his katana hilt, ready to assault the specter that he suspected was haunting the place.  “Mayhap this fiend took the town and cursed the citizens?” he wondered.

When he spun to leave, he found himself facing a group of the aristocrats staring back.  Cyan dared not engage these people, knowing they have done nothing untoward to anyone.  “Thou needst not worry about my blade.  I shall instead take my leave,” he told them.  It seemed to have relaxed their faces immediately when those words left his mouth since they began to scatter and mingle as if nothing happened.  Something indeed has taken hold of Jidoor, yet Cyan was both clueless and powerless at the moment to take matters into his own hands.

“I mustn't dwell on this further.  Finding my friends is more important for now,” Cyan told himself.

The way forward out of town led him south along the coast.  There was significantly lesser landscape than there was before, rearranged after the calamity.  Cyan noticed monster activity had continued challenging him until he reached a certain point where they kept their distance.

Cyan’s danger senses escalated when the ground beneath stirred and shook.  Cracks appeared from the middle of the earth, producing a scaly, ridged head with rows of small horns on top.  Its eyes opened to stare at Cyan before they closed, its head then disappearing underground.

With his katana still unsheathed, Cyan searched the ground for the source of this head and where it was aiming to emerge next.  “What manner of beast is this?” he asked himself.

The earth then began to swell directly beneath his feet.  Had Cyan not launched himself at the last moment, he would’ve found himself legs deep in the creature’s mouth.  It burst from the ground as Cyan tumbled forward, slowing himself to spin around so he could face the beast head-on.  His eyes widened at the sight of the creature once its whole body was visible.  “A dragon?!”

A memory then flashed in Cyan’s head.

“Eight mighty dragons sealed a fearsome warrior,” read Owain as he paced in the room before the fireplace.  “Why would they seal a fearsome warrior, Dad?” he asked Cyan.

“He was fearsome because they deemed him so powerful and destructive he could not distinguish friend from foe,” Cyan said.  He closed the book in Owain’s hands and placed it back in its bookshelf.

“Will you read me more of the legend?” Owain asked.  Cyan tucked him into his bed, sliding Elaine’s quilt up to his neck.  “Some other time, son,” Cyan told him, kissing the boy’s forehead.  “Sleep well and dream good dreams.”

“I will, Dad.  I love you,” Owain whispered, stifling a yawn.

“I canst say for certain whether you are of the legendary lineage, Sir Dragon, but I shall give thee the courtesy of tasting my blade!” Cyan said with a grin.  He cycled the dragons in his mind.  Earth, Red, Storm, Ice, Blue, Holy, Gold, and Skull.  Deducing that this might indeed be the Earth Dragon of legend, Cyan’s light footwork and quick movement gave him enough leverage to at least score a slice against the beast before it swiped back at him, grinding its claws against his blade.

“Perhaps a small taste, instead!” Cyan shouted, dancing back by side-stepping and deflecting the incoming claw swipes from the dragon.  Each stomp from the dragon’s powerful legs caused the ground to shake, nearly knocking him off-balance.  The dragon did not stop there, however.  It began increasing its land speed, forcing Cyan to sprint away.

It chased him until he saw a building ahead.  Could this be the famous Opera House he heard stories about when his excellency spoke of attending the world-renowned “Maria and Draco” production?

Cyan ran past, yet the dragon halted its pursuit to eye the building instead.  It sniffed the air before it decided to climb the back of the House, digging into its foundation with its claws.

“Dear me,” Cyan whispered.  He then turned back.

It was still calm inside when he entered.  Stagehands and actors were hauling items, ready to set the stage, while the Opera Impresario was in the middle of arguing with one of the crewmen.

“No, no, no!  Adjust the light fixtures at this angle, not that!  How else can Maria bask in the spotlight with her Draco if their shadows are misaligned!  Oh, this is just awful!”

Cyan couldn’t believe his eyes and ears.  Were they not aware of the dragon that was on the building?  Could they not hear the commotion outside?  He breathed a sigh.

“Evacuate, all of you!” Cyan shouted.  “A dragon hath latched itself onto the building!”

All movement ceased and turned to him.  The Impresario arched an eyebrow but merely grinned and burst into applause.  Everyone else joined in as he greeted Cyan with open arms.

“What a splendid performance!  And already dressed for the part!  I say that prop sword of yours is remarkably crafted.  Where do you hail, sir?  Figaro? Kohlingen?  Jidoor?  It must be Jidoor if your tailor has exquisite taste!”

“Confound it all,” Cyan grunted.  “I am not an actor, sir.  I am the last warrior of Doma, engaged in battle with a dragon who is about to descend upon all who remain!  I implore thee, gather your people and escape before it tears this building apart!”

“Oh, come now,” the Impresario said, wrapping his arm around Cyan’s shoulder.  “You needn’t regale me further.  I could use an understudy for Draco.  Can you sing, mister warrior?”

Cyan furiously shrugged the Impresario’s arm off.  “Hath the lot of you been stricken with madness as well?  Hath thou not seen the calamity which befell the world only less than half a Fortnite?”

“Calamity?” the Impresario said, tapping his cheek.  “Calamity.  Well, we did sense disturbances from outside, but we only dismissed them as passing storms.  There was a rather big one if you ask me.  It had not halted our work, however, for the show must go on!”

Cyan stared dumbfounded at the Impresario before everyone became alerted to screams from the back.  “No!” he shouted.  Darting up the stairs, he swept past the curtains to the stage where the dragon had broken through from the back wall.  Members of the Orchestra dropped their instruments and scattered like rats at the sight of the dragon as it roared and snapped its jaws.  The conductor had no chance to escape as he became the dragon’s first unfortunate victim.

Cyan scoffed.  Searching above for a rope, he sheathed his katana, using the sheath to glide down along the rope while holding both ends.  When the Impresario emerged from the stairs, his face faded into several shades of white.  “Wh-wh-wh-wh-what is the meaning of this?!” he howled.

Before the dragon could snag another, Cyan launched himself feet first into the dragon’s head, kicking it back.  It fell onto its side as Cyan landed, drawing his blade once more.  “Begone, foul beast!  Back to the earth that spawned thee!”

The dragon got its bearings together, rising back onto its feet. However, it regarded Cyan differently this time.  Rather than roar in his face, the dragon let out a yawn before it sprawled itself onto the stage and rested its head onto its hands, closing its eyes.

“What manner of trickery is this?” Cyan muttered as it approached the dragon, katana in hand at the ready.  He nudged the dragon’s head, but it did nothing to force the dragon to move.  He tried poking it with his katana, but the beast's thick hide only repelled it.  Cyan realized that his blade had done minor damage from the first slice earlier and instead stared at the dragon before sheathing it.  “What an odd creature you are,” he sighed.

The dragon subtlely cleaned the blood off its mouth and teeth with its tongue, relaxing into a slumber.  Cyan did what he could to move the dragon off the stage, yet even his strength was insufficient to budge it.  “Had Sir Sabin been here, he would have the means,” he concluded to himself.  He glanced over at the frightened stagehands and Impresario.

Returning to the lobby, Cyan took a seat on the bottom steps of the central staircase, exhausted from several attempts to move the dragon.  The Impresario descended upon him like an oncoming storm.

“What manner of creature have you brought upon my House?!” he screamed.  “I demand you remove it at once!”

“I cannot,” Cyan sighed.  “No feat of man is strong enough to move such a fiend.”

“How are we to proceed with the performance?  What of the ticket holders?  We have patrons arriving less than a month from now!” the Impresario cried.  He sighed heavily with the back of his hand to his head, moaning and groaning.

“Have you not seen what hath befallen the planet, sir?” Cyan queried, now annoyed by this man’s constant belly-aching.  He could see the uncertain looks from everyone around him.  “I beseech thee!  Venture outside and see for yourselves!”

It was a bittersweet relief for Cyan to see how much of their ignorance washed away when the reality of what happened hit. Then, one by one, they all exited the building to the horrors before them.

“What happened?”

“Where did all the grass and trees go?”

“Where is the garden?”

“By the gods…!”

Several dropped to their knees, weeping at the sight, while others emptied their stomachs around the side.  Cyan eventually led the Impresario to join them, where even he was not spared the shock.

“I, I don’t understand,” he whispered.  “Why does it look so barren?  What of the vegetation?  The animals?  The trees?  What could have stripped the land of its beauty?  Oh, Maria!  She was not here when this happened!  What could have befallen my Maria?!”

“If she were among the casualties, then you hath my condolences, Sir Impresario,” Cyan told him, hand on the man’s shoulder.

“What of the woman who bared a striking resemblance?  The lady Celes?” he asked.  Cyan’s face darkened at the name.  “I hath naught a clue,” Cyan told him flatly.  Celes was the last person Cyan thought about when considering who had survived the calamity.  All he could hope for now was that Sir Sabin and Sir Gau had survived.

“What are we to do, Impresario?” asked one of the stagehands.  “With the world looking like this, is anyone still alive to attend the performance?”

“Dogged by horrific sights, yet ye still endeavor to entertain?!” Cyan bellowed, rounding on the group.  Those still weeping flinched at his voice, unable to cope with the sight any longer to remain outside.

“You cannot blame our selfish nature,” said the Impresario with a sad grin.  “The show must still go on.  A world devastated like this should still be allowed to smile once in a while.  I know not of what happened to Maria or Celes, but if it takes until the end of time itself, we will still give the paying customers a show to remember!  Come!  Let us ponder a way to remove that foul dragon from our sights so production may continue!”

Cyan threw his arms in the air, shaking his head.  “So be it!  If I should find my friends, we will return to slay that dragon should it be so stubborn to take up residence.”

His words fell on deaf ears as stagehands comforted the aggrieved.  At least these people were not affected by the chaotic magic, it seemed.  He knew he could do no more for them and decided to venture onward, searching for the next town.

It was frightening to see how much of the land had shifted from magic alone.  It was all Cyan could conclude as he trod the wasteland.  Finding a place to set up camp for the night was awkward since there was no real clear place he could settle.  It would have to be a random section of ground to build a fire and sleep for the night.

Despite the hard ground, Cyan was still able to get in a whole night’s rest.  The skies above still had the tainted look of blood and decay yet could still welcome the sun peeking through the unnatural clouds.  Casting a haze along the ground, it trailed off to what Cyan saw was a desert.

“Strange,” he said.  “A desert near Jidoor and the Opera house?  If my intuition were to be correct, naught but Figaro and Kohlingen had such terrain.”

New world, new discoveries.  All Cyan could do was approach anything with caution now.  If the dragon was any indication, there was no telling what he’d encounter while crossing the desert.  Something had to lie beyond.

Another effect of the magic spread across the world was the unbearable heat accompanying Cyan once he trekked across the sands.  The lack of water did not help either.  He’d have to secure some from the cacti ahead.

When he approached one of the patches, his eye caught something moving.  It stopped when Cyan began staring at it.  It resembled a cactus, yet its form looked like it had arms and legs.

Cyan opted to ignore it for now.  Slicing the top of the large cactus, he could get in some of the water that flowed naturally.  Warm to the taste, it was better than traveling while parched.

The small cactus that Cyan eyed earlier was now facing him.  It had three holes, two of which looked like eye sockets, while the third beneath them could be interpreted as a mouth.  Cyan poked a hole into the large cactus with the tip of his katana to draw more water, filling the hollowed bowl so he could consume more of the cactus’s water.  He lifted the bowl to his mouth, ready to drink. Instead, he let out a yelp as his hand was struck with a sharp needle.

“What in blazes?!” Cyan said as the impact caused him to drop the bowl.  Pulling it out of his hand was more painful than he realized, with the tip causing blood to trickle out of the hole.  Tossing the needle aside, Cyan couldn’t believe his eyes as the small cactus was moving closer.  It had an unusual pattern to the way it walked.  When one arm swung down, the other swung up.  When one leg bent down, the other bent upward in the same position.  It let out what could only be described as a hollow chirping noise.

“Thou art such an odd creature,” Cyan noted but quickly reacted to block another incoming needle shot from the cactus’s arm when it reached back and let its arm snap downward, deflecting the projectile off of the flat end of his katana.

He deflected more projectiles as he moved to attack.  Each swipe of his katana missed the cactus completely.  It had nimble reflexes, unlike anything Cyan had seen before in an adversary.  “Thou art agile, for sure!” Cyan shouted as each slice struck nothing but air.

He realized fighting off this tiny creature was not going to lead him to victory.  With a swipe of his katana, he swept up sand from below to distract it enough for him to sprint away, hopefully in a direction that would lead him to the other side of the desert.

The cactus sped through the cloud of sand in pursuit of Cyan.  It was comical to watch it flap its arms up and down like levers as it chased him.  The flapping arms then began shooting more needles in his direction, striking him along his legs and back.  He growled from the impact, catching up to another patch of cacti to dive behind it, enough to avoid the remaining needles that pierced the cactus, adding more decorative projectiles to what it already had.

Cyan hissed and growled at the wave of stings that were on his body.  “It moves far too swiftly for my blade to strike!” he breathed.

The hollowed chirping reached a fevered pitch.  Cyan expected another shower of needles that would’ve likely skewered him to death, but this cry was more out of fear.  The sands began to shift and shake near him, drawing him to a mound that glided underneath.

“What now?” he wondered.  Helping himself to his feet via his katana, Cyan only had a moment to worry about the needles in his skin before the mound changed direction to streak towards him.

Rather than run in fear of this thing, Cyan unleashed a warrior’s cry.  He charged forward, dismissing the needles that were painfully embedded in his body.  He didn’t care whether they were poisonous or not. He had no desire to let whatever this was get the better of him.

“Formation Five: Dragon!” he shouted.  His movements were more graceful as he danced with his blade, ready to strike.  The creature that burst through the sands was a worm with sharply pointed mandibles at the head.  Cyan leaped forward, thrusting with his katana proper into the creature.  It was enough to cause some damage, but it was what he needed to siphon its energy to rejuvenate himself.  He continued to sprint past the sandworm, searching for a way out.

As fast as he could run, the sandworm was gaining on him once it dove back underground.  He had to be close to the exit for sure.

“Formation Four: Flurry!” Cyan said, moving into his following sword technique.  He darted in a blur, conjuring afterimages of himself to distract the worm as it burst above once more.  Each afterimage cut into the creature until it was distracted enough for Cyan to escape.

He bought himself enough time to see a town in the distance.  “An exit!” he exclaimed in relief.  The haze of the sun’s rays cleared once he reached the end of the desert back to solid ground.  The worm abandoned its chase and burrowed back into the sands, leaving Cyan alone to nurse his body.

Once he extracted every last needle he could find, Cyan collapsed from the shock, lying on his side.  “I would certainly hope the people of the town ahead hath not traversed this desert,” he said through labored breaths.

He downed another potion before he was back on his feet.  The trek across the desert left his mouth dry, despite the potion healing the holes the needles had caused.  Cyan hoped that the desert heat had not left him delirious and that the town ahead was not a mirage, except it wasn’t on closer inspection. Rather, the location itself was something he recognized immediately by the set of stairs along the entrance.

“Maranda?  But how could this be?” he wondered.  Maranda should have been located on a different continent altogether.  It was once a great haven for visitors to marvel at the beautitious architecture until the Empire invaded.  Had the world been rearranged this much?

More importantly, have the citizens of Maranda also been affected by the strange magical energy?  Have these people not suffered enough? 

That last question fed into Cyan’s consciousness.  The suffering and death of his people and his family.  The suffering of the cities along the southern continent as Gestahl’s imperial generals laid siege.  The suffering of the world at the hands of Kefka.  Cyan’s heart ached.

Maranda overlooked the edge of the landmass.  Nothing but ocean could be seen for miles beyond the city limits.  He found another town, praying that someone familiar had made their way here too.

There was no love for the Empire when Cyan entered the city. Despite their withdrawal, signs and graffiti decorated the walls with various phrases, displaying how much hatred the citizens still had for Imperial soldiers.  One sign posted near the front caught Cyan’s attention the most, which only made his heart sink even more at the depressing sight.

“Abandon Hope.”

An elderly gentleman offered a drink of water to a man seated by a pile of boxes, his head hunched forward to hide behind his knees.  The man’s face was drained of life even though he was still alive, catatonic to the world.  Cyan wanted to bless his luck, yet he could not forget the initial chaos when the storm tore the airship apart.

The catatonic man did drink from the cup the elder offered, which was poured in his stead.  The elder then patted the poor man on the head before gasping at the sight of Cyan approaching him.

“Wh-who are you?!” the elder shouted, backing away.  Cyan stopped himself.  “I intend no harm unto thee, good sir.  Whilst thou welcome a fellow into thy haven?”

The elder arched an eyebrow.  “You’ve a strange manner of speech.  You do not hail from this continent?” he said.  Cyan bowed formally, hand to his heart.

“I am Cyan, former retainer to the kingdom of Doma,” he said, introducing himself.  The elder’s face softened, only to reach out to him with his hand.

“Doma?  A Doman arrives?  I see.  That would explain your eloquence, sir knight,” he said.  Cyan took the man’s hand in good faith.  “News doth travel o’er ocean and sky, friend.  I and one other hath survived the Imperial menace, though naught could be said of the kingdom, nor my fellow countryman’s whereabouts after we fled.” Cyan quickly changed the subject.  “How hast thou fared these last few days, friend?”

“Enough to wish another Imperial occupancy compared to the horrors we’ve seen, sir knight,” the elder said.  He nodded to the man by the boxes.  “He is one of many left traumatized by the calamity’s effects.”

“My apologies,” Cyan said.  The elder led him across another set of stairs to show Cyan what had become of Maranda.  “Quite a few have not recovered, as devoid of life as that poor fellow.  Some deny what happened, while others gather around the town square to pray for a miracle, as though they angered the gods.  The madman who dared declare himself God since the destruction eased has not made things any simpler for us.”

Cyan’s face hardened.  “Kefka.”

The elder’s eyes immediately darted to him, nearly covering his mouth.  “Please, do not say his name!  I fear it only invites misfortune, now.”

Cyan eased the elder’s hand back down.  “Surely thou doth realize what he did to the world?”  His words were only met with a hasty nod and a sigh from the elder.

“Yes, yes, I know what he’s done.  He was proud of it too,” the elder said.  “He wasted no time declaring himself as such, using his newfound power to subjugate us by unleashing a light of sorts.  I know not where he sent it, only that I feared whatever it hit may have eradicated it.”

He motioned to the praying citizens.  “They’ve been calling it the Light of Judgment.  A fitting name if you ask me.”

Cyan could not help but regard the faithful with sorrow, closing his eyes.  “Do you perchance believe such scribblings on the front?  ‘Abandon Hope?’” he asked the elder, who only grunted, waving him off.

“Rubbish left by those who left not long after the Light of Judgment,” the elder said.  “They left that sign to revere him as their new God, declaring to us they intend to spread the word of his new glory in chaos. Then, they took all the boats to traverse the ocean, not to be seen since.”

“Misguided fools,” Cyan said in a huff. Then, amid the activity in the town square, there was a house along the upper east side where a woman of fair complexion and sandy blonde hair exited, wearing a flowing light blue dress.  She tended to her planter box hung from the window sill of her house, only to remove several dead flowers.   A few white birds were perched along a pole, preening their feathers.  The woman approached each one, inspecting their pouches, only to pet them afterward before going back inside her house.

“Lola,” the elder said.  “If anyone in Maranda personified those who had not lost hope, she would be them.  She yearns to hear back from her beloved in Mobliz, but each day a carrier pigeon returns empty-handed.”

Cyan stayed with the elder, watching the people pray.  He was tempted to join them, offering prayers of his own.  Yet all he could think of praying for was forgiveness from Elaine, Owain, his excellency, and the people of Doma.  Even the fellow Doman soldier he left behind when rage filled his heart at the sight of his slain family.

The elder produced a pipe and a small box of tobacco from his pockets.  After lighting his pipe, he puffed away slowly.  “The only thing I hate the most about all of this is how quiet the air has become.  The air always brought pleasant songs sung by the birds other than the carrier pigeons.  If often also told us when new Imperial soldiers would relieve the platoon that occupied the city.  It’s been too quiet since the world broke.”  He then extinguished his pipe, tapping out the burnt tobacco.  “If I could offer a prayer, it’d be for music to fill the air once more.”

Cyan nodded quietly.  The elder suddenly broke into a smile.  “Perhaps I don’t need to.  Excuse me,” he said, strolling towards Lola’s house. 

The elder called in through the window.  “Lola, dear, would you be so kind as to play one of your records from your player?” he asked.

The woman emerged from inside, poking her head out.  “Which one?  I have several,” she told him.  “It matters not.  I could use some pleasant music to lift the spirits of these people,” the elder replied.

“I’ll find something for you,” she said with a giggle, only to spot Cyan behind the elder.  “Oh!  Hello there.” She exited her house once more to introduce herself with a curtsy.  “I’m Lola.  I was not expecting visitors.  Not since, well, you know.”

“Still nothing from your boyfriend, Lola?” the elder asked.  Lola forced a smile, though Cyan could tell it was teeming with a sense of urgency.  “Not today.  I’m just about finished another letter, though.”

“Still a bright shining star in a dreadful black starless sky, dear Lola,” said the elder, patting her hand.  “I must retire to my residence.  Pardon my asking, Cyan, but might I inquire whether you intend to stay here for a while?”

“Thou needst not worry about a hasty repose, Sir Elder,” Cyan said.  “If I could offer aid, thou art welcome to it.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Lola cried, clasping her hands together.  “Maranda could use some sprucing up.  The quakes did a number on some of the buildings back there if you’d like me to show you.  An extra pair of hands is always welcome to help rebuild.”

She offered her hand.  “Here, let me bring your things inside.  You must be eager to lighten your load.”  Her eyes lit up when she saw something protrude from the back of Cyan’s rear.  “Oh, dear.  Pardon me.”

She quickly reached around before Cyan could gauge what she was up to and let out a yelp when Lola pulled out one of the needles that was still stuck to him.  “Cactuar needle,” she told him.

“Cactuar?” Cyan said.

“The creatures of the southwestern desert.  I guess since you’re new here, you must have traveled across there?” Lola inquired, tossing the needle aside.  Cyan only nodded, rubbing his posterior.  “The quakes unearthed a desert, awakening all manner of nastiness. So a few of us ventured out to discover how bad the world had become, only to come back covered in needles.”

“Dear me,” Cyan said.  He stared at the needle.  “Thou must have been fortunate to survive such an excursion.”

“Oh, I didn’t go, if you were wondering.  But I did help nurse the men back to health when they returned.  The news has not been good since.  Each attempt to regrow our vegetation has met with failure.  Something in the air and the soil has tainted the crops, preventing them from sprouting.  Not even flowers will bloom anymore, and those that were planted before wilted and died.  Each day I visit this planter to remove what has withered.”

Despite the grim tone, Lola still surprised Cyan with a smile.  “Come, the buildings are this way.”

She led him to a row of houses and shops that crumbled to the ground. A group of citizens was hard at work casting aside loose planks of wood, broken off bricks, and shards of glass, among other items.  Cyan glanced between the group and Lola, nodding.  “Allow me,” he offered to one of them, helping them haul a large plank of wood.  While surprised to see a new face, they immediately welcomed him into the group to aid them.

Cyan busied himself for the next few months aiding the clean-up efforts to rebuild Maranda as much as possible. In addition, they salvaged any materials still useful for the rebuild. 

The elder secured a room for Cyan in his house, allowing him use of the spare room.  The dwindling food supply proved challenging to find a new mouth to feed, yet they could still scrounge together enough to go by.  Cyan knew, however, that rationing everything was essential and that the people should not overwork themselves if needed.

He even began dressing like the townspeople, integrating himself among them.  A simple loose shirt with breeches, Cyan had every bit the look of simple countryfolk rather than a battle-hardened knight.  His warrior’s garb was left neatly hung in the closet of his room, along with a change of clothes the townspeople provided.

Each day, Lola’s routine had not changed.  She attached a letter to the carrier pigeon and sent it off, only for the bird to return some time later with an empty pouch.  Someone in Mobliz must be receiving the letters, yet no reply had been attached.  Still, Lola’s face remained stoic.

One day, Cyan knocked on Lola’s door.  “Good morning, Cyan,” Lola said as she opened the door.  “Did you sleep well?”

“Thou hast quite the habit of asking, Miss Lola,” Cyan said with a grin.  “I do, yes.  And you?”

“Same,” she replied.  “What can I do for you?”

“I hath an odd request if thou wouldst lend me your time?” he asked.  He realized the phrasing of his request unintentionally colored Lola’s cheeks.  “Oh!  Pardon!  My words doth confuse thee!”

“No!” Lola cried.  “I’m sorry for reacting like that.  What would you like?”

“I hath a friend in Zozo I wish to send a letter to via carrier pigeon.  May I perchance borrow your writing implements?”
“Certainly.  Be my guest,” Lola told him, opening the door for Cyan to step through.  He could see that the interior had been kept tidy and presentable to guests.  The bookcase by Lola’s writing desk was decorated with small paper flowers that Lola crafted, hung along the border.  A record player sat on top of a small shelf in the corner between the sofa and bookcase, where records were stored and organized in alphabetical order.  Lola then retrieved a few blank sheets of paper along with a bottle of ink to set them on the desk for Cyan.  She laid the open bottle beside a delicately plumed quill at the ready in its placeholder.  Cyan could see several pages had been balled up and crumpled on the side in a waste bin, likely discarded attempts at letters Lola felt weren’t strong enough to convey how she felt for her beloved.

“I’ll make a stop at the bakery if you’d like anything,” she told him.  “Take all the time you need to write your letter, Mr. Cyan.”

“I thank thee,” Cyan said with a short bow. Then, sitting at the desk, he dipped the quill’s tip in the ink bottle.  He took a moment to decipher what he wanted to write Paul, choosing his words carefully.

Sir Paul,

I am well.  Art thou well?  I regret not writing sooner to inform thee.

Cyan frowned at the sight of the page and breathed a sigh.  “Elaine was always the better script,” he mumbled to himself.  He continued.

I hath found residence in the city of Maranda to the south of Jidoor.  The world hath reshaped much of the land, rearranging the continent, it would seem.

I know not of what befell Jidoor, yet my visit there was met with a most unpleasant foulness that hath e’er bewitched the populace.  I was regarded a threat and left not long after I hath arrived.  Something is amiss there.  I only hope that should you venture there, that you do it discreetly.

All manner of beasts migrates the wasteland, now. However, should you decide to venture south, avoid the desert.  Nearly half a dozen of our fellow city dwellers were slain by the Cactuar and Sandworm menace that plagues the area.

There hath been no word or sign of my companions since I took residence.  I know not whether they still live or not. Therefore, I hath all but abandoned my search.  Instead, my efforts hath redirected itself to aid in the rebuilding of Maranda.

Should this letter find you, Sir Paul, I ask that you do no send a reply. Instead, keep the carrier pigeon if you so choose.

I hath entertained the idea of teaching these young citizens the art of the blade once reconstruction hath completed.  I endeavor to impart a piece of Doman legacy to reignite what hope remaineth in them.

Cyan

Folding the letter carefully, he sealed it with wax, using the crest of Maranda - a pair of Lilies.  He could see how often Lola coveted lilies by how the paper flowers were shaped. Then, remembering when he saw Paul’s arrangement of silk flowers, he laughed at himself at the notion he forgot to request a bouquet.

Taking the sealed letter, he secured it in the pouch of one of the pigeons and brought the bird to his mouth.  “Find a man named Sir Paul in Zozo’s mountains.  There will be an opening to his residence along the back.  Fly well, my friend.”

Releasing the pigeon, it flapped its wings.  Watching it leave Maranda reminded Cyan long ago of traveling the skies in Setzer’s airship.  How was the man faring after losing his vessel?  How were the others?  Was there any chance he’d ever see them again after so long?

“Are you okay?” said Lola from behind.  Cyan composed himself, turning to face her.  “I am well, Miss Lola.”

“I hope your letter finds its recipient,” she said, staring at the sky.  The pigeon was long gone now, leaving the pair staring in its direction before Lola presented a loaf of bread in her hands.  “Freshly baked, Mr. Cyan.”

She split the loaf in half, handing one to him.  As they ate, they could hear a commotion coming from downtown.  “That’s odd,” Cyan said.

“I just came from there,” Lola said, worried.

Lola joined Cyan as they ran to the source of the commotion.  The baker was in the middle of chasing someone, a child from the looks of it.  Cyan watched the event unfold, only to see who it was the baker was chasing.  “Could it be…?” he asked himself.

The child climbed up several boxes to hang off the awning above the front door, a freshly baked roll in his mouth.  He continued climbing until he was leering at the baker from the second floor, staring at him while tearing into the bread.

“Get down!” the baker shouted.   “Don’t make me go up there!”

“What’s going on?” Lola asked when the pair caught up to him.   “How did I not see that boy earlier?”

“Arrgh,” the baker growled, staring at the boy.  “No sooner did you leave, this dirty brat grabbed several of my rolls, knocking the rest to the ground!”

He went inside to retrieve a broom.  At least the floor above was not too high off the ground where the baker could not reach.  He readied the broom, staring at the boy.

“Get down from there, you brat!” the baker shouted, swinging at him with the bristled end.  The boy danced to the side to avoid it, blinking back.  He continued to eat the roll until he was done, digging into a second one he had grabbed.  “Those aren’t for you!” the baker continued shouting.  He tried in vain to hit the boy but to no avail.

“Simmer down, sir!” Cyan shouted, grabbing the broom handle to halt the baker’s movement.  “A hungry child is no incentive to cause harm.”

“It’s okay,” Lola said, handing a few gil to the baker.  “I’ll buy the rest on his behalf.”

“Wouldst thou allow me to coax the boy down from on high?” he asked.  The rotund man sighed in a huff, winded from swinging the broom so much.  “Do what you need to do, Cyan.  Had we the means, I’d have the boy locked up for theft.”

Cyan’s mouth tightened, but recognizing the boy did soften his face.  “Sir Gau!  You needn’t remain where none can reach!  Come, no one shall harm thee!”

The boy named Gau jumped skillfully from the roof to land on all fours, roll still in his mouth.  He eyed Cyan cautiously.  Taking the bun out from his mouth, he stayed low, still squatted as if ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.  “Mr. Thou…?”

“Aye.  Well met, Sir Gau.  There is much relief in my heart to see you alive!”

Cyan could not avoid the joy on his face, blinking back tears.  Gau ate the rest of the roll, staring daggers at the baker.  “You bad man!  You try hurt Gau!” he shouted, growling at him.

“At ease, Sir Gau,” Cyan said with calming motions.  He turned to Lola.  “Perhaps some space is needed to assuage the situation and alleviate tension among the citizens.  The sight of Gau might unnerve them.”

“I understand.  It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gau,” she said, waving at Gau.  The boy tilted his head to the side, curious.  “Who pretty lady, Mr. Thou?” he asked.

“This is Lola, one of this town’s residents,” he explained.  “She has graciously offered to purchase more food for you.  Come, thou must have much to regale.”

Lola couldn’t help but blush at being called a “pretty lady.”  She gave the pair a curtsy and returned to her house to check on the pigeons, only to be met with empty pouches yet again.

“Uwaoo…tasty bread…,” Gau mumbled as he ate more of the rolls.  Cyan marveled at how much the boy stuffed his face before finishing half of the loaf Lola gave him.  They both ate quietly before Gau began crawling around the town square, eyes searching everywhere.

“Hast thou come across our friends along thy travels, Sir Gau?” Cyan asked.  His mind pleaded that Gau must have at least encountered someone he knew.  “Sir Sabin, perhaps…?”

“Gau not find anyone.  Only find Mr. Thou,” the boy said.  To say he looked well was an understatement.  The calamity must have roughed him up even more by the looks of his tattered hides and dirt-clogged skin and scalp.  “Gau miss Mr. Muscle.”

Even though he knew them both, Mr. Muscle had been Gau’s way of saying Sabin without usually calling him by name.  Cyan adjusted to the pseudonym for Gau’s sake, despite how vexed it made Sabin. 

“I suppose not,” Cyan said, his face sinking.  “Thou art the first face I hath seen in months.”

“Gau feel same way,” the boy said.  “Gau happy see Cyan alive.”

“Wherefore dost thou hail, Sir Gau?  How did you find your way here?” Cyan asked.  Gau’s eyes searched, likely trying to find an answer.  “Gau…forget….”

Cyan chuckled.  “‘Tis alright.”

Discovering Gau still alive was the most welcomed sight Cyan had seen since the calamity.  That surely meant the others must be alive somewhere, only he couldn’t say for sure how long it would take to find them.   Maybe this was a sign that now was the time to venture out and search for the others?

The houses and shops had eventually been rebuilt to something closely resembling what they used to look like.  It wasn’t much, but at least people had homes they could go back to.  Machines were still working, producing clean water to drink from the ocean.  Cyan continued avoiding such contraptions until the elder gave him some literature that Cyan kept on his person to read at night.  It gradually began ebbing away his aversion to machines overall.

He felt compelled to inform Lola that his chance meeting with Gau was a sign that he’d have to leave Maranda to begin searching for his friends again. However, it wasn’t until he reached the door to her house that he could hear her sobbing inside.  Rather than knock, he laid his hand on the door.

Gau approached from behind, only to be halted by Cyan, who shook his head.  Leaving the door, he led Gau back to his room at the elder’s house.  “I hath unintentionally aggrieved the woman with our reunion.  She yearns for the love of her life to return from Mobliz, yet not a single message arrived in response to what she hath written.”

“Gau not like see people sad,” Gau said, looking back at Lola’s house.  “Gau want see petty lady happy.”

“I know thou wishes of it, Sir Gau,” Cyan said.  His face sank once more.  “I hath such yearning, myself.”

He knew not what came over him when those words left his mouth.  The sounds of grief from a woman dedicating so much of her time to share her happiness with the people of Maranda lit a fire in his heart and mind.  As strong as his desire to find his friends, he could not bear the thought of this woman writing day after day, receiving no reply.  Something had to be done.

“Mr. Thou?” Gau asked, tugging at Cyan’s trousers.  “Cyan…okay…?”

“Hm?  Quite fine, Sir Gau.  Quite fine,” said Cyan immediately.  “The time has come for us to journey onward.”

He wasn’t too sure of the details of the plan he began forming in his head, but something told him it needed to involve Paul in some way.  For that, he’d have to return to Zozo, albeit reluctantly.

Cyan offered his bed for Gau to sleep on later that night, only for the boy to nestle himself on the floor instead.  He had been so used to sleeping on the ground at the Veldt that the concept of a comfortable mattress was as much an enigma as machines were to Cyan.

While sitting at the head of the bed, pondering over his plan, he heard a knock on the door.  Gau immediately sat up and hissed at the door.  “Simmer down, Sir Gau.  Enter!”

It was Lola, dressed modestly in a shawl draped around her shoulders.  Candle in hand, she laid it at the small end table by the door.  “I hope I did not wake you, Mr. Cyan,” she said bashfully, casting a cautious eye at Gau, who was still rattled by her presence.

“I brought some dried meat for the both of you.  I’ve been preserving it in the pantry to share with my beloved once he returned from Mobliz.  I don’t think he’d mind if I shared it with you, instead.”

“I thank thee,” Cyan said.  The sight of dried meat brought him back to his first encounter with Gau on the Veldt with Sabin.  When she gave each a portion, she sat at the foot of the bed, eyes downcast.  “I probably shouldn’t keep you too long,” she said.

“Thou need not concern one’s self with the length of stay, Miss Lola,” Cyan said.  “Allow Sir Gau and I to entertain thee for a while.”

“Thanks,” Lola said, glancing to her side.  Cyan could tell how often she avoided looking at him to spare the look of pain in her eyes from earlier.  “I’m sorry,” she added.

“For what?” Cyan asked.

“I’m kind of embarrassed to say, actually,” Lola said, brushing her hair away from her face.  “But all I can say is that it’s good that you were able to find one of your companions, even though he does come across as rather eccentric,” she said, eyeing Gau.  The boy lifted himself on his hands and began walking across the room, surprising her.  “Goodness!  You’re quite acrobatic!”

“Gau special walk!” Gau shouted, though he eventually lost control and sped along the floor until he crashed into the wall.  Lola and Cyan both gasped in response before she rushed to him.  “Oh my gosh, are you okay?”

Gau flipped back on all fours, shaking it off.  “Gau okay!  Gau not good at special walk yet!”

Lola giggled as Gau went back to walk on his hands, only this time he looked more stable.  Gau then tumbled and rolled around the room before he finally settled back in his spot to curl up on the floor.  Lola sat back on the bed, clapping at Gau’s acrobatics until he tired himself out.

“How did you come across Gau, Mr. Cyan?” Lola asked once Gau was fast asleep.  Cyan lowered his eyes.  He often spoke of Doma but was careful to avoid divulging much of the fate that befell his wife and son.  As much as Lola awaited word of her boyfriend, he felt it would be selfish on his part to share his grief so as not to worry her so much about his well-being.  At least until tonight.  He knew he was going to leave with Gau first thing tomorrow morning.

He began retelling her the version of events regarding Doma and what happened, making sure to include the deaths of Elaine and Owain this time.  “I apologize if I hath cast aside certain details.”

“I understand.  I’m sorry for your loss,” Lola said, giving Cyan’s hand a gentle squeeze.  “It’d be selfish of me to hope for my beloved’s survival, knowing that you must still mourn yours.”

“I do not mind, Miss Lola.  Wouldst thou permit me to lend an ear to your tale?  A story of youth at the height of love?” Cyan inquired.  He was thinking himself crazy for asking this, but the more he knew about this gentleman Lola had given her heart to, the more authentic it would be for his plan to come to fruition.

“Oh.  Well, there’s not much to tell, really.  He and I grew up together in Maranda before he was conscripted to serve in the Empire.  He was always shy, but I could tell by how he looked at me that he would do whatever he could to make me happy.  He had the heart of a poet, a certain way with words that makes my heart skip a beat.  Gosh, I remember the night before he left, we traveled to the Opera House to watch ‘Maria and Draco.’”

She continued telling Cyan everything she could remember of him before she had to stop herself once her voice began to shake.  “Please, you need not speak further if it pains thee,” Cyan said, halting her with a hand.

“I’m sorry.  Each day adds to the ache in my heart when I can’t see his face.  Seems we both have that problem, don’t we?” she said with a sad chuckle.  She rose from the bed.  “I should return home before the candle burns out.”

“Before you depart, there is something you must be privy to, Miss Lola,” Cyan said as he rose to his feet.  “Sir Gau and I intend to leave Maranda to search for our friends in the morning.”

Lola paused.  “Oh.”

He took a seat on the windowsill, overlooking Maranda.  The room the elder allocated to him on the second floor of his house gave him a breathtaking view of the town that he often found himself sitting on the sill to observe.  “Thou hast welcomed me openly.  The company of good people hath ebbed my desire to search for my traveling companions these last few months.  It was only the chance meeting with Sir Gau here that hath likely renewed that desire.”

Lola took careful consideration of those words once Cyan approached her.  As he laid his hands on her shoulders, she wrapped her arms around him.  “I understand.  It’ll be sad to see you go,” she said against his chest.

“It will sadden me too, Miss Lola, but I shan’t forget thee, nor the people of Maranda,” Cyan replied.  Lola quickly separated herself, taking the still-burning candle that wore itself down to a sliver on its holder.  “We’ll pray for your safety while you search for them,” she told him, giving him a curtsy before leaving the room.

One last night spent in Maranda was still met with a blemished sky that hid the moon from view.  Nights used to be beautiful, showing the stars in a clear sky.  Now it was anything but. Darkness would sweep in waves across the sky, moving as if water was rushing down a river.  Cyan retrieved the piece of Magicite from his bag and placed it on the end table beside his bed.  It continued giving off a mysterious green glow whenever he looked at it, but at least it was a source of light in the unnatural darkness.

As Cyan drifted to sleep, he could hear whispers in the air.  The more his eyes fluttered shut, the more frequent the voices whispered.  “Come home, my love,” they would say.

“Come home, Cyan.”

“Elaine?  Is it really you?” Cyan asked.  He looked everywhere for Elaine, only to have a finger tap him from behind on the shoulder.  He spun to face the woman who gave him her heart, her soul, her very being.  The mother of his son, Owain.

“Elaine…!”

“Come home, my love,” she told him again.  Never had such a fairer maiden been more lovely than before Cyan in this very moment.  Each intricate feature of her delicate face was etched in memory, yet Cyan’s hands still shook as he reached to touch her.  “Oh, Elaine,” he said, caressing her face.  “How I’ve missed thee!”

“Owain waits for us, my darling,” Elaine said, taking his hands to lead him.  “He waits for us back home.  Our excellency will be most pleased to see you alive and well after driving the Imperial troops back.  They shan’t be invading Doma any longer.”

“Yes,” Cyan said.  “I did fell their Commander, did I not?”

“I await thy arms at my side, beloved.  I await your embrace.”

“Elaine….”

He pulled her in.  His coarse and rough hands welcomed the touch of such delicate locks as he glided them down her hair.  Her warmth and comfort eased the pain he had not been able to cast aside.  She was in his arms again.

“Let us take a shortcut,” Elaine said.  Cyan thought this odd, pointing ahead.  “A shortcut?  The castle is naught but a short stroll.  No shortcut is needed.”

Elaine continued pulling at his arm, beckoning him to follow.  “Not if our shortcut takes us through the forest.  Do you remember many walks through the trees, my love?”

Cyan laced his fingers through Elaine’s.  “Aye, that I have.  I could name every tree studied from nature books when I was a lad.  Should we not take Owain?”

“There is no need.  Owain waits for us there,” Elaine told him.  Her smile was contagious. Her eyes were gorgeous.  Cyan could ask for no other.  Yet how could Owain be in the forest when he was waiting for them back home?  Each time Cyan had a questioning look in his eyes, Elaine would silence him with hers.  He wanted to stop and hold her again.  Forget the forest and castle for now.  He yearned to hold Elaine in his arms until the end of time.

Elaine ran, leading Cyan onward.  Everything was as he remembered.  Grass, trees, skies as blue as the cerulean in her eyes.  It was beautiful.

The forest ahead had a layer of mist that Cyan and Elaine swept aside as they entered.  Something felt off about the way the trees looked, darker than they should have been.  Elaine continued leading Cyan until they reached a clear crystal lake, where it was said that the water contained healing properties to those who drank it.  Elaine pulled Cyan down with her until she cradled his head upon her lap.  Untying the silk cord around his hair, she fluffed his black mane and ran her fingers through it.  “My beautiful knight,” she whispered.

Cyan cherished the moment.  His wife’s fingers glided through his smooth locks until they caressed his face.  Yet, there was still something odd that he couldn’t ignore.  “Hast thou seen Owain?  Was he not to be among us?”

“Dad!” came his son’s shout as he ran into view as if responding to Cyan’s call.  Cyan quickly sat up.  “Son….”

Owain ran and tackled Cyan to the ground, laughing.  Cyan sighed happily, one arm wrapped around the boy.  “Owain,” he whispered through near sobs.  He was with his family, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that some time had passed since he last saw them even though he had only left the castle recently to engage the Empire’s troops.

“Dad, look what I can do!” said Owain as he was back on his feet.  In his hand, he had a practice wooden katana.  He planted his feet on the ground and took up a fighting stance that Cyan remembered teaching him.  “Formation One: Fang!” Owain shouted and lunged forward with a downward slash that was true to form.  Elaine clapped.  “Fantastic, Owain! You did that perfectly!” she cried.

“I mastered your first sword technique, Dad!” Owain said as he rushed back to him.  Cyan ruffled the boy’s hair.  “I applaud your skill, son.  You hath done well to master the first of many, true to my lineage.  You will carry on our legacy without fail.”

Cyan embraced his wife and son, closing his eyes.  Something was still amiss about the whole situation, however.  It was apparent once he opened his eyes that neither Elaine nor Owain were there.  “Elaine?  Owain?” Cyan said, feeling around yet touching nothing but the cold air.  It had become colder now as the mist along the ground spilled from the thicket of trees to reach him.

“Where art thou?!” Cyan shouted, cupping his hands to his mouth.  “Elaine!  Owain!”

“Come home, Cyan,” Elaine said, but Cyan could not see where she was speaking from.  It sounded as if it came from all directions.  “Dad! We’re waiting for you!” Owain said.  Once again, Cyan could not find the source of the voices.

“Elaine! Owain!  Please, show thyselves!” Cyan cried, panic in his voice.  “Don’t leave me again!”

Those words echoed in his mind.  He had said something to that effect before.  “Don’t leave!” Cyan’s voice echoed back to him.

The fog was building up and rising, surrounding him.  Cyan swept the mist away with his hands, only to reveal specters in ragged hooded sheets with hollowed eyes staring back at him.

“Come home, Cyan,” the specter whispered to him before vanishing.

“Who art thou?!  What hath been wrought of Elaine and Owain?!” Cyan bellowed.  He reached for his katana, but there was nothing at his side.  No weapon to defend himself.

“They’re home, Cyan.  Come and join them,” said another voice, only this time it was deeper and more threatening, coming at Cyan like a loud thunderclap.  Cyan’s face twisted in agony and rage, searching with urgency.  “Elaine! Owain!  If my voice reacheth thee, respond!”

The mist cleared, swept away in one strong gust, revealing a set of train tracks framed by an array of trees that stretched as far as he could see.  Cyan sprinted forward, yet as far as he ran, the scenery hadn’t changed.

“Show thyself, fiend!  Return them to me!” Cyan cried before stopping.

“I told you, they’re waiting for you.  Come home, Cyan,” said the booming voice, only it came from behind. Then, after a moment of disturbing silence, other noises began to reach his ears.  Once Cyan focused his hearing, he detected the sounds of a train moving fast along the tracks.   Something was closing in, but from which direction?  Cyan did not want to stay long enough to find out and attempted to leap off the tracks, yet each side showed no actual ground to land on. Instead, blackened voids stretched eternally in the abyss, leaving Cyan trapped on the tracks, watching the oncoming Phantom train barrel its way towards him.

“Your family awaits you!” the voice howled as though coming from the train itself.  “Come join them…IN HELL!”

Cyan could do nothing but stare at the oncoming locomotive, petrified with fear.  The train’s whistle screeched the blood-curdling cry of thousands of departed souls as it rushed the tracks towards him…

He sat upright on the bed, lungs pleading for oxygen.  A cold sweat matted the hair to his face, forcing him to hold his chest.  He could almost hear his heart beat furiously against his ribcage.  The sudden movement had not stirred Gau from his sleep, thankfully.

Tapping his body, Cyan reassured himself that he was whole and awake. Yet, the fear that this may be the first of many horrific dreams gnawed away at his mind.

While wiping the sweat off his face and scalp with the blanket, Cyan lay back down on the pillow.  He drifted back to sleep, praying he’d never have to encounter that infernal machination of terror.

After gathering all of his belongings in his bag the following morning, Cyan and Gau were ready to depart, but not without the people of Maranda to see them on their way.  He was back in his warrior’s garb, looking every bit the man he was when he first arrived.

“Take these with you,” the elder said, handing two full containers of water to Cyan.  “Travel safely.”

“I thank thee, Sir Elder,” Cyan told him, graciously accepting the gifts with a bow.  He was able to conceal last night’s terrifying experience from the people.  Of that, he was glad.  To have his face betray him at the wrong moment when he was ready to leave would have left them more worried about his safety than hopeful.  He assured himself that the nightmare was only an isolated incident and often dismissed stressful experiences as “water under the bridge.”

Lola attached one of her paper flowers to his lapel, patting it.  “For luck,” she told him.  Cyan expressed his gratitude yet was intrigued by watching her attach another paper flower to Gau’s hair, using a few strands to secure it.  Gau regarded the object with an eagerness to dislodge it.

“I hope you find them, Cyan,” Lola said.  “Don’t let your wait last as long as mine.”

“Sir Gau and I can attest to our desire for finding them.  We shan’t need a lengthy repose in our search.  We intend to see this to the end and deliver justice unto the world.”

Cyan gave a deep bow to the Marandans and led Gau outside.  Gau gave one last glance at Lola before the pair were beyond their sights.  One last thing Cyan did was unsheathe his katana to slice that reprehensible “Abandon Hope” sign in half, leaving only the word “Hope” in its stead.

As they approached the desert, Cyan halted Gau.  “Sir Gau, as a precaution, it would be in our best interest to navigate a lengthier path to avoid the dangers that befell travelers in the past.”

“Gau agree.  Gau sense many strong monster in desert,” Gau noted.  “Gau want more training in Veldt.  Gau go train in Veldt, become stronger to fight bad magic man.”

Cyan chuckled to himself, kneeling to ruffle the boy’s head.  “Thou surely speaketh truth, Sir Gau.  Come, let us hasten our pace to compensate for the long route.”

Breaking to the left, they circled the desert, watching mounds of sandworms crawl and burrow their way underneath the sand.  Gau continued to fumble with the paper flower in his hair, grunting that it kept pulling as he tried to dislodge it.

“Gau like pretty lady, but pretty lady put flower in hair Gau not like,” the boy said, using his foot as if he were a dog scratching his ear with his hind leg.  Cyan examined the paper flower on his lapel and soothed the boy’s motions.  “Allow me.”

After detaching the flower from his hair, Cyan placed it in his bag, careful to preserve the quality of Lola’s craftsmanship.

The trek along the border to the desert took up most of the day rather than when it would have taken them to travel straight through.  Cyan wanted no part of the Cactuar and sandworm threats, assured that Gau would’ve expressed the same aversion.  Setting camp for the night, Cyan shared some bread and dried meat with the boy before downing half of their water.  At least the long route had not left them begging for something to help them stay hydrated.  Seems the magical effect was isolated more to the desert than anywhere else.

The following day had the pair make their way to the Opera House.  He knelt to touch the ground, anticipating activity from the Earth Dragon, but it was still oddly quiet.  He decided to investigate further by knocking on the front door.

It creaked open a crack before Cyan could see one of the stagehands poke their face in the opening.  “Y-yes?”

“It is I,” Cyan said.  “Dost thou remember me from some time ago?”

The door opened, yet before Cyan could walk in with Gau, the stagehand’s head burst out, searching the area.  “That dragon hasn’t followed you, has it?”

“I daresay no sight of the foul beast hath been seen, good sir,” Cyan replied.  “Thou speaketh as though the beast left the premises.”

“I’ll let the Impresario fill you in.  I need to get back to work,” the stagehand hastily replied, ushering Cyan and Gau in before he slammed the door behind them.

“Uwaoo, Gau remember place with pretty song!” Gau exclaimed, hopping and bouncing around the lobby.  “Sir Gau!” Cyan shouted after him, which proved awkward now that stagehands and actors felt compelled to run away from him.

“Gah!  What is this child doing here?!” said the Impresario as Gau ran up to him on all fours.  “Gau remember face!  Face of man who show pretty song people!”

“Sir Gau!” Cyan shouted again, catching up to the boy.  “Do stand down and come back, would you?”

“Well, I never!” grumbled the Impresario, dusting his suit as if Gau tracked dirt all over it.  “First a dragon, now a filthy urchin?  What manner of rubbish do you intend to bring to my Opera next?!”

“Forgive the boy’s actions, Sir Impresario,” Cyan said, motioning Gau to move behind him.  “Hast thou seen the foul dragon amidst your environs?”

“It’s baffling, to say the least,” said the Impresario as he paced along the stairs.  “It comes and goes.  When we saw it leave after waking up, we were assured that it had returned to its nesting ground.  Yet not barely a month goes by when it comes back!  It covets the stage often as it lies there and slumbers until it leaves.  Four times, this dragon has stopped to occupy the stage since you left!  What good does it do us to give the people a stunning performance when that dragon leaves us in a state of panic?!”

Cyan lowered his eyes.  “Such a burden should naught be placed upon thy shoulders, Sir Impresario.  Yet, I am ill-equipped to slay such a dragon.”

“Gau help!  Gau help!” the boy said, jumping up and down.  Cyan could only shake his head.  “It is not within our skill, Sir Gau.  A dragon among the legendary eight require might beyond recognition to slay it for good.  I know of such people, and I shall return thusly with them in tow.”

Another stretch of the truth Cyan had forced from his mouth, leaving him angered with himself for doing this.  He made a vow to Lola.  It was a grim decision to abandon his search for the others in the hope that they would find him instead, whether they were still alive to do so or not.  “If this dragon hath only interest in your stage, good sir, without thyself regarded as its source of food, then thy fears may be assuaged.”

The Impresario grumbled.  “Fah!  Out of my sight, then!  If you can’t kill this beast, then no one can, and we’ll have no means to perform any longer!  We haven’t even a conductor to lead the orchestra!”

He spun, crossing his arms and turning his nose up at Cyan and Gau.  Cyan said nothing as he led Gau back outside.  “A knight’s word is his bond, Sir Impresario.  Might and justice will fell any foe.”

The moment the pair were outside, the doors slammed shut behind them.  Cyan sighed annoyingly.  “I hath wrought unfortunate misery upon these performers, Sir Gau.  Another burden I hath thrust upon myself.”

“Uwaoo….”

By the time nightfall came, Jidoor was further ahead.  The sensation of darkness was still in the air from what he could see of the town, yet it had not been as prominent as it used to be.  Something must have changed or reduced its influence, yet Cyan cared more about returning to Paul than he would about visiting such a place.  Gau spent most of the night staring out at the sea as the waves crashed against the shoreline.

“Uwaoo…,” he mumbled to himself again.  Cyan broke from assembling the fire to join the boy.  “Something troubles thee, Sir Gau?”

“Gau sense familiar monsters,” he said.  “Remember monster smell.”

“Are you certain?” Cyan asked, narrowing his sight to where Gau was staring.  Recognition finally hit the boy as he hooted and hollered, jumping up and down.  “Gau know!  Gau see Veldt!  Veldt that way!”

“Sir Gau!” Cyan said, halting the boy.  Gau looked ready to jump into the water and swim across to where he believed the Veldt was located.  “You intend to swim all the way?”

“Gau good swimmer!  Prove it before at strong river underwater!” Gau shouted, eyes full of eagerness with a smile to match.  Cyan shook his head with a chuckle.  “Aye, thou surely had done so.”

“Gau leave Cyan, return to Veldt!  Gau get stronger in Veldt!” he shouted.  Cyan could see that no manner of speech or coaxing would deter the youth from journeying back to familiar territory.  It was a decision Gau made with conviction and one Cyan needed to respect.

Gau took a few steps forward but stopped himself from diving into the water. Instead, he turned to glance at Cyan.  “Gau happy see Mr. Thou again!  Gau wait for friends to come to Veldt!”

“I am happy to see you too, son,” Cyan said.  After waving at the boy, he only realized that he let slip referring to Gau as one of his own offspring.  In some fashion, Gau reminded him much of Owain in the way the boy’s eyes shone with determination, innocence, compassion, and blossoming intelligence.

Once Gau had left, Cyan was alone again.  But not without a sense of purpose that he needed to fulfill once he returned to the mountains behind Zozo.  He remembered the shortcut back to the mountain path that led him to the back of Paul’s residence, climbing up footholds to lead him to the narrow trail.

He was glad to see that the landscape had not changed over the last few months since his departure. So much of what he remembered was still intact save for the back door that was slightly open when Cyan approached it.

“Sir Paul?” Cyan asked, knocking on the door.  No answer.  “Sir Paul, it’s Cyan, if thou hath still not forgotten?”

He opened it to peek inside.  No sign of Paul anywhere when Cyan stepped through.  “Wherefore art thou…?”

Laying his bag on the floor, Cyan examined the place for any sign of disturbance or trouble.  The carrier pigeon Cyan had sent was perched atop a makeshift pole, pecking away at a small bowl full of bird seeds.  It was clear that Paul still lived here if the pigeon had been sharing living arrangements, which left him to wonder where the scavenger had run off to.

Until the man returned, Cyan would have to make do with settling himself in. Then, taking his katana with him outside, he unsheathed it to begin practicing his swordwork, slashing horizontally and vertically until his arms were burning with soreness, screaming at him to sheathe it back in its hilt.

He spun around, nearly taking a swipe at Paul when the man jumped from the top of the cliff to the ground near the door.  “Ah!” Paul screamed, nearly finding himself decapitated.

Cyan stood, out of breath and sweating profusely from all the exercise he had done.  Paul needed a moment to compose himself before his eyes lit up with recognition.  “Cyan!  You’re back!”

Cyan returned the gesture with a breathy smile, sheathing his katana.  “Well met, Sir Paul!  I hath doubted your safety when I came across an empty dwelling.”

“You must’ve missed me on an errand,” Paul said.  He led Cyan back inside, setting his bag on the table.  “I can’t come in the front door anymore because all the doors in Zozo are rusted shut. So I’ve been gathering a few things to craft a solvent to take care of the rust so I can open them again.”

Paul emptied the bag full of bottles and canisters containing liquids and chemicals Cyan could not recognize.  “I could make a profit selling these to the creeps in Zozo if they ever want to go back inside to dry off.”

Cyan lifted one of the canisters and read the label, arching an eyebrow.  “I know nothing of these concoctions, Sir Paul, but I am troubled at the sight of the storm clouds above Zozo.  Hath the rain not ceased once since my departure?”

Paul shook his head.  “The storms won’t stop.  Magic played its hand at blanketing Zozo in an endless deluge.  Even the creeps are pleading for a break.   I almost feel sorry for them.”

“Thou hath received my letter in good faith?” Cyan asked, straight to the point.

“Ah yes,” Paul said, rummaging through his chest to retrieve the letter.  “I’ve been taking care of this little fella here since, but I haven’t the faintest clue why you’d want me to keep a carrier pigeon of all things.”

“Should you ever need aid, e’er trouble begot Zozo or its environs; the bird would speed your request to one who would be inclined to fly at your side,” Cyan said.

“Zozo is lost to the world, Cyan,” Paul said grimly.  “I abandoned hope for the town.  I spend most of my scavenging at Jidoor while avoiding Zozo as often as I can.  I give them something to help them survive, but even I’m at my limit.”

“Jidoor?” Cyan queried.  “Thou hath not been turned away?”

“I was compelled to investigate the strange phenomenon that you described in your letter, yet the town was as I remembered it.  No one looked at me differently or gave me the stink-eye.  I did see a considerable amount of artwork decorating the town, but other than that, nothing struck me as out of the ordinary.”

Cyan was astonished to hear Paul speak so casually of Jidoor.  “Curious.  Thou encountered no resistance, you say?”

“None.”

“Even more curious,” Cyan pondered, taking a seat on the sofa.  “I could still sense a foulness at play within.  I dared not investigate for fear of antagonizing the citizens.   Yet if thou art unblemished by the curse I still hold to be true, then either thou art immune or thou are not deemed a threat to what hath possessed the townspeople.”

Paul tightened his mouth.  Breathing a sigh, he pulled out more items from his bag, namely writing supplies.  “I know you wrote that you didn’t want me to reply, but I figure, why the hell not?  Gotta make sure you knew I was alive and well, too, you know?”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Sir Paul,” Cyan said warmly.  He retrieved one of the silk bouquets from the floor and did a once-over of its design.  “Hast thou any desire to court a young maiden with such creations?” he asked.

“Why?  You got a lady in mind?” Paul asked. 

Cyan shook his head.  “Nay.  I dare not cast aside the importance of what Elaine and Owain hath brought to this old fool.  In my stay at Maranda, I hath met a maiden aching for her beloved to return from Mobliz.  She writes, and writes, eager for a reply, yet none hath arrived.”

“Did you say Mobliz?” Paul asked, going pale. 

Cyan’s face hardened as he stood.  “What hath been wrought upon Mobliz, dare I ask?”

“Word reached Jidoor of Kefka’s power.  It did not take long for everyone to recognize him as a God who rules over the world with fear. So he used some sort of magical attack that fired a beam of energy.”

“The Light of Judgment,” Cyan said flatly.  His eyes narrowed as his hand tightened its grip on the silk bouquet.  “The people of Maranda hath witnessed a flash of light as Kefka declared himself.  They know not what intent he possessed.”

“Well, I do.  Mobliz was the first to go, sort of an example Kefka wanted to set for the world to acknowledge his magical might and revere the decay and misery that would erode the planet.  Who’s to say anyone survived the attack?” Paul said.  He took out a bottle of wine from his chest and pulled the cork to drink from it.  He then grimaced, spitting it back out.  “Ugh.  Terrific, the wine has gone and turned to vinegar on me.”

Even Cyan knew of odd occurrences involving food and drink at Maranda. For example, there were times when the fresh batch of bread the baker made had gone stale within minutes, mold growing along the bottom.  Some of the wine tasted like vinegar, dried meat went soggy with a slimy residue, and some of the produce began moving on its own, crawling along the floor like rats.  While most of the food and drink was still intact when Cyan and the Marandans ate, the phenomena that struck Maranda was now believed to be the world over if Cyan was to accept Paul’s explanation.

Paul left outside to toss the bottle over the cliff.  Cyan loosened his grip on the bouquet, bringing it to his face.  When Paul returned, he showed him the bouquet.  “May I request instruction on how to assemble these, Sir Paul?”

“You wanna learn how to make silk flowers?  Be my guest.  You want to send some of them to that girl in Maranda?” Paul offered.

“Aye, but not from me.  She waits still for his reply.  I shall do so, as the lad in question,” Cyan said, which surprised Paul.

“Seriously?  Why would you deceive her?  Would it not make more sense to correspond as yourself?  Surely the both of you have something in common you could share between each other?” Paul suggested, but Cyan shook his head.

“I hath come across many like myself who hath lost something vital to them, even before the calamity.  I shan’t allow Lola to share in that grief.  The world left us without hope.  If but a single person holdeth onto it, then hope shan’t be lost upon thee.”

“Alright.  You better know what you’re getting yourself into, Cyan.  I won’t stop you or anything,” Paul said.  “In any case, I’ll start showing you how to make one of those while I work on the rust solvent.”

“A noble gesture, Sir Paul.  I thank thee for your aid,” Cyan said.

“So, how long do you plan on maintaining this deception, if you don’t mind me asking?” Paul asked coyly once he took a few strips of pre-assembled colored silk ribbons.  Cyan wiped his face with his hand.  The more he thought about it, the more Paul’s words made sense.  What was he getting himself into, doing this?  What would Elaine and Owain think, watching him impersonating a dead lover to convince Lola he was still alive?  There was a foul taste in his mouth that reminded him of the tainted ale he once drank at the Marandan pub while entertaining guests with stories of fighting off a regiment of Imperial troops at Doma before Kefka poisoned the kingdom.  “I know not,” was all Cyan said.

Paul and Cyan worked in silence, with Cyan mimicking Paul’s craftsmanship.  Assembling the flowers wasn’t as tricky as Cyan had believed.  He managed to create a near-replica of Paul’s bouquet, which impressed the scavenger.

“You catch on quick,” Paul said.  He finished mixing liquids and placed a rusted key inside.  Both watched the rust melt off the key, restoring it to its former metallic sheen. Then, with a gloved hand, Paul retrieved the key and dried it off on a rag, examining it for any rust he might have missed.  “Works as good as I hoped.  I can get those doors open again,” he said, pocketing the restored key. 

Now that Cyan had assembled a silk bouquet on his own, he took a sheet of paper and opened a bottle of ink. Then, dipping the tip of a quill in the liquid, he paused before he began to write.

“Dear Lola,” Cyan dictated.  “Nay, it shan’t begin so simply.  Dearest Lola, I believe it should start with.”

“Can’t think of what to write?” Paul asked, watching over Cyan’s shoulder.  Cyan sighed, drumming his fingers on the table.  “Why not write to her as if you were writing to your wife?”

Cyan paused, glancing back at him.  “That it were true, Sir Paul, thought naught a single letter hath been written to Elaine.  My words convey’d were not by page, but by mouth when I dictated how my heart belonged to her.”

“Then write how you would speak,” said Paul, clapping him on the back.  “If this guy loves her as you loved your wife, then what you write needs to reflect that.”

“Aye.  How should one open such verbiage?” Cyan wondered.

“Well, since she hasn’t heard from him in a while, perhaps tell her right away that he is indeed alive and well.  I’m sure something will come up as you write, but I’d tone down the thees and thous if I were you.  If you were talking like that a lot while in Maranda, she might mistake him for you, and you’d not want that,” Paul explained.  Cyan frowned at the page.

“I read more often than I write,” Cyan said in a huff.  “Many passing bards would entertain Doma with songs of war and battle while occasionally singing a tune of lost love for the maidens.  ‘Away the hero goes’ was one of Elaine’s favorites.”

“Perhaps you should start thinking more like a bard and not a warrior,” Paul suggested with a smirk.  He retrieved his bag, heading to the back door.  “I’m going on a food run.  Hope nothing goes bad on me when I come back.”

Cyan nodded.  As he sat alone at the table, he thought over how to approach his letter to Lola.  Humming the melody of “Away goes the Hero,” he finally put pen to paper.  He wrote, piecing together every bit of information Lola provided about the boyfriend until he finished with the man’s name at the bottom.  Re-reading the letter, he breathed a sigh.  “Dear me, I hope this doth not arouse suspicion.”

He then folded and sealed the letter, tying one of the silk bouquets to it.  He brought the carrier pigeon out with him and placed the letter and bouquet in the pouch, closing the latch to secure it.  “Find Lola in Maranda, my friend,” Cyan whispered to the bird.  “May your flight be true and swift.”

Releasing the pigeon, it flew high in the air before leaving his sight.  All he could do now was wait for a reply from Lola, hoping that his words were convincing enough.

The pigeon returned with a letter in its pouch two days later while Cyan practiced his sword techniques. Finally, the moment of truth had arrived.  Opening the pouch, he pulled the sealed letter and brought both it and the bird back inside.  Tearing the seal off, he unfolded the letter nervously.

Dearest beloved,

Words cannot express what a breath of fresh air it was to see your letter arrive!

I feared the worst.  That due to the nature of your wounds, you had not made it. So I wrote day after day with a single wish that you would one day reply.

I’m sorry, I’m having trouble thinking about what to write.  Our friends must think I’ve gone delirious with emotion once I saw your letter.

Did you learn how to write in a different style?  Your writing reminds me of someone, yet I can’t put my finger on it.  Oh, listen to me second-guessing myself!  My heart is beating like crazy seeing your words before me once more!

I didn’t lose hope. That’s the important part. So I’ll wait for your following letter and the many more after that until you’re well enough to return to me, and Mobliz is up and running again.

Lola

P.S. – The silk flowers you made are beautiful.

Cyan gulped.  Now he’d done it, and there was no turning back.  The jig was almost up when she wrote how different the letter looked, but seeing the emotion conveyed through her writing brought a smile to his face.

The next few months had Cyan and Lola exchange letters back-and-forth.  Cyan took to the role of the soldier as accurately as he could, even convincing Lola that he must have met Cyan in passing if he started talking like him, in jest.

Paul’s presence had diminished over time, returning only to drop off what he had scavenged in Zozo and Jidoor. Then, one day, Paul stopped with a fresh stack of pages and bottles of ink, along with a book tucked under his arm.

“I stumbled upon this beauty while at the Auction house,” he said, handing Cyan the book.  Cyan’s eyes went wide at the title.  “Bushido in the bedroom?” Cyan asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I figured, why not?  You’re up here all by yourself writing letters to Lola.  This book should add some spice to your words, don’t you think?” said Paul, opening to the middle of the book, which revealed a rather provocative piece.  Cyan gulped before closing the book quickly.

“The art of the blade and warrior is not one to be perverted as such, Sir Paul,” Cyan said, coughing into his fist.  He tossed the book into a chest, locking it with a key.

“If you don’t mind me asking, when are you going to tell Lola the truth?” Paul said.  It wasn’t the first time Cyan had heard Paul hang such a question over his head.  It gnawed at his conscience until Cyan let out a heavy sigh.

“We approacheth a year since the calamity happened,” Cyan said.  He had carved lines in his sheath with each passing day until he began doing that in his room, counting the days.  Nearly a whole year without a single sign of his friends.  Not even Gau had returned from the Veldt, or so he hoped.  The boy must be dedicated to his training if he chose to remain in wait for Cyan to reach out to him.  Writing to him was pointless since he was sure the boy did not read or write.  And not knowing where the others were meant it was pointless to write to them, either. So all he could do for now was write a single number on the bottom corner of each letter he’d write to Lola as a reminder of how much time has passed.  The numbers were written so small that Lola had not noticed.  “I intend to resume my search once a full year passes.  As for Lola, I do intend to confess my deception.”

“Do what you gotta do, I guess,” said Paul.  Once he was gone, Cyan took a blank sheet of paper and breathed a heavy sigh.  This would be the most difficult letter he’d ever have to write.

Dear Lola,

I am writing to beg your forgiveness.  I am guilty of perpetuating a terrible lie.  I have only now realized the error of my ways, and taken up this quill in hopes of correcting a great wrong.

Your boyfriend, who you believed to be in Mobliz, passed away some time ago.  I have been writing to you in his stead.

We humans have a tendency to become trapped in the past and refuse to move on.  I implore you not to let this happen.  Now is a time to look forward, and rediscover love and all the other joys of life…

Cyan

He set the page aside on the table.  That letter would stay open and unsealed as a reminder there was no turning back for him.  There would be no turning back for anyone.  If his friends are still alive, they all had the same goal. 

He then grabbed a blank page to write another letter to Lola in the meantime.

Chapter Text

Shadow and Interceptor

The assassin, known only to others as Shadow, rarely reconsidered a decision once he committed to it.

He was ready to flee this floating mass of land, rock, and roaming magical beasts had he not turned at the last second to observe the death of Emperor Gestahl, the one responsible for ordering his imperial soldiers to kill him when his usefulness was done.

He fought with the Returners, trekking with them across this bizarre continent, and fought a creature of ancient lore long thought to be nothing more than a myth.  Whatever it called itself, Shadow couldn’t care less.  It was as dead as any other creature they slew on the way.  Dragons, wyverns, undead monstrosities, and demons from an age scholars described as the apex of the War of the Magi. 

The magic-wielding woman named Terra and her companions took the fight to the Emperor.  Shadow had nothing left to lose except that separating him from Interceptor was the worst mistake Gestahl and his laughing lackey ever made.  There was a mild sense of satisfaction watching Kefka toss the Emperor from the continent, yet the overall dread on the faces of those who watched him move those statues was enough to goad Shadow back. 

You’re thinking of running away again, aren’t you?  said a voice in his head.  Shadow paused.  He never forgot the voice of his old friend, Baram.  You’ve always been good at that.

A near-blinding light surrounded Terra and her friends, immobilizing them.  Though his instincts told him to continue running and make a long dive into the ocean below – whether he’d survive the splash and swim without drowning is another matter – watching them struggle while Kefka laughed and mocked them with facial expressions as he moved one statue after the next didn’t sit well. 

There was a chance to help them.

Something about them was worth aiding them.  They insisted he join them rather than abandon him to the beasts on this continent.  He knew they were not like him.

As Kefka moved the statues, the magical field weakened around Terra and the others.  That was his window to move in and free them.  Before he could leap, though, he saw another woman clinging for her life from the ledge, supposedly knocked away from the whole ordeal.  General Celes.  Screaming at a madman to stop was as futile as hiring an assassin for free.

The woman’s grip was slipping.  Shadow sensed that she would fall to her death at a moment’s notice if he didn’t act immediately.  The power of those statues shook the foundation of the continent, adding more to Celes’s peril.  Placing two fingers in his mouth, he whistled to distract Kefka long enough to leap from his perch.  He landed next to the woman, using his agile frame to gain a foothold on the side.  Grabbing her by her sides, he leaped once more from his position to land safely on stable ground between Terra’s group and Kefka.

“Help them,” he whispered to the woman before he sprinted to the closest statue next to Kefka.

“What are you--?” Kefka asked before he was shoved back by the force of the statue Shadow was pushing.  Kefka laughed it off but coughed at the same time.  Shadow then spotted a gaping wound in the clown’s midsection with a blood-soaked sword lying on the ground near him. 

Serves him right.

Before Kefka could cast a magic spell, Shadow was immediately onto the leftmost statue and pushed it in to pin the clown in place.

“I’m buying you all some time!  Go!” he yelled at the Returners.  Kefka tried in vain to push back against Shadow, but the wound had sapped much of his strength.  His twisted face of laughter and growling would’ve disturbed any lesser man but for an assassin?  Shadow ignored his outburst.

Kefka built magical energy in his open palm, glaring at Shadow.  Before he could fire, the power in the statues fluctuated, sending a shockwave that forced the four Returners off their perch to a lower level.  Shadow crouched enough to absorb the magical energy, maintaining his balance.

“You can’t escape me!” Kefka screeched.  He redirected his magical sphere and launched it ahead of the Returners.  Shadow watched it dash past the four and settle itself a distance away.  Though the skies began to darken, there was still enough light from the sphere to be seen.  It was up to them to figure out what to do with it while he dealt with Kefka.

“Alright, jester, now that we’re alone, let’s discuss my payment, shall we?” Shadow said coyly.  His face leered towards Kefka, who chuckled while also grimacing and coughing blood.

“Payment?  Do I look like a banker?” he asked.

“Better cough up, jester.  I ain’t got all day,” Shadow said.  Watching the clown cough up blood, clutching his gut, cursing Celes’s name under his breath each time was almost satisfying to watch.  If he wasn’t going to net the remaining gil of this job, watching the top-tier brass of the Empire kick it would be rewarding enough.

Kefka chuckled, using his hand to hold himself up against one of the statues, a demon with a pair of wings and gnarled hands closed in such a way as if it was gripping something at the time it petrified itself.  “See, that’s the problem.  The Emperor’s the one with gil stacked so high he could make a cute little fortress out of it.  He’s the guy you gotta ask.  Oh wait, I forgot he went for a swim!”

Kefka cackled and hacked.  A dying man laughing on his way out seemed appropriate for this idiot.  Shadow stayed to watch, ensuring that the clown would indeed lay dead at his feet.  Whatever happened afterward was of little concern.

Flickers of light from the statues jutted above to merge into one ball of intense energy that danced overhead before descending toward the surface below.  “Ooh, goody!  The Triad’s fully awake!  Now here’s where I come in!  As for you, pajama-man, you’d better mosey before it gets presto-change-o around here.  Ta!”

Shadow only had a few seconds to process what Kefka was doing before he saw the wound close in his stomach.  The energy from the statues fluctuated before they began feeding Kefka with a strange blue light cast within a blackened outline.  The clown began to undergo a metamorphosis as raw magical energy twisted and changed his appearance.  His pale skin, caked with make-up, shifted into a malicious deep purple while his form expanded.  From his back, masses began to move and bubble, preparing for something to burst from it.

“Damn it all,” he hissed before dashing a few steps to leap off the ledge in the direction he believed Terra’s group was flung earlier.  There was very little stable ground left as much of the continent was breaking apart, massive sections falling to the ocean below.  There were stray monsters shaped like harlequin dancers that Shadow dispatched with shurikens along the way, maintaining his speed without stopping once.  How much longer would he need to sprint until he reached the end of the continent with nowhere else to go?  It wasn’t a simple dive down into the ocean below.  This thing was soaring above the clouds, yet the power of the statues created darkness that blotted the sun’s light from poking through.

As he ran, he realized that if the Returners managed to make their way to this place, it meant they had the Blackjack to aid them.  The airship would be his ticket off this continent.  Whether Terra, Celes, and the others decided to wait for him was another matter entirely.  In their haste, they may have forgotten him.

He killed several more of those harlequin freaks until he ran out of shurikens, unsheathing his short katana to dispatch the rest that stood in his way.  One patch of ground he landed on immediately gave way underneath, forcing Shadow to leap awkwardly.  He landed just as badly, collapsing on the ground near Terra’s group, who were elated to see him.

“Shadow!” Terra cried.

“I’d never be able to live with myself if I bought it before collecting my pay,” Shadow half-joked.  There was relief on the woman’s face as she smiled.  “Terra! Come on!” he heard Celes shout.  That might be the last smile Shadow would see for some time if they survived this.  The five then leaped to the Blackjack. 

“Everybody brace yourselves!” yelled the pilot, whom Shadow recognized as Setzer.  The ship was near one of those chaotic-looking cyclones ready to tear the vehicle apart.  Yet it wasn’t the wind that blew through the ship, but a bolt of lightning slicing through the ship from port to starboard, separating the Returners into two groups.  Shadow was rocked back, falling along with those cast towards the stern while watching those clinging onto each other near Setzer above.  Their forms quickly grew smaller as he was now free-falling toward the water below.

The cyclone’s pull drew both halves into its vortex, tossing Returners to the four corners of the world while destruction rained from above and around.  Shadow could only hold onto what was still intact of the vehicle before he was thrown down to the ocean.  The world spun around him so much that he became light-headed before crashing into the water.

~.~

Instinct.

Interceptor’s ears perked skyward, waking from his nap.  The Doberman’s ears twitched to something unfamiliar in the distance, a sensation he couldn’t fathom yet couldn’t shake off.

Whatever this sensation was, it grew worse, fast.  He bolted from the sofa he slept on to scratch at the door, begging to be let out.

An elderly gentleman, sipping at his cup of tea, sighed heavily in Interceptor’s direction.  “Alright, alright.  I’ll let you out,” he told him.  As he approached to open the door, he shook his head at the dog.  “You’re not going very far with those bandages around you.  I guarantee you that.”

Interceptor continued scratching at the door, whimpering and barking, pleading with the old man.  “Geez, boy, calm yourself!”  He swung the door open.  “Here!”

The old man barely had time to utter his last word before Interceptor sprinted outside, barking at the villagers.

Instinct compelled him to warn everyone.  He barked and pawed at every house, scratching at doors and walls and tugging at clothing, all to gain their attention.  Confused looks were exchanged between everyone.  One called out to the house where Interceptor left to address the old man at the door, frowning at the dog.

“What’s up with the dog, Gungho?” he asked.  The old man named Gungho shook his head.  “Beats me!  He just started acting like this.  Relm’s going to chew his ear out if she saw this.”

“Speaking of which,” the man said.  Interceptor’s patience was so thin a simple knife could cut through it.  He barked and whimpered endlessly, hoping they’d somehow realize that disaster was coming.

“What’s all the commotion about?  And will someone shut that dog up?!” yelled another older gentleman as he tied his bedrobes.  Watching him jog out of his house wearing chocobo slippers and a nightcap was comical, only to stop midstride.  Interceptor ran up to him, bounding and barking, his cries of panic surrounding the elderly man.  “Whose dog is this?!”

“Sorry, Mayor, I’m looking after him at Strago’s while he and Relm are off fighting the Empire with those foreigners from the other day,” Gungho explained, only to have the elder retract his hand each time Interceptor tried to nip at it.

“Blasted girl,” the Mayor hissed.  “Of course, she’d bring animals to our village.”

“Elder--!”

All eyes went to a group of middle-aged farmers who pointed skyward.  “Look!  Something’s happening!” one of them shouted.

Interceptor’s ears dropped.  The source of his panic flickered a bright light from the land among the clouds above.  After several flashes, the sky darkened to a blackness no one had ever seen before.

“By the gods…!” the Mayor said, his voice teetering on horror.  “Gather everyone from the village to me quickly!”

“What’s going on, Mayor?” asked Gungho.  His face scrunched at the ominous sight, yet he was curious about the Mayor’s demand.

“Some ill-begotten fool has awakened the Warring Triad!” the Mayor screamed.  Villagers stopped at the mention of the Triad.  Interceptor, meanwhile, was pulling at the Mayor’s robes with his teeth.  “Settle down, you crazy mutt!  I’m going to help!”

Men, women, and children all deserted their homes to assemble at the town square, where the Mayor waved and directed people to stand and gather.  “Is everyone accounted for…?” he asked.

Groups acknowledged him one after the other until the Mayor confidently addressed everyone.  Interceptor’s ears twitched madly, his barking giving way to continued whimpering.  Of all the things he encountered throughout his travels with his human companion, he had never faced something so dreadful.  Brave that he faced all forms of danger, something about this turned his stomach, twisting and aggravating his injuries.

“I need all the strongest magic users to form a circle around the villagers and link with me!” the Mayor commanded.  Several men and women split from their families to join hands, numbering in the dozens.  It was wide enough for each to hold hands and join with the Mayor while the villagers huddled together.

“Pour all your strength into a barrier!” the Mayor commanded.  “We must protect Thamasa with our lives if we are to survive the power of the Warring Triad!”

Several children were bawling, frightened about something they knew nothing about.  Some reached out to their parents, who had joined the circle but were held back by an aunt or uncle hugging them tightly.

Interceptor huddled close to the children as well.  In all the times he avoided people altogether, save Relm and Shadow, the conclave of Thamasans ready to fight against the inevitable disaster that was coming at least gave Interceptor some resiliency.

The initial shockwave rocked the village, no, the whole continent.  It was enough to topple the villagers, some falling onto each other.  “Steady!  Back to your feet!” the Mayor shouted.

Interceptor pulled an adult off one of the children, who checked to see if he had injured the lad.  The dog continued helping around until the villagers were on their feet again.  Who knows what else was coming?

No sooner had the villagers risen that they needed to huddle to shelter one another from several gale storms caused by the formation of a massive cyclone south of Thamasa.  Interceptor barked furiously at it in some vain attempt to scare it off, but it only drifted in random directions.  The magic barrier channeled by the Elder and the others withstood the stellar force of the wind, but Interceptor was catching a few cracks that appeared.  This barrier would not endure for more than a few seconds before it would shatter, leaving Interceptor and everyone else up to the fate of the Warring Triad’s power that went to work, tearing the world apart.

Houses were ripped apart like paper, blown away off their foundations.  Farm animals were plucked off the land in waves, blown away in seconds.  Uprooted trees nearly impaled the villagers had the barrier not been there to stop them.  They bounced and splintered off the energy field and were tossed into the pull of the cyclone.  Interceptor felt pulled into an embrace by one of the families as if they wanted to ensure his safety.  Normally, he would’ve bit the hand that grabbed him, but with all the chaos around him, he’d welcome a comforting hand from a human.  If only Shadow were here to fight this with him.

The air soon shifted as it fluctuated between a searing heat and a frigid chill.  For a summer’s day, there were glimpses of a blizzard coupled with sheets of ice forming on the ground and along the energy barrier until Interceptor sensed pockets of heat manifesting nearby.

Pillars of molten lava then gushed from the ground like a geyser along the outskirts of the village, no fewer than about a hundred meters away.  The heat was intense, even through the barrier, forcing villagers to dash away.  The pillars ejected clusters of magma that rained across the land, bouncing off the energy field.

“Mayor, we’re losing our hold on the barrier!” yelled one of the villagers.

“Stand your ground!” the Mayor snapped back.  “We’re Magi.  Never forget that!  Stand!  Your!  Ground!”

Regrettably, though, that very villager was struck and buried under one of the magma balls shot from the pillar.  What was left of the man were only his arms that were still holding hands with those adjacent to him.  Worse, it weakened the barrier considerably, leaving the village vulnerable.

“Quickly!  Strengthen the barrier!  We will survive this!” the Mayor screamed.  He may as well have been barking orders at the air while panic-stricken Thamasans not waiting for death to rain down upon them scrambled.  Parents scooped their children and fled in a direction far from the rain of magma, while the Mayor and a few stragglers remained to use their magic to redirect the magma away from Thamasa, or what was left of it.  It was one of those days the Mayor wished he’d stayed home in his bed.

Interceptor focused on the family who kept him close.  He carried their youngest on his back as he darted with them, the boy’s arms wrapped around his neck to hold on.  They made their way to the north end of Thamasa while avoiding the searing heat of the magma pillars.  Before they could cross the edge of town, a crack in the earth sundered the land like an axe cleaving a log in two.

Much of the beautiful greenery and forests ignited in an inferno that left nothing in its wake, forcing Interceptor and the Thamasans to be confined to the village.  The boy buried his face in the dog’s fur, unwilling to see the destruction around him.  Lucky kid.

Seeking shelter proved problematic after the gale force winds blew them off their foundation and spread throughout, some not even landing anywhere on land but sucked away into the cyclone.  Thamasans, young and old, frantically searched for shelter, anywhere they could stay hidden while the apocalypse reigned across the planet.  They had to figure out that Thamasa wasn’t the only hamlet affected.  If this was the power of the Warring Triad, then no one was safe.

“Come!  I found a cellar that’s still intact!” said the boy’s father, waving at Interceptor to follow.  The dog rushed to join, only for other villagers to notice that the family had found shelter.  Dozens clamored and pushed one another to climb in while the father ushered his family in first, prompting Interceptor to issue a few warning barks to impatient villagers seeking to escape.

As much as Interceptor continued barking, a hand was pulling at his hind leg.  The father beckoned him to get in quickly before it was too late, yet Interceptor found himself sandwiched between frightened villagers.  The mother pulled the boy off his back to avoid being crushed while Interceptor bit into hands, arms, and legs to force people off of him so he could escape with the family.

Interceptor scurried under the humans, followed immediately by several villagers who ignored all of the dog’s bite marks.  Whether the Elder was among them was unknown, nor were there signs of the other magic users among the hasty group.  Interceptor only knew that this family had found shelter.  Shortly after that, they would have to share it with dozens more, squeezing themselves into the tight confines of a space that could hold no more than thirty adults.

Thankfully there was a mix of adults and children, all of whom huddled and hugged their parents tightly, which bought a few more spots for the Mayor, Gungho, and three magic users to enter.

“What of the others, Mayor?” asked a middle-aged woman.  She had all the air of the town’s seamstress; hands callused from years of hard work crafting clothing fit for a Thamasan to wear proudly.  Her face was no different than the rest: pale and confused.

One of the magic users conjured a sphere of light.  “Taken, Lady Alissa,” said Gungho somberly.  “Great magic users, all of them.  All taken.”

“What of Strago?  Of little Relm?  Where could they be?!” said another woman, more youthful than Lady Alissa.  It wouldn’t surprise anyone clamped together that their voice was bridging the gap between stable and absolute terror.  The Mayor was impressed that she was keeping it together.

“We don’t know what’s become of the rest of the world and its people.”  He wrung his hands, blackened from overexertion of magic, and blistered from the heat of the magma he deflected, groaning with each small step.  “We can only pray they survived.”

Interceptor wasn’t knowledgeable about these human traits and habits, but he’d pray Shadow survived, too, if he could.

~ . ~

The crackling, snapping sound of burning wood stirred Shadow from his slumber.  It was all he could process for a few seconds before the sensation of heat reached his arm.  As he shifted, he realized he was on his back, lying on the ground beside an open flame.  He shifted again, only to feel an intense shooting pain gut him on the side.  It was too painful to move.

“Well, well,” said a gruff voice nearby.  “Look who’s finally awake.”

Huh?  What?

“Wasn’t sure you survived.  Fortunately, your lucky ass didn’t drown at the bottom of the ocean,” said the voice again.  Shadow blinked the haziness out of his vision to seek the source of the voice, which sounded familiar.  It had all the subtlety of a man with prey captured in his net, waiting for the pot to reach its ideal temperature before cooking it.  Despite the predatory tinge, the man in question made Shadow groan internally, along with what had aggravated him.

“How long—?”

Shadow couldn’t even form his words before coughing severely.  He remembered crashing into the ocean on top of a piece of the Blackjack but little else.  If he had dreamt anything, he wouldn’t have known unless it was another memory of Baram.  Dreams happened to him so frequently he couldn’t tell dream from memory, only the constant reminder of his cowardice he kept to himself.

“Three days, give or take,” said the man, leering over Shadow with a grin.  “Sleeping like a babe looked pretty comical for someone like you.”

“Not in the mood for jokes,” Shadow coughed.  Dammit, I can’t even get in a word.

The man chuckled.  “You never were, Clyde.”

Shadow glared at the man who dared use his old name.  The man who took him under his wing, the man who taught him the way of the assassin, and the man who could’ve easily killed him or left him to die at the bottom of the ocean – at least, that’s how Shadow perceived it to be – still had him dead to rights.  Siegfried.

“What do you want, Siegfried?” Shadow asked.  Siegfried tossed him a flask, thumping him in the ribcage.  Shadow hissed from the impact, realizing quickly that the impact had damaged his ribcage, yet he wasn’t certain how extensive the damage was.  “Relax.  Drink up,” Seigfried told him before taking a seat.

Shadow never had to struggle so much with such a simple task.  Once he was finally vertical, he locked eyes with his old teacher, using one still-good arm to unscrew the cap off the flask to drink.

Siegfried dismissed the flask.  “First of all, sit up, drink, and then get your shit together,” he told him.  What was the plan here?  What motive does Siegfried even have for keeping Shadow company?

It also dawned on Shadow that he didn’t have his headgear to conceal his face.  Whether anyone knew who he was underneath the veil was irrelevant now.  He wrapped his other arm around his side while sipping his master’s flask.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Shadow said, gliding down the wall until he sat in a similar position to Siegfried, legs crossed while spinning the flask in his hands.

Siegfried poked the fire to keep it lit with a stray branch.  “Waiting for you to wake up.  Betcha got a lot of questions about what the hell happened the last couple of days.”

He did have one question but knew Siegfried wouldn’t have an answer:  Where was Interceptor, and did he survive?

He may as well gauge his surroundings.  “Where did I land?”

“Near Albrook,” Siegfried answered.  “Or what’s left of it.”

The scenery did look familiar to Shadow now that he had a moment to look around.  The two were seated under the bridge that connected the inn to the tavern, yet much of it had collapsed, with debris littering the ground nearby.  Shadow poked around the corner to survey the survivors, busying themselves with cleaning up the aftermath of whatever that was that attacked the planet.

The sky still looked scorched as it did days earlier when he was on his one-way trip to the ocean.  The formation of the clouds looked unnatural as if they had become a life-form of their own, moving across the sky like a storm on the ocean.  Gaps in the cloud cover revealed a crimson-scarred sky tainted by the force of magic that sundered the world.

Another strange phenomenon Shadow observed was the debris floating in the air, moving slowly in one direction.  Killing his emotions long ago spared him the hollow sensation the sight would’ve given him, yet he was curious about where the debris was floating.

“Kinda freaky, all that crap in the air, huh?” said Siegfried, pointing at what Shadow soon discovered were the remnants of the floating continent.  “You can see where it's gravitating.”

He led Shadow over the broken pieces of the bridge and paused, yet Shadow’s face stirred at the sight before him.  “To be honest, that tower looks even freakier,” Siegfried said.

The hairs on Shadow’s arms and neck stood up, not from the chill in the air but from the sensation of what was ahead.  It had to be some magical force assembling the structure in the distance, using debris from the continent, among other things, in its construction.  Soaring above, bathed in more of that crimson light that spilled through the clouds, was a figure with two sets of wings, clad in blood-colored robes and skin like tainted amethyst.  But there was no mistaking the feather adorning the figure’s bleached hair.

“But nothing tops the prick that declared himself God of the world once the chaos subsided,” said Seigfried, nodding up at Kefka.  Shadow regarded Kefka indifferently, annoyed that he never had the chance to finish what Celes had started.  Had it not been for those statues, he’d have the jester’s throat slit.

Their eyes were then drawn to several individuals walking away from Albrook.  Their march seemed unnatural, judging by how they moved, shuffling across the scorched terrain.  “Huh.  Where’d you suppose they’re going?”

Shadow gave him a “Why are you asking me?” look but shook his head.  No answer would be thoughtful enough to explain the strange behavior, only that he needed to lean against a wall to hold himself upright.  The pain was getting to him, forcing his body to scream at him to sit back down.

“Welp,” Siegfried said, returning to retrieve his flask.  He took a swig and pointed toward the zombie-like travelers migrating northeast.  “Care to see where they’re headed?”

“No.”

“Tch, you’re no fun.”

Siegfried pocketed the flask and rustled the flames to keep it alive longer.  “C’mon, you need your rest to recover.  If I can rustle up some healing potions, you’ll be back in tip-top shape in no time.”

“Why do you care…?” Shadow asked, moving along the wall for support.  “What’s in it for you to nurse me like I’m some kid?”

His master’s toothy grin showcased a singular gold tooth that reflected the light of the flames below.  It was as if Seigfried waited for Shadow to ask him the real questions now.

“Believe it or not, I need you,” Siegfried told him.  If Shadow had kept his emotions stored away, he’d have laughed.  “Don’t give me that look.  I’m serious.”

“Fine.”

“Honestly, had you not involved yourself with the Empire’s little fetch quest for those Espers, I’d have coaxed you into a little mission with me.  Then the world goes to shit and screwed up my plans.”

Shadow raised an eyebrow.  Since when has Siegried, of all people, wanted an associate to tag along for any of his missions?  “We work solo, Siegfried.  What the hell do you need someone to help you with?”

“Some asshole is roaming among our ranks pretending to be me, and it pisses me off that I haven’t been able to gut him like a fish yet.  Did you ever run into this jackass?”

Shadow contemplated the question.  He thought about where he saw a man dressed in clothing similar to Siegfried's but knew right away that he was a fraud trying to imitate his master.

“I tagged along with a monk who needed directions to a port that would’ve taken him to South Figaro from Nikeah.  We ran into your imposter on a train in a forest and killed him.”

Shadow looked to Siegfried for acknowledgment, but the man’s grin only widened.  “Is that so…?”

He then barked a laugh, taking another swig of his flask.  “That guy has the tenacity of a cockroach, Clyde.  Not even the apocalypse is enough to squash him.”  He leered at Shadow, who wanted to wrinkle his nose at the alcohol on the man’s breath.  “He’s still alive.  And I need you to help me track him down.”

Despite discarding his emotions, there was still an uneasy sensation in his gut when Siegfried asked for help to track this imposter.  It made him think of Interceptor and how often the dog could find anyone.  Siegfried might as well look for a needle in the Figaro desert with Shadow’s tracking skills.  He almost regretted leaving all of that work to his partner.

“I’m still owed money for my job with the Empire.  Do you have enough to compensate?” Shadow asked.  If he was going to give Siegfried a hand, he might as well negotiate for it.

“The reward,” Seigfried said, giving him a dangerous look, “is you get to live.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Shadow said.  He stifled a grunt as he adjusted himself along the wall to sit comfortably.  “The reaper takes on one form or another.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Siegfried, shaking his flask to gauge the remainder of its contents.  “I can’t imagine this guy will have many places to hide, knowing what happened, nor does he know I’m on the hunt.  I’ll give you a few days to recover and heal those ribs before we head out.  I last tracked his location by South Figaro, which will give us a head start.”

Siegfried’s grin faded.  “What?”

“I’ll agree on one condition,” Shadow said.  He was probably the only assassin among others with enough fortitude to keep a stern face when eye-to-eye with Siegfried, and he knew the man hated it.  Once Siegfried was in a position that left him open to a bargaining chip, Shadow knew he couldn’t refuse his next offer.  “I’ll help you track your imposter after we find Interceptor.  If you believe that man’s alive, I must believe my partner’s alive, too.”

Siegfried grimaced.  “You and that damned mutt of yours.”   Shadow didn’t take his eyes off him, waiting for reassurance.  “Fine, we’ll get your dog back.”

Shadow forced a smile, mocking Siegfried.  “Much obliged, master.”

~.~

Noises forced Interceptor’s ears to twitch and adjust, all attempting to pinpoint their sources.  He lay on the ground; his head rested upon his front paws as he watched the surviving Thamasans gather what was left of their village while searching for survivors who had not reached the shelter.

The man who discovered the shelter -- Liam, as Interceptor heard him be called by surviving villagers – worked with Gungho and the Mayor to tend to the injured while Lady Alissa joined the womenfolk to search for survivors.  Interceptor was left in the care of the children.

The dog couldn’t hide his surprise each time a hand would occasionally pet him on the head.  He had never adjusted to the companionship of children save Relm, who was only an infant when he left the village to join Shadow.  After what happened, the lack of her scent worried him, making his ears droop each time his mind dwelt on her whereabouts.

The air was still opaque with dust, obscuring what lay beyond the village.  The scent of molten earth and sulfur penetrated Interceptor’s orifices, masking any scent of the survivors.  Even the smell of food was non-existent.

The children huddled close to him, still petrified over what they witnessed.  Interceptor had seen the horrors of people dying from being ignited by the magma spewing from the earth or swept away by the strong winds.  Some were swallowed by the earth itself when a fissure opened wide from the quaking.

Those among the children still bawling were scooped by their respective mothers to embrace them, soothing them with their voices.  Interceptor noticed that adults were also grieving over losing a loved one.  Who could blame them?

“…find a single trace, Mayor,” said Liam as Interceptor’s ears twitched towards them.  “All the farmlands were stripped bare.”

The Mayor paused, anticipating reactions from the other villagers.  “I, I see.  What of our food stores?  Anything left?”

“Davis is on it as we speak.” Liam pointed eastward.  “Unless the storehouse is lost, too.”

Interceptor followed Liam’s hand past barren patches of land that once housed residences to what should’ve been a forest, now devoid of all but half a dozen trees that luckily held on with strong roots.  Within those trees was a lone gravestone that fell over and a sword embedded in one of the trunks.  Scorch marks obscured some of the lettering, leaving “He…l..s…Gen…Leo.  Bra…sol…to the end.”

The Storehouse Liam led the Mayor to was south of Leo’s grave.  Interceptor decided he’d like to join them on the realization that he hadn’t eaten anything since that slim “treasure hunter” – his words, insisting he was not a “thief” -- with a bandana bandaged him.  He remembered that kind, smiling face going red whenever he was near the blonde woman and wondered if he had survived. 

Or if any of them had survived.

As the men walked past magic users tending to the wounded, Liam had to catch one of them before they fainted.  “I’m sorry, Mayor.  I could only do so much,” the Magi said, his voice shaking.

“Go and rest,” said the Mayor.  “You did what you could and saved another life.  We’ll search the storehouse and salvage what we can to be thankful for our survival,” he stopped, glancing at Liam and the Magi before his voice lowered, “and to mourn those we lost.”

Liam bent to pat Interceptor on the head.  “Don’t worry, boy.  We won’t forget you either.  I think we owe you a debt of gratitude for warning us about the calamity.”

Interceptor lifted his paw to rest it on Liam’s arm as his gesture of thanks, mostly because he knew he would finally eat something.

When they reached the storehouse, it was surprisingly intact.  Miraculous even.  The Mayor skimmed his hand along an invisible surface that bent like the surface of an undisturbed body of water.  “Thank goodness I placed those magical wards to fend off food thieves.  We’d have been devoid of food otherwise.”

“Save your thanks for Strago if we see him again,” Liam iterated.  “It was his idea to place a strong barrier that only you and he could disable.”

Interceptor cared little for what the humans accomplished.   Chomping his fangs down on some meat was his only priority.  When the Mayor disabled the wards, Liam opened the large doors, revealing an array of items that would make anyone grateful something remained of the world before the Warring Triad wrecked it.

Interceptor feasted on a roast that was twice the size of his head.  One by one, the men and women gathered what they could fit in their arms to bring to the town square, cleared of debris to set down cooking implements they found from a few houses that weren’t torn apart.

The feast, for the most part, was celebrated in silence.  Food was shared among the survivors, while parents still had to goad their stubborn children to be thankful for what they still had.  Interceptor was too immersed in his meal to bother with them.

As he ate, Interceptor contemplated his next move.  While his first thought was to find Shadow, he often thought about what became of the others.  Especially Relm.  Can a girl so young survive what was out there?  Did she even survive the initial catastrophe?  He paused to stare out across the Northern landscape, ears lowered.  His heart would ache if neither of them survived.

However, there was another problem that Interceptor hadn’t clued in on.  The humans would’ve figured this out earlier, but Interceptor would not realize it until it directly faced him.  Because Thamasa is a continent surrounded by water, how could a dog navigate to the nearest section of land without a boat or ship?

Nightfall brought an eerie silence to Thamasa.  Because of its proximity to the ocean, farmers could relax while listening to the waves crash against the northern cape.  But therein lay no sound: No waves, no wind to speak of, not even birds flying overhead.  It was too quiet for anyone in the village.

Liam took a seat next to Interceptor, offering him leftovers from dinner.  “Still hungry?”

Interceptor licked his teeth and lips, but after eating his fill, it was more of an afterthought.  The man scratched him gently behind the ears, reminding him too often of Shadow.  It ached to know that his partner was out there alone and probably as worried sick as he was.

Interceptor wasn’t aware he whimpered under his breath.  “I know.  We suffered many losses, but we’ll rebuild this village good as new,” Liam told him.  He ruffled the dog’s head before retreating to his family.  Interceptor watched them huddle together, Liam’s wife sobbing as she held her children.  He wouldn’t be surprised if he'd encounter scenes similar to this during his travels later on.  Grieving families piecing together what was taken from them and wondering what could be done to restore what was lost.

Despite the charred trees, a patch of grass was still near the lone grave.  He thought it’d be an ideal place to curl up and sleep away from humans for the night.  The skies were still thick with rolling clouds moving at immeasurable speeds, disturbing enough if you stare at them too long.  Interceptor hoped that they wouldn’t be so sparse in the days to come.

Morning light struggled to seep through the clouds, providing what little day for Interceptor to wake.  He stretched and shook off the dirt and grass before assessing what to do while still in Thamasa.  He didn’t want to wait for the villagers to wake from their sleep, laying on the ground.  Families huddled together peacefully, making Interceptor wonder if Relm and Strago would have found a place to rest.

It was decided, then.

If he can find Relm, at least she’d help him search for Shadow.  It was as good a start as any.

Trotting southward to the village entrance, he spotted a thick fog across the landscape, obscuring sight and smell.  All Interceptor could do was cross through the fog until it cleared up on the other side, opening the way to some semblance of a beach-like area.  He could find something to float on while swimming to the nearest continent, hoping to expand his search.

What was also absent while in this fog was sound.  Nothing discernable ahead, nothing his nose could track, and no sound to alert him to monsters or animals.  Interceptor continued onward, knowing it was pointless to turn back.

He kept a steady pace until the fog began to thin, revealing land ahead.  The land opened to the ocean with a sandy beach littered with fallen debris.  Large rocks once connected to land, branches galore – if Interceptor fancied a game of fetch – and corpses.

As he approached the beach, he stopped when he locked eyes with a purple octopus, who had been busy hauling bodies to toss into the ocean.  Many of the slain had clothing similar to that of Thamasans, which would’ve been a sobering reminder to those in the village of the devastation that picked off the less fortunate.

Interceptor recognized the octopus by its scent -- a foulness that irked him.  Baring his fangs, he growled at the creature, who raised his tentacles in surrender, dropping a pair of bodies on the sand.

“Hey!  Easy!  I-I don’t want to do anything bad, okay?” the octopus said.  Interceptor barked, which made one of the creature’s tentacles rub its head quizzically.  “What am I doing?  This?  Oh, well,” he said, moving one body to place it gently beside the other.  “Figured a little clean-up was in order.  It’s not like they’re going anywhere.”

Interceptor barked again, knowing that this octopus understood what he was saying.  “They’re from Thamasa?  Oh dear,” the octopus said, tentacle to his mouth.  Those ugly fangs protruding from his jaw and lopsided eyes didn’t give Interceptor any notion that he was the friendliest of creatures to interact with, but he hedged a guess that he might know where Relm was or whether she survived.

“I didn’t toss all of them into the ocean, though.  If you want, I can dive in and put them back on the beach,” the octopus offered, gliding across the sand to sink into the water.  Bubbles formed at the surface before body after body was thrown back onto the beach.  Interceptor bounded back to avoid being splashed by whatever it was that shared in the octopus’s filth.  When he was done, ten bodies were retrieved, and the octopus was clasping his front tentacles together as if praying for Interceptor not to make a meal out of him.

He approached the soaked corpses and barked at the octopus.  “Relm…?”

The dog tilted his head.  Seriously?  This octopus didn’t know who Relm was.

“Sorry, my memory ain’t that great, but the name does sort of sound familiar, now that you mention it,” said the octopus, tapping his temple with a tentacle.

Interceptor ignored the octopus while inspecting the bodies.  A human would’ve found it heartbreaking to see men, women, and children among the deceased, blown away and tossed to the ocean before they were washed ashore once everything calmed down.  But for Interceptor, he was used to the sight of death so often that he wanted to confirm that none of the children looked or smelled like Relm.

The air and scent of corpses caused him to sneeze, which spooked the octopus.  “Uh, she’s not dead, is she?” asked the octopus.

Interceptor’s ears twitched while he resumed his search.  Nose to the sand, he followed along, scouting the beach for signs of life.  The wafting scent of dead fish notwithstanding, he could still discern human from animal, which he needed if he was going to find some trace of a living human around here, if possible.

“Say…,” said the octopus as he glided behind him.  Interceptor glanced back a moment.  “I don’t suppose you’d like a hand in finding this Relm person?”

Interceptor barked back at him.  “Yeah, my nose obviously can’t do things like yours.  But I can still be useful.  I mean, if you’re looking for a living human, there’s a girl over there who is rather, um, grumpy.”

The dog paused before considering the octopus’s suggestion.  He tracked the air to lock onto the girl's scent and it matched Relm’s.  Bolting ahead, he leaped over boulders to land on the other side where Relm was in clear view, seated on the beach watching the water ahead.

Barking to get her attention, Relm continued staring ahead.  Her face had relaxed into a scowl, with her eyebrows emphasizing a level of anger no living creature would dare approach.  Interceptor wanted to shower her with kisses to the face but halted upon seeing her.

“See?  Told you she was grumpy,” said the octopus.  Interceptor approached her cautiously and sat before her, hoping a familiar face would ease her expression.

He barked a couple of times, awaiting the octopus’s translation.  “That’s Relm?  Wait a minute…,” the octopus said before he leered towards her.  He then let out a yelp and backed off to the boulder.  “Now I remember!  The scary artist who sketched me!  Back away, doggie, before she sketches you too!”

Interceptor turned his head to him, ears lowered.  “Don’t give me that look!  She’s got nasty powers!”

He barked a couple of times.  “Well, at least one of us is glad to see her,” said the octopus, crossing a couple of his tentacles.  “I’ve been keeping an eye on her and giving her food I scrounged up around the area so she wouldn’t starve to death.  Had I known she was that little psychopath artist who made a mockery of me, the great Ultros, I’d have left her in the deep abyss.”

That giant head of his tilted to the side to emphasize how distraught he looked, which made Interceptor groan.  He barked a few times.

“Well, you’re welcome, I guess,” said Ultros.  He raised a tentacle to his eyes, looking outward to the ocean.  “Mr. Typhon should’ve been back by now.”

Interceptor barked once.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you never met him, Mr. Doggie.  He takes some getting used to,” said Ultros.  He rubbed the top of his head out of habit, blowing sand away with a heavy sigh.

The dog’s ears twitched, listening for sounds of creatures approaching the beach area.  While still eerily quiet, he ignored the octopus for now and sat near Relm.  It was the least he could do for now.

If he had a long enough tail, he’d be sweeping sand by now while waiting for Relm to acknowledge him.  She’d have to know the dog who knew her when she was a newborn babe had survived the calamity to stay with her and offer protection.  But her expression never changed nor wavered.  “Leave me alone,” was all she told him.

He rose just as quickly as he sat, whimpering softly in his throat.  How bad had things become that this sweet girl’s eccentric attitude gave way to such contempt?  Even her voice sounded empty.  Leave me alone.

Interceptor took his chances and settled for waiting with the octopus for this Mr. Typhon to return, wherever he was.

There was no way of knowing how much time had passed since Interceptor lay next to Ultros.  Minutes?  Or hours?  He kept his nose to the air, waiting for some unique smell to make its way, giving him an idea about whether this was Mr. Typhon.  Ultros busied himself snagging fish that had still survived, only to toss them freely into his wide gaping jaw.  Those unsightly fangs of his didn’t seem to serve any purpose, Interceptor noticed, not while throwing fish directly into his mouth without chewing.

After devouring at least a dozen fish, Interceptor’s nose picked up a new scent, and he shook his head.  Nothing could have prepared him for the foulness that could make rotting fish smell like garden flowers.  “It’s about time!” Ultros shouted, throwing two tentacles in the air.  “Were you sightseeing the apocalypse or something!?”

Mr. Typhon was a creature Interceptor had not expected to see.  Yet given how ugly this octopus looked, it wouldn’t surprise him that he’d keep such company.  In flew a creature with two sets of mouths, one at the front and one that replaced the creature’s rear end.  Each mouth bore two rows of discolored fangs that could eat anything.  Did this creature have a stomach of sorts?  And which mouth did it eat with?  Its body, whatever it was, had pink tones that Interceptor wasn’t sure if it was fur or flesh.  As for sounds, Mr. Typhon only had one: “FUUNNGAAHHHH!"

Interceptor barked furiously at the creature.  Terrifying to see a foul-smelling bi-mouthed spectacle of horror, which only ignited the dog’s instincts to protect what mattered the most to him.  He backed himself near Relm, eyes still trained on Mr. Typhon and Ultros.  Why did this octopus keep that as a companion?

“Relax, Mr. Doggie.  Mr. Typhon was only apologizing for being late.  Do you know how hard it is to navigate the skies when you have giant cyclones and a creature that bears the face of death ready to kill you?” Ultros explained, which didn’t seem to alleviate matters.  Interceptor wanted no part of that Typhon, tardy or not.  He continued barking, bounding from side to side, ready to dig his fangs into the creature to bleed it out – if the creature bled in the first place.

Each time Typhon spewed that FUNGAHH sound, it reminded Interceptor of a bleating sheep with a stuffed nose, though more hollow and deeper.  He watched the back-and-forth between Typhon and Ultros until the octopus signaled with a tentacle for Typhon to back away.  It seemed to understand Ultros well enough, easing the tension for now. 

Ultros approached him.  “Mr. Typhon surveyed the landscapes and found a nearby continent southwest of here where he could take you and find a city – assuming it’s intact and there are still survivors.”

Interceptor barked and growled at Typhon.  Ultros’s tentacles waved in front of him.  “No, you have it all wrong, Mr. Doggie!  Mr. Typhon is more scared of you than you are of him.  Honest!  He may be taciturn, but he’s good at doing what I ask.  If you want off this island, there are no better means of travel than Mr. Typhon, for now.”

He glanced back at Relm.

“Relm?” Ultros asked.  “I can watch over her.  I’m a changed octopus!  I swear it on all monster-kind!”

Interceptor’s eyes lowered.  Ultros wasn’t serious, was he?  What kind of dog does he take him for?  Leave Relm under the care of that?

“I can tell you don’t look like the kind of dog who wants to stay in one town forever.  You’ve got some travel under you, right?” Ultros asked.  Interceptor barked.

“I used to be a mischief-making octopus.  Funny how a few run-of-the-mill magic users can change your perspective on things.  It also doesn’t help that all of this end-of-the-world stuff happened.  Doesn’t make for much interest in the mischief-making business anymore.  So I, the great Ultros, vow to change my ways and help people, sort of.”

Interceptor tilted his head at those last two words.  “I’ll prove it to you.  How about that?  I already started by ensuring Relm over there is well-fed with lots of goodies I gave her.”

Ultros wasn’t wrong on that aspect, Interceptor realized.  While it did show signs Relm cooked and ate, her scowl remained unchanged.  Ultros had clued in on it and kept his distance while leaving food for her.  Interceptor learned while traveling with his partner that trust was something you never gave anyone unless earned or bought for the right price.  While Ultros couldn’t spare a gil if his life depended on it, his altruism did win over a sliver of trust.  In light of a world torn apart, it would have to do.

He began trotting over to Mr. Typhon, barking several times at Ultros.  “Look after the girl while you search for your partner?  Oh, okay.  I’m happy you’re letting me do this, Mr. Doggie.”

Ultros waved a tentacle at Typhon.  The creature bleated its unusual undulation and exposed his back for Interceptor to climb on.  What the dog assumed of Typhon’s flesh was a mixture of reptilian scales and, surprisingly, fur.  What was this creature?

“Now, don’t take too long, Mr. Typhon.  I don’t want that girl getting ideas about cooking me into seafood soup, understand?” Ultros instructed Typhon, earning a soured look from Interceptor.  “What!?”

The dog nestled into a divot on Typhon’s back.  It was the best spot he could find to settle in, hoping that this thing was good on his word to follow Ultros’s instruction.  Typhon naturally rose to the air, using what Interceptor realized was its rear mouth to propel itself by expelling air.  “Be sure to keep your nose clear so you don’t sneeze again, Mr. Typhon!” Ultros shouted, which alarmed the dog.  Sneeze!?  “I forgot to mention Mr. Typhon has some allergies, but it’s only worse when he’s high up!”

That didn’t assure Interceptor whatsoever, and he hoped it wouldn’t become a reality while flying above the water.  He didn’t want to know what kind of sneezing this thing did, nor did he want to take a chance swimming the rest of the way.

~.~

Shadow was neither bothered by how efficiently Siegfried killed people who dared ambush them for a pick of their belongings nor how often the bastard made a snide comment about Interceptor.  What bothered him was traveling in this scorched world without his veil and ninja garb.  He was back to being Clyde, the infamous Shadow Bandit.  Even Siegfried remained unveiled, mocking him with that gold tooth each time he reared his head to smile.

“Let me know when ya get tired, there,” Siegfried said with a cheeky tone.  The broken ribs continued to make Shadow’s breathing labored, and it didn’t help that the air was different.  It was like walking in the oncoming path of a volcano that had just erupted, leaving ash and sulfur in its wake.  The stench of burnt trees, animals, humans, and grass festered everywhere as they trekked northward from Albrook.

Reading from a map he stole from a corpse, Siegfried snorted derisively.  “Map’s about as useful as a Chocobo’s fart, nowadays.”  Crumpling the paper in his hands, he tossed it back to Shadow.  “If you’re looking for Vector, forget it.  Should’ve been here by now.”

Siegfried alluded to the smoldering ruins that was once the majestic Imperial capital of the world.  Now it was anything but.

Siegfried whistled through his teeth.  “Damn.  Guess them magic gods loathed the Empire somethin’ fierce, lemme tell ya.”

They watched as pieces of Vector floated towards the imposing tower Kefka had been assembling for several days.  It mattered not what was drawn to the tower.  A construct with no logic to it could only be the work of a madman of Kefka’s repute.  When they saw abandoned Magitek riding armors pulled away from the wreckage, Siegfried signaled Shadow to move on.  “Let ‘im busy himself, Clyde.  I doubt he cares enough about people walking by, so long as they don’t think themselves heroes.”

They were shown a clear example of those brave enough to be heroic, standing tall to yell at Kefka while he was perched at the top of his tower, brandishing swords, spears, and axes.  Kefka laughed and fired a beam of light that vaporized the “protestors” where they stood.  No signs of clothing, weapons, or body parts.  They disintegrated into nothing.  Siegfried witnessed the power of this new weapon Kefka wielded, firing it some distance away.  Whatever it targeted became the first of many victims in Kefka’s new reign as the god of the world.

The devastation of Vector was so intense that not even the mountains surrounding the capital were left intact.  The magic of the Warring Triad eviscerated and flattened the landscape, rearranging the terrain of the entire continent.  What remained became grafted onto Kefka’s tower, as if the jester himself wanted an homage to the world by building a tower made from the Triad’s gift.

They camped for the night near an array of charred boulders, still sizzling from what had struck them.  What constituted the fat of the land didn’t offer much except burnt animals and uprooted orchards from Emperor Gestahl’s private garden.  Some apples were left intact, thankfully spared from being incinerated, which Shadow and Siegfried partook in, using their knives to carve and slice to eat.  It wasn’t much, but they gathered what they could for the road.

“Tzen’s about a two-day walk from Vector,” Siegfried noted, drawing an X on the ground with a twig.  “If this is Vector,” he circled a rock, “and that’s Tzen, we could see about securing some transportation that’ll take us north to the Figaro continent.”

“How can we be sure when Tzen has no port?” Shadow asked. 

There was that smile again.  “Never said anything about a port, Clyde.  But they must have a fishing boat we could use,” Siegfried retorted, biting on an apple slice.

As they sat, embers from the surrounding ruins provided enough heat and light to sustain warmth, giving the two a view of the procession of humans walking aimlessly toward an unknown destination.  The same phenomenon that occurred a few days ago that Siegfried noted, only more citizens from Albrook left, walking like the dead.  What even Siegfried found disturbing was that they were smiling.

“Should one of us stand watch?” Shadow asked.  Siegfried shook his head.

“I’ve observed enough of their behavior that they don’t see anything except where they’re going.  Creepiest damn thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some messed-up shit in my lifetime, boy.”

The fact that the end of the world was not the worst thing Siegfried had seen in his life was telling.  If Baram had been around long enough, Shadow would’ve wondered if he’d be scolded for hiding while the Warring Triad destroyed everything.  What better chance to rob the gods themselves, buddy?

Shadow marked with an X where he believed Maranda, Albrook, and even Thamasa were located, the latter further away with a circle around it to indicate its own island.  The landscape to their east was once joined to this continent, only it detached and floated to the sky.  It felt like ages ago when Shadow found himself among the clouds and a strange party of people begging him to join them.  If Interceptor survived, he’d still be in Thamasa if he hadn’t succumbed to the stab wound first.  Those who committed the act were likely dead by now, which robbed Shadow of performing the deed himself.  Now all he could do was hope his partner was as resilient as he believed him to be.

His hope was blindsided by laughter from Siegfried.  “You really got that emotionless act down to a tee, doncha Clyde?”  He pointed at the procession of people.  “They don’t freak you out, do they?”

Shadow said nothing at first.  He observed people devoid of humanity march forward, all headed in the same direction.  “We should turn in for the night.”

“Suit yourself,” said Sigfried, stretching.  The charred ground could still provide some comfort, according to Siegfried.  Shadow lounged against a fallen tree trunk to rest his head, using his bag as a pillow.

“You’re welcome to gut me like a fish if ya feel lucky enough,” Siegfried said, mocking Shadow.  Was this some attempt at prodding for an emotional response?  Despite his teasing, Shadow knew better not to contemplate assassinating his mentor while still in his prime.  Shadow wondered what would become of his fate when the job was done once this fake Seigfried was disposed of.

Tzen was no worse for wear after the apocalypse, the still-smoking tendrils from burnt houses pluming in the air.  Shadow scanned for survivors, only to find several huddled in small groups to maintain warmth among each other.  While not devoid of life as those walking aimlessly across the barren wasteland, he still identified similar expressions he had noted from those in Albrook.

“Guess we’re not expecting a welcoming committee, are we?” asked Siegfried in his best presentable smile.  Shadow doubted that even the best attempt at pressing his charm would deter them from their trauma.  He ignored Siegfried and marched up the still-intact stairway to the town square.

Despite imperial occupation before the calamity, Tzen was still a welcoming hamlet north of Vector.  What few houses stood at the time housed strong boys eager to enlist in the Empire to serve Gestahl proudly.  Even after many attempts by their concerned mothers, those who returned to them as grizzled soldiers now wore faces full of confusion, fear, and hopelessness.  Shadow could read it in their eyes as if they were asking him what good could they do to serve an Empire that no longer existed.  Imperial soldiers sat with their heads in their hands, casques discarded to the side without care.

Shadow watched Siegfried ask where they could find a boat to cross the ocean to South Figaro since the Albrook harbor was demolished.  Yet all Shadow could hear of the survivors were hushed wailings and mothers calling the names of their offspring while searching through wrecked houses.  He would not be surprised if every town and city were like this.

He tugged at Siegfried’s sleeve.  “You’re wasting your breath.”

“Come now,” Siegfried said, motioning to an imperial soldier who still looked like a man with all his faculties intact.  “Not everyone’s gotta be a sourpuss like you, Clyde.”

Shadow gave him a look before addressing the soldier.  “We’re looking for a way off this continent.  Are there any boats left intact?”

“’Fraid not,” said the soldier.  “The Empire confiscated all sea travel months ago.  General Leo ordered commerce restricted to protect trading between Albrook and Nikeah in case of a Returner ambush.”

“Ain’t he a smart fella, huh?” Siegfried said to Shadow.  “Sorry to bother ya, then.”

“If you’re not too busy, we could use an extra pair of hands to search for survivors,” the soldier offered, but Siegfried clapped him twice on the shoulder.

“Not unless ya pay us handsomely, fella,” he said, airing that toothy grin of his.  Although the soldier didn’t react, Shadow could determine that he was teetering on defeat.

Siegfried signaled for Shadow to follow him.  “How much…?” asked the soldier.  “If it has to come to that, it’ll at least ensure you help us.”

“Five grand,” Siegfried said, adding, “each” before the soldier could say anything.

The soldier paused before one of the citizens rose from their group to round on Seigfried.  “How dare you swindle us for gil in a time like this?!” said a woman well into her late fifties by the looks of her hair, the beginnings of grayness blended with her dark hair.  “What good does having gil get you?  Look at this place!”

She does have a point; Shadow imagined Baram saying in his head.  Was there any worth now in earning gil so soon after what one assumed all cities burned to ash and well over half the population decimated?

Siegfried continued smiling despite the woman’s objection.  “My dear, you underestimate the capability of people.  Crisis brings opportunity, and this is your opportunity to hire the best men for any task you have at hand.”

She reached back to strike Seigfried, but the soldier’s hand gently lowered her arm via her wrist.  “Let me handle this.”

He ushered her back to her group, the woman mouthing “it’s not right” several times within earshot.  Shadow gave Siegfried a look.  “Am I wrong, Clyde?” Siegfried said while still observing the soldier.

“What are you planning on accomplishing with ten thousand gil?” Shadow asked.

“Did that fall scramble your noggin that much?” Seigfried retorted.  “Remember one of the first lessons I taught you: Money buys many things, but the most valuable asset to invest in is information.”

He leaned in closer to Shadow.  “We’ll get our worth here until we have enough of a nest egg to buy our info, which should lead us to our target much faster.  I’ve a feeling greed’s going to become quite the popular sin soon.”

That smile never left him, Shadow noted.  When the soldier returned, he offered a bag full of coins.  “Five thousand now, and the rest when the job’s done.  Deal?”

Shadow felt his shoulder tapped from behind.  Siegfried could still sneak up on him in plain sight, no matter what.  “Pleasure doin’ business with ya, son!  Clyde, be so kind as to take the man’s gil, will ya?”

Seigfried immediately went to work, being a man of his word.  Shadow and the soldier watched him move debris around with survivors while he added the bag of gil to his belongings.  “Thanks, stranger.  We really do appreciate it,” the soldier said before he joined Siegfried.  At least he didn’t negotiate for an assassin’s fee.

~.~

Two months have passed since the calamity sundered the world with the Warring Triad’s chaotic magic.  Two whole months of unending terror beset by Kefka atop his completed tower, destroying random things across the planet.

Towns were not spared the god’s insanity.  The attack people have dubbed the “Light of Judgment” served as punishment for whoever dared take a stand.

People eventually learned not to curry Kefka’s wrath as they discretely rebuilt their homes.  No one spoke his name without risking a heavy price.  Some were too fearful to even speak of him in hushed tones, wondering if his power was such that he could read their minds.

Among those who had survived, several left unexpectedly from their towns to march forward in one direction.  Families split as fathers and mothers began leaving without saying a word.  Those who witnessed this phenomenon called it a curse as if they fell under Kefka’s magical influence.  The ones who left all had the same vacant expression, save one disturbing feature: they were smiling as they left.

The procession of people confused Interceptor after he disembarked Typhon along the outskirts of a city he would later hear people call Nikeah.  The townspeople fought to pull the deserters back, but they walked like people possessed, walking with a strength the unaffected had never thought possible.  Interceptor noticed they walked with a purpose, and no one could stop them short of killing them.

The dog searched the city for a sign of Shadow, but the man’s scent was nowhere within his range.  It was challenging, however, given that Nikeah was a port city with a harbor that had seen better days after the calamity, and much of the market was saturated in smells of charred seafood and produce that the citizens weren’t certain they could ever get rid of, let alone mask with a pleasant odor.  For Interceptor, the scent nearly made him faint.

Throughout his two-month stay at Nikeah, he had familiarized himself with varying hotspots where much of the hustle and bustle surrounded the reconstruction of the harbor to enable trading once again.  Their priority was to rebuild the fishing boats and transport ships, while fishermen did what they could to replenish their supply, and specialists reworked their inventory lists.

Interceptor, a dog who had spent much of his life avoiding the presence of humans except the ones he assisted Shadow in assassinating, found himself the center of attention and talk of the town after many humans and animals perished in the calamity.  Those who managed to survive fled Nikeah without any of the citizens knowing where they were headed.  Seeing a dog present once again served as a morale boost.  Interceptor figured this would have to suffice for now until either Shadow made his way here or Interceptor boarded a ship the sailors said would still be bound for South Figaro.

One day, as the crewmen lowered their first completed ship into the water, Interceptor detected a foulness in the air.  He watched the crew attentively until he narrowed his scent to one man who slacked in his work.

“Hey!  Tell that guy to get a move on!  We need everyone lowering this simultaneously!” shouted the crew chief.  The crew stopped, holding their ropes taut.  All eyes turned to the man in question, who began chuckling.  Interceptor’s reaction was immediate.

He approached the crew, baring his teeth and growling.  Barking repeatedly at the crewman as his chuckling escalated to gales of laughter, the behavior caused discomfort among the rest of the crew while their grip loosened.

“What are you all doing?!  Secure the ropes!” the chief bellowed.  He grunted as he tightened his grip, expecting his men to follow, but the laughter had the same ominous tone they had heard from those afflicted with this curse of madness that drew them away from the city to who knows where.

He reached behind to take a knife he had concealed under his loose shirt and would’ve swung at the others had Interceptor not clamped his jaws onto the man’s forearm to force the knife out of his hand.

As Interceptor wrestled the crazed man away from the crew, the man continued laughing.  He did not react to the bite nor indicate that he was feeling pain from the impact.  He laughed and continued to laugh until his face turned to Interceptor.

For the briefest of moments, the man’s face flashed to reveal Kefka’s; only his eyes were bloodshot and piercing like a bolt of lightning.  Throughout his lifetime, very little agitated Interceptor.  There was very little the Empire could’ve done to impress him, much less terrify him.  But there was one incident where he and Shadow had run into Kefka as he pranced about on his way somewhere.  For that incident, the jester glanced in Interceptor’s direction and locked eyes with the dog.  In that instance, Interceptor backed down, lowering his tail until he realized seconds later it was between his legs.  Something about Kefka’s gaze rattled him, leaving him whimpering.

He never figured he’d see Kefka again, not counting his presence atop his tower ruling like a god.  But seeing that face staring back at him for a microsecond caused Interceptor to back off fervently, releasing his grip on the crazed man’s arm.

The man ignored the knife as he trod forward.  He, like many before him, was lost to the madness.  While the incident stretched for hours to Interceptor, the rest of the crew had seconds to stabilize their grip on the ropes, which increased its resistance with the absence of one man.

“Steady!” shouted the chief.  He sounded hopeful despite what had happened a moment ago, which motivated the crew to finish the job.  Once the ship was safely lowered into the water, the crew released the ropes, agonizing over the pain they experienced in their hands and their morale.  Another man succumbed to the madness without cause or reason.

“Bloody hell, that stings,” said one crewman, blowing into his hands.

While others echoed the sentiment, one crewman who could not ignore what happened addressed the chief.  “Sir, how many more of us are going to leave like that?”

The chief shook his head, shrugging.  He had no words other than the one displayed on his face: disappointment.  “Sir?”

The chief instead approached Interceptor and pet him on the head behind his ear.  “Thanks, lad.”

The dog’s ears dropped.  Interceptor was thanked for saving the crew from being slashed and stabbed, but this victory was bittersweet.  He could not avoid the foul scent of rotting meat and sulfur that preceded this madness, detecting it before the laughter began settling in.  But this was the first time an afflicted human being froze him with the eyes of insanity that only Kefka could wield.

He grew quite fond of the chief, a steadfast man of conviction and leadership who inspired others to follow his lead and help rebuild Nikeah.  With the anguish raining down on the survivors after the initial calamity and an attack from the Light of Judgment striking the northern sector, people were still willing to rebuild and continue as if nothing had afflicted them.  After successfully lowering their first ship into the water, exhaustion settled into the chief.

The chief’s scent had not strayed too far, allowing Interceptor to catch up to him.  He figured they could use each other’s company for the rest of the day.

Nikeah’s rebuild, much like many other towns and cities on the planet would take months, if not years.  Survivors gathered in groups to occupy homes that miraculously withstood the calamity.  The naval chief slumped down at his home onto a recliner, watching as other families had huddled together over an open flame some volunteered to keep ignited.  Interceptor lay his chin on the recliner's armrest, glancing up at the chief as if awaiting another pet.  He waited until he realized that the chief had already entered sleep no sooner than when his body hit the recliner.

Interceptor had observed several families still shell-shocked over the aftermath of the calamity to interact with others in the city.  Their behavior reminded him of Relm as she sat on that beach, glaring at the ocean.  Perhaps once the fleet of trading ships was completed and ready to launch, it would entice the survivors to unite for a common purpose.  The chief dreamt it would become a reality again, where Nikeah would become the hub of commerce and trade once again despite Kefka’s rule.

Sometime later, while not a full fleet, the naval crew completed a second trading ship that doubled as a fishing boat.  Wiping his brow, he congratulated his crew.

“Lookit that, lads.  We’re back in business.  Let no beast or man sink our pride and joy,” the chief regaled.  The crew paused, expecting a Light of Judgment attack, but no attack had struck Nikeah for at least a fortnight.  Cheering resumed, including several pats on Interceptor’s head.  While the dog watched the rebuild, he was still congratulated for his company.  It was something, at least.

“Shall we set sail for South Figaro, chief?” asked one of the crewmen.

“Aye.”

“You heard the chief, boys!  Let’s get it ready for sail!”

Interceptor tagged along, which puzzled the crew at first, but this was his chance to travel off the land since his trip on Typhon’s back.  Once the plank had been secured between the dock and the ship, Interceptor immediately boarded.  “Wasting no time, eh?” the chief laughed while directing everyone.

Taking a spot at the ship's bow, Interceptor excitedly panted while waiting for the ropes to be hauled back and the wind to pick up behind the sails to propel the ship forward.  The feel of the wind against his face was much like the wind from when he was on the ferry bound for Thamasa from Albrook.  He only wished Shadow was on board with him.  If his partner could find the means to travel, he’d make for South Figaro, too.  Interceptor’s instinct had been telling him for some time that if there were a city they’d reunite at, South Figaro would be the place.

~.~

One thing Shadow noted over the past several months of rebuilding Tzen was the return of carrier pigeons, bringing messages from other towns and cities that miraculously survived the apocalypse.  Though brief, it did bring a general sense of relief on the faces of Tzen’s inhabitants.  Faces tight with anguish relaxed and ebbed, adjusted to the permanent change in the atmosphere.

It still left Shadow brooding at the campsite he and Seigfried set up after receiving their generous payment.  The former Imperial Soldier, whom the visitors had learned was Darius, left them a chest to place their accumulated collection of gil for doing odd jobs around town.  Seigfried regaled and entertained the townspeople with his song-and-dance, fancy swordplay, and, to Shadow’s chagrin, a precise display of target practice with daggers that hit the center of a target Darius set up for him.  To this day, Shadow would not give Seigfried the satisfaction of watching his emotions surface.  To this day, as bleak as the world became, they were still discarded.

He saw first-hand what attachment to emotions brought to the townspeople in response to the calamity.  Despondency gave way to fits of anger and sadness.  Some even gave in to the strange madness that’s afflicted several survivors, enticing them to migrate northeast to the area they learned was once the Serpent Trench.  A calamity so powerful it unearthed a once deep underwater channel, whose currents were merciless to even the most versatile of ships. 

While Seigfried was paid for labor and entertainment, Shadow was goaded into acting as a protector.  Seigfried found it hilarious that an “assassin” the caliber of Shadow would be reduced to the town’s “savior.”  At least it was a paying job to kill monsters attempting to attack Tzen’s inhabitants.

One morning, the pair were awakened by a bright flash of light and a loud explosion that shook the area.  “The hell?!” shouted Siegfried.  He bolted from his cot to the source of the explosion.

Shadow, meanwhile, glanced back at the Tower south of Tzen.  It was another Light of Judgment attack from Kefka.  Though infrequent and random, it still carried a great deal of power behind its strike that leveled one of the houses, tossing debris and bystanders unfortunate enough to be nearby.

One question surfaced in Shadow’s mind as he watched Siegfried leap into action, calling for Darius to help tend to those immediately affected by the impact.  Was all this a genuine act of compassion or a long game he played to reap the rewards and bathe himself in gil?

“Clyde!” Siegfried shouted as if his face was a mixture of desperation and eagerness.  “Get off your ass and give me a hand, will ya?!”

The sight of people rescued from the smoldering, nearly collapsing building brought him back to that night in Thamasa.  The same hint of sulfur burned through the mask into his nostrils as he watched Interceptor pull her from the flames, Terra and Locke among them, along with that old codger, Strago.  It was as if he watched himself through the eyes of Siegfried while he aided Darius to hold up debris for villagers to pull out the owner of the house, a man pushing his fifties with a beaten-down shirt to accentuate it.

“Clyde!” Siegfried’s voice echoed in his ears, louder this time as if breaking through Shadow’s self-imposed mantra of memory.  Shadow ambled towards the wreckage, still indifferent to the fiasco that unfolded.  Watching Siegfried reminded him even more of Interceptor pulling the girl to safety.  He wasn’t certain whether he saw Siegfried pull a girl free from the wreckage as flames crescendoed or he hallucinated that night.

The next thing he realized was a firm grip on his shoulders, being shaken.  “What the hell is wrong with you?!  Get these people to safety!”

Shadow blinked, still frozen and lost in thought.  What’s wrong with me?  What’s wrong with you, Siegfried?  Since when did you ever care about others?

Whether it was the aftereffects of a world gone mad from destruction or living with these people for months, a second pair of hands pulled Shadow away.  “Clyde, we really could use an extra pair of hands,” said Darius.  Shadow ignored Siegfried for now and gave Darius a quick nod.

As he aided Darius, Shadow watched the soldier command villagers, directing those strong enough to carry survivors to safety while assigning medics to tend to the injured.  Darius pointed Shadow toward a water source villagers used to douse the flames.

Shadow found himself the least compelled to provide aid, passing filled buckets to villagers.  The more frantic everything looked before him, the lesser the expression on his face.  During their training, assassins were not taught to feel compassion or sympathy for the victim.  “Victims were unclaimed paychecks,” Siegfried would tell him.  Yet why was this very man going against his word?

If he could feel an emotion right now, it would be disgust.

It took them until dawn to assess the damage and extinguish the flames.  Sadly, only one villager had not survived, shown to have taken much of the blast from the Light of Judgment.

The slain villager was a kind woman in her thirties who had delivered a fresh set of clothes her daughter had once worn, eager to give them to the house owner's daughter.  That wanton feeling of disgust was eager to resurface in Shadow as he watched Siegfried lead a vigil to mourn her loss, arm wrapped around the girls’ shoulders.  How much longer are you going to maintain this façade, Siegfried?

Siegfried turned to Shadow as if he heard his thoughts spoken clearly.  “Do try to shed a tear at least, Clyde.  It might help convince these fine folks you give a shit.”

“And you do…?” Shadow retorted.  Siegfried’s face tensed, releasing the girl to be comforted by Darius.

“You can’t fool me with this act,” Shadow whispered, nodding past Seigfried at the villagers.

“It’s not an act, Clyde.  Dunno if it was the end of the world or spending time with these folks that’s got me to change.  But it’d do you some good to change, too.”

Shadow averted a few scowls directed at him, most notably from Seigfried.  “At least one of us decided to.”

Shadow turned to leave, shrugging off Siegfried’s hand in some vain attempt to keep him planted to the ground.  “So you’re gonna leave again, just like that?” Seigfried called to him.  If that was an attempt to instill guilt for his indifference, Shadow hadn’t noticed it.

“I didn’t stop here to mingle with common townspeople.  This was only meant to be a stopping point on my way to find Interceptor.  Besides, wasn’t this all to acquire gil for information regarding that fake Siegfried?  Whatever happened to that plan?”

Siegfried paused, glancing back and forth between the bewildered and aggrieved villagers and their campsite.  He then walked past Shadow to his belongings and pulled out a bag full of coins tossing it to him.  “Take it.  That’s your share of the earnings.”

Tying the bag to his pack, he slung it over his shoulders.  “C’mon Clyde,” Seigfried said, stepping in front.  “Stay a couple more months.  We’ll leave for South Figaro afterward to find your dog.”

Shadow gave him a look that, although it bore no expression, told his old mentor he had made up his mind a few minutes ago.  If what the scouts had reported were true, then there was a way across the landscape to reach Nikeah and see whether they had reacquired naval transportation.  That was his only means to reach South Figaro.  At least this way, he wouldn’t have Seigfried slowing him down with his constant chatter and vain attempt to act human.

“Last chance to change your mind, Clyde,” Siegfried said in his best friendly tone that Shadow continued to cast doubt upon.

Shadow narrowed his eyes.  “Clyde died a long time ago.  His shadow is all that roams the world, now.”

Brushing Seigfried aside, Shadow trekked forward without looking back once.  But his mentor wasn’t without one last jab.  “Baram would’ve helped them, at least!”

If another emotion would’ve returned to him, Shadow would’ve chuckled.

~.~

Interceptor continued aiding the townspeople of South Figaro, which for the most part might not even be called “South” Figaro, anymore.  The ship navigating the waters after leaving Nikeah noted a significant shift in the landscape from what the captain could describe.  Even from a distance, several crewmembers noted a sizable portion of land had connected itself southward from Nikeah.  They concluded it might have been the Serpent Trench itself, but ther was no way to prove their theory unless they navigated it by foot.  Whoever had left Nikeah went south, never to be seen again, all bearing that vacant disturbing gaze of insanity on their faces.  The sailors prayed nightly for sanity to return to those who were lost, but they weren’t sure which god would answer their call.  The more time passed, the more they were led to believe that Kefka was the only god of the world ruling over the broken.

“Hand me that hammer, would you?” asked one of the Figaroans from his scaffold.  Interceptor fetched a hammer from the man’s toolbox, reaching up to let him grab it from his jaws.  “Thanks, boy.”

His tail waged casually.  Even without his partner, he had been accustomed enough to human interaction that simple notes of praise and compliments made him relax while in town.  If Shadow could see him, he’d think the dog had lost his edge and given up on his career.  Interceptor was not one to give up, however.  He knew this would be the ideal place to wait for Shadow, if and when he’d show himself.  The moment that scent of his would become traceable, Interceptor would be overwhelmed with excitement.  He suppressed that urge, for now, focusing mainly on helping these humans rebuild Figaro to what it used to be.  Months worth of reconstruction had these people working tirelessly, barring a stray blast from the Light of Judgment.  Rather than being whipped into a frenzy, the townspeople stared back defiantly.  No matter how many times it strikes Figaro, Kefka would not end us, they’d say.

Since he disembarked the boat, Interceptor had heard several conversations regarding Figaro, mainly the fate of the castle and its king, Edgar.  Idle gossip regarding King Edgar ranged from the King dying from the cataclysm to hiding in the castle, never to come out.  Some even spread rumors that he had run off with one of his concubines and married her in secret.  Those rumors were eventually quashed by the first attack from the Light of Judgment upon the city.  Any talk of Edgar ceased soon after once the people worked on rebuilding.

It also became an afterthought once the first signs of a ship arrived at the port from Nikeah.  People were hopeful that trading would resume despite the cataclysm, yet whatever goods remained were scarce.  Some noted how several crates of produce that looked fresh magically turned rotten or had spouted legs and ran off in all directions.  An unfortunate effect of the twisted power Kefka wielded upon the world.

One thing that Interceptor did not expect was that Chocobos had survived.  The wranglers had a field day with the birds, however, exhausting themselves to calm them down.  Animals that were once docile all were agitated and frightened of the events that transpired months earlier.  Attempts to ride the Chocobos initially were met with injury with unlucky souls trounced upon by their sharp talons, scurrying off until the wrangler captured them some distance away.

Interceptor lent a hand herding the birds back to their pens to rest and re-acclimate themselves in a familiar environment, which led to a mutual understanding between the animals.  Interceptor only needed to give them a stern look and the birds calmed down.

As if the rumors spoken months earlier of King Edgar’s whereabouts weren’t enough, a stranger who bore a striking resemblance to Edgar was seen around the Chocobo stables, speaking with the wrangler.  His clothing looked too disheveled to be of royalty from what Interceptor remembered.  He pictured the King in embroidered silks tailored in haute couture, from a buttoned top to elegant trousers, polished boots, and fashionable riding gloves that saw no wear and tear.  A well-coiffed gentleman who sauntered with elegance and poise did not match any characteristic of the man who introduced himself as Gerad to the wrangler.  His hair might have been bathed in the entire desert, dusted enough as it was that the dog was certain had never seen the contents of a fragrant bath.  What should’ve been a royal coat was a torn ugly dark gray cloak Gerad might have fished from a dumpster during his travels, with none of the finesse of a King on display.  If Edgar had seen this Gerad, he’d probably have called him a filthy beggar.

Yet for some reason, Interceptor couldn’t shake the feeling he’d seen Gerad before.  Even the way the man looked at him.  He interpreted it as recognition of sorts.  He tracked Gerad’s scent, wondering if that would trigger a memory, yet the only time he had met Edgar was in this very town so long ago.  He may not have had enough time to graft a scent into his memory to recognize the King should he ever show up.  If Gerad really was the King working undercover, he masked his scent effectively to confuse a dog like Interceptor.

However, investigating the connection between Gerad and Edgar did not last long as the stranger had left for Nikeah according to passing conversations among the women Gerad had made a pass at.  At least that was similar between the two from the time Interceptor witnessed the King flirting with a barmaid at the pub at first glance.

~.~

Cold, bitter winds blew across the landscape during Shadow’s trek along the surfaced Serpent Trench.  There were traces of water erosion along the soil that had dried up, yet there was no mistaking the shapes rocks took after enduring considerable water damage over the years.

Magic reshaped the world, rearranged continents, moved cities to new locations that no map could locate, and all matter of fauna and flora were stripped away, leaving remnants of creatures behind.  As he went to dismiss his discovery, he caught wind of a procession migrating their way towards a mountain range.  More of those people behaving strangely from months ago had emerged, all walking with purpose, all towards a single location within this mountain range.

Shadow veiled half of his face and sprung forth, sprinting across the land to leap along the mountainside, lightly tapping footholds to propel himself onward until he reached the top.  If he still had emotions, he would’ve gasped at the sight before him.

These people, once simple townsfolk, once married with family, once soldiers of the Empire, and once casual citizens living their daily lives, all converged into this valley to build a structure.  It wasn’t tall enough that Shadow could see it from outside the mountain range, but he could tell that this structure would reach unthinkable heights.

But that wasn’t what would’ve made him gasp.  Among those building the tower, was a familiar face, the face of an elderly gentleman with a snow-white mohawk, and a vacant, dead gaze in his eyes, dressed in those same red robes and golden-colored trousers.  He, like the others, was assembling the tower, never stopping to take a break or to eat.  It was as if an unseen force drove them forward.  Shadow shook his head at the sight of the old man.

“Strago…,” he whispered.  “What would your granddaughter say if she saw you like that?”

He ducked out of sight when several pairs of eyes shifted direction to his location.  He slowly descended back to the ground below, having seen enough of this bizarre construction.

The way north seemed to go on forever.  Shadow counted the nights he camped and stopped at twenty.  Nearly a month since leaving Tzen hadn’t yielded anywhere close to Nikeah along this trench, yet there were signs of a desert ahead that signaled something different about the Serpent Trench he hadn’t figured initially.  If Siegfried had traveled with him, he might have had a clue that connected this desert to the once-ocean floor.  Nikeah would have to be somewhere beyond these dunes.

The chill of the wind hadn’t subsided once, yet Shadow eventually accustomed himself to it.  He knew there weren’t enough layers of clothing to provide adequate warmth, but each night he kept his mind off the temperature with the thought that Interceptor was waiting for him.  If we ever get separated, boy, find your way to South Figaro and wait for me.  I’ll meet you there, he’d remember telling his partner once.  He lay at the base of one of the dunes and drifted to sleep, repeating to himself that he’d meet Interceptor at South Figaro…

“Hey Clyde,” Baram said, interrupting Clyde as he sorted through their latest haul.  “Do you like dogs?”

Clyde shrugged his shoulders.  “Never had one, but they like coming towards me for some reason.”

Baram slapped Clyde’s back pocket.  “They’re after your jerky,” he laughed.

Clyde shared a chuckle.  “Why wouldn’t they?  This stuff’s amazing.  I’d move to Mobliz and eat this for the rest of my life.”

Baram plucked a crown from the loot and affixed it to his head.  “Kings, that is what we are.  Shadow Bandits, Kings of thievery and beef jerky.”

Clyde paused, gave Baram a look, and laughed.  “We should rename ourselves the Jerky Bandits.”

Baram tossed the crown into their sac along with the rest of the gil and stolen jewels.  “One million should get us a killer mansion out in Figaro, wouldn’t you say?”

“Nah, my friend.  Jidoor is where it’s at.  We could make a fortune auctioning off those trinkets and that’ll give us all the gil we’ll ever need to get the good stuff,” Clyde said.  He bit into a coin, grinning as he kept it clutched between his teeth.

“That rumored ultimate treasure?” Baram asked.  “What was it called?  The Phoenix?”

“Seriously?” Clyde said, arching an eyebrow.  “You believe in those myths?  I’m talking about the legendary assassin’s dagger.  Having that in our possession would make robbing anyone a piece of cake because they know they’d not mess with someone wilding the Striker Knife.”

Baram paused, shrugging his shoulders.  “Every thief wants the Striker, Clyde.  That’s a boring goal, my friend.   C’mon, expand your imagination a little!  Think about it!  What if these myths are more than just bedtime stories?  Last time we hung around Vector, we heard some weird conversations about what their leader has been aspiring to, going as far as forming his own Empire to revive magic.”

Clyde flicked the coin at Baram’s face, the latter catching it.  “As if the world needs an Empire to rule it.  If that’s going to be the case, we’ll rob them blind.”

“Right.”  Baram tied the bag closed.  Clyde finished tying his bag and hoisted it over his right shoulder.  “We’ve got a long trip south if we’re going to Mobliz,” he said.

“Mobliz?  Weren’t we going to Nikeah?” Baram asked.

“And go back in the vicinity of the Domans we just robbed?  That’s suicide,” Clyde retorted, glancing back at him.

Only something was different about the way Baram looked to him.  Baram was still holding his bag full of their loot inside, but he also had a knife impaled in his gut.

Clyde froze, glancing back and forth from the knife to the sunken, pale face of his friend.  “Baram?”

“Clyde.”

Clyde didn’t pay attention to the bag that dropped from his hand.  He reached for the knife to pull it out, but froze once again before it grabbed the hilt.

“What are you waiting for, Clyde?” Baram said, only his voice was graver and unnatural.  It was as if he swallowed sandpaper.  “You gonna finish the job or what?”

“Finish what?” Clyde asked and backed away quickly at the sight of Baram’s face.  It was no longer a face, but a hollowed-out skull with sunken eyes bleeding from inside its sockets.  “Finish the job and kill me already.  Finish me and run away!”

Baram grabbed the collar of Clyde’s shirt, his face inches from Clyde’s.  “Finish me, you gutless sycophant.”

Shadow sat upright, gauging his surroundings.  In his right hand was a dagger that was connected to another individual, an unfamiliar man who had passed by.  Killing his emotions still would not kill the memories, no matter how much he’d repress them.  Whoever this person was, he was unfortunate to make an attempt on Shadow.  He paused once he had a gander at the man’s face, thinking for a moment whether he saw something of Baram in that pale complexion framed by an unkempt beard.  This was a man several years older and the dress reminded him of someone from Nikeah, which meant that beyond this desert was the port city itself.  He was closer, that was certain.

After he cleaned his dagger, he sheathed it.  It was a parting gift given to him by Siegfried, along with a few of the master’s own personal collection.  Shadow shook his head at the memory of the venerable assassin and swordmaster, wanting to feel something akin to disgust regarding how soft the man had become.  But he chose this path, and Shadow continued along his to reunite with his partner.

That mutt won’t be a replacement for me, Baram’s voice growled in Shadow’s mind.  Every time Shadow pictured Interceptor at his side, Baram’s sneer seemed to imprint itself, mocking him.  It’s not time yet, Baram.  Wait a little longer.

Shadow’s dreams continued to immerse themselves into memories of his time with Baram, eventually melding with memories of the woman he met in Thamasa.  He even had dreams he was still on the Floating Continent as he fell with it, being forced underwater when a sizeable piece had broken off and flipped over with him on it, trapping him under.  Each night had dreams harsher than the last that he woke with a start, a cold sweat on his face, but not a single emotion he could name to pin them on.

When at last he reached Nikeah, the sense of unease was apparent on the faces of its citizens.  There were no signs of destruction, only wear from the quakes and natural disasters that stemmed from the calamity months ago.  The unease must be the reason why there hasn’t been a Light of Judgment attack since Kefka built his tower.

There was a Chocobo stable to his right with the chirping sounds of Chocobo chicks recently hatched from inside, drawing a few onlookers.  The market was still busy with its usual activity as if nothing had changed whatsoever in the city.  But he could see it on their faces, clear as day.  They went about their business, but no one dared say much beyond what was usually uttered, between the “good days” and “thank yous” to the “how are yous” and “safe travels.”

Among the city folk was a quartet of bandits lounging near the pub.  Shadow turned his face away, yet kept an eye on them.  I know those four.

He recognized the blood-red bandanas on their heads and crimson vests worn over black shirts and trousers.  The Crimson Robbers.

Shadow thought they might have died in the wake of the calamity but he knew a thief was more resilient than they were given credit for.

As he turned around, he bumped into another stranger.  “Watch it,” the stranger said.  Shadow grabbed the man’s upper arm before he walked away.  “I’d watch my tone if I were you,” he said, then glared at his face, whispering “Your Highness.”

The stranger’s eyes lit up, but only for a moment.  Shadow watched the area, then pressed a finger to his lips before he brushed past him to make his way to the port.

Shadow could see the facial features of Edgar, unmistakably.  There was no way he could not mistake Edgar for some stranger dressed in garbage clothes.  But after he spotted him approaching the Crimson Robbers, it was apparent the King had some need for those bandits.  He continued watching the group.  I’d work on that accent of yours if you’re going to convince anyone.  Maybe you’ve got them fooled, who knows?

Edgar wasn’t a face easily ignored, nor forgotten, Shadow knew.  He was nearly hired by the Guild to assassinate him until the job was taken by some lesser competent member.  Either he was bad at his work, or the King was so resourceful in his knowledge and technology that regicide proved difficult.

Once Edgar and the Robbers were inside the pub, he made his way to the docks, tossing a small satchel of gil to the ship captain.  “Passage to South Figaro, one way,” he told him.

“We won’t be sailing until tomorrow, I’m afraid,” the captain said, handing the satchel back to Shadow.  “We’re spending the rest of the day loading cargo and we’re expecting Gerad in the morning with his crew.  Said they’ve got work to do in the caves or something.  He didn’t say much else.”

“Gerad, huh,” Shadow said, glancing back at the pub.  “Suit yourself.”

Shadow spent the night by the docks, watching the crew complete the rest of their load before retiring into the city.  The chill had subsided, leaving an eerie silence in the air with only the water crashing against the port to break it.  Shadow eyed his dagger, turning it several times over along his palm before sheathing it.  The obscurity of the clouds above had not provided one night of clear skies to see the moon above.  Even then, Shadow hadn’t missed watching those same stars each night back when he set up camp with Baram.  Don’t you hate it when you can’t see shit up there?  Must make you feel better that you see less of the things that were important, huh?

Adjusting himself against a set of barrels, Shadow dismissed Baram to the back of his mind until he drifted into sleep.

The trip along the sea from Nikeah to Figaro proved much shorter than Shadow thought, yet it was still a trip long enough for Gerad to approach him at the port side of the boat away from the Crimson Robbers.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Gerad asked.

Shadow said nothing, only giving him a quiet glance.  He didn’t care whether the King who went undercover as “Gerad” knew he was the assassin without his gear.  But he did know that he would don it once more after reuniting with Interceptor.  He just hoped he didn’t make a mistake in his assumption.

“Not much of a disguise, if you ask me,” Shadow said, eyeing Gerad’s “garb.”  Gerad shook some dust from his hair.  “It’s enough to fool them, at least.  That’s all I care about.  If they can track their way back to the castle, I’ll know for sure where it had sunk.”

Shadow gave him a quick nod.  A Castle with the mechanism to submerge in desert sands.  Only a genius engineer like Edgar could invent such a feature.  But he didn’t nod to acknowledge Edgar’s brilliance.  It was more a recognition of what goal the King had set for himself.

“What of the others?” Shadow asked.  “Any survivors?”

“Only my brother and Locke, as far as I know.  We all crashed into the desert together, not too far apart from each other after we were thrown off the Blackjack.”

Edgar’s tone had the familiarity of someone who sounded hopeful but teetered on a broken will.  He certainly had the look of a King without a kingdom and subjects to rule.

“Boss!  We can see Figaro!” shouted one of the Crimson Robbers.  Brothers of differing ages, they approached the pair and nodded at Shadow.  “Who’s that?”

“None of your concern.  Get below deck and wait until we reach port,” ‘Gerad’ ordered them.  “Sure thing, Boss!” the lead Robber replied.  Once they were below deck, Edgar shook his head.  “Stupid enough to all get caught together, that lot.  But stupid enough that I can put them to use to get my castle back.”

“Before you head down,” Shadow said as Edgar spun around.  “Is Interceptor in South Figaro?  Did you see him?”

Edgar paused before sporting his signature grin.  “Yeah.”

After the ship had anchored and the plank was set down, Shadow trailed behind Edgar and the Robbers as they disembarked first.  He left them to their own devices, knowing it was none of his business what they did after they parted ways.  Knowing there were other survivors intrigued him enough that he may run into one of them at some point, but finding Interceptor mattered the most.

When he reached the southernmost part of the city, he scanned the area for signs of his partner.  He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly.  “Interceptor!” he shouted.

~.~

“Interceptor!”

The dog’s ears perked up.  He knew that voice.  He sniffed the air and the scent was there.  His partner’s scent.  The man who had taken him under his care when he was a pup was back in Figaro.

He barked several times, sprinting down the stairs, jumping across channels of water that flowed below to close the gap between him and Shadow.  The man who had been taken away by the Empire, the man whom he couldn’t fight with due to his wounds keeping him grounded, was within reach now. 

He slowed his pace enough that he wouldn’t dart past him.  As he neared Shadow, he was overcome with emotion.  He barked, cried, and whimpered, his short tail wagging erratically as he showered his partner with kisses.  Shadow knelt to his knees and ruffled Interceptor’s head.  “Hey, boy.  Not like you to get all weepy on me.”

Interceptor couldn’t care less about the lessons he learned in his travels.  He missed the man dearly and being in his presence once more was the biggest weight lifted off his back since he was relieved to have seen Relm survive the calamity.

He continued to bounce around until his partner sat on the paved street, unable to resist the urge to smile.  “I missed you, too.”

Shadow was back on his feet.  “Come, let’s settle into the pub.  You hungry?” he asked.  Interceptor wagged his tail.  He was, indeed, but his ears twitched to something else in the area.  Regaining his instincts now that he was with Shadow again, he had a better sense of the other fellow that had been stalking around Figaro.  Interceptor stopped midway.

“Interceptor,” Shadow said, glancing back.  “Come.”

The dog’s nose twitched.  The scent grew stronger as it drew him to an alley behind Shadow.  His partner’s back was turned, which was a prime target for an assassin.  As Interceptor’s nose tagged the scent, the stranger had made his move, albeit clumsily.

Tripping on a crack in the pavement and stumbling past garbage cans, the stranger nearly toppled over himself.  “Dammit, dammit, dammit!” he hollered.

Shadow casually spun to face the stranger and paused.  The stranger corrected his posture and drew his rapier.  “I finally found you!” he shouted at Shadow.

Interceptor barked a few times.  “No, it’s not him, boy.  Seigfried stayed back at Tzen.”

“Ha!  Insolent peasant!  You know that one’s a fraud!  A copier!  A charlatan!  A, uh, um, a big pretender!  I have the upper hand with this cunning weapon in my hand.  If I were you, rogue, I’d take the mutt and skedaddle out of here lest I run you through!”

The man stepped forward, brandishing and swiping the air in front with his rapier.  Shadow hadn’t moved a muscle, but Interceptor could easily tell by his scent that his partner was ready to skewer this hopeless fool and leave him for dead in the alley.  As far as this bleak world was concerned, one less body roaming around wouldn’t change much.

“You must either be quite brave, or utterly moronic if you managed to steal a set of my master’s clothes to dress like that,” Shadow said.

“Silence!” the stranger yelled.  “Spare me no more of your lies and baseless accusations, peasant!”  He pointed the tip of his rapier at Shadow’s throat.  “I’m well trained in this, I’ll have you know.”

Interceptor grunted.  Even he couldn’t bring himself to feel threatening towards this idiot.  He sat and panted, waiting for Shadow to make a move.  If there was a need, he’d happily join in and hold the man’s throat in between his teeth.

“Are you going to attack me or continue flailing your gums?” Shadow asked.  The stranger lunged forward with a growl as though anything said by Shadow would provoke this man.  Yet each swipe and stab from the rapier met nothing but air.  Shadow dodged swiftly and easily until the stranger paused, panting.  He held up one finger at Shadow.  “I’m not, not, done yet.”

Interceptor moved towards the man and bit his sleeve to hold his arm in place.  “Hey!  What are you doing?  Let go, mutt!” the man shouted.

Shadow casually took the rapier from the man’s hand.  “I’d say you’re done.”

Shadow examined the rapier for a moment, running his finger across the blade.  “Do you seriously intend to kill anyone with a blade as dull as this?” he asked the stranger.

“As if the great and talented Ziegfried would ever believe your lies, peasant!” the stranger told him.  Shadow paused.  “I’m sorry, what did you call yourself?”

“Ziegfried.”

“Don’t you mean Siegfried?” asked Shadow.  Zeigfried gasped and wagged his finger inches from Shadow’s face.  “Ziegfried is a name known the world over!  That imposter calls himself Siegfried because he envies my skills!”

“Sure,” Shadow said.  “Interceptor, come.  We’ve a long journey ahead.”

Interceptor wasn’t certain where Shadow wanted to go, but journeying with his friend again mattered more.  Except Zeigfried had other ideas and stopped Shadow, arms spread out.  It was unknown what the man’s face looked like under that veil, but there were certainly other weapons decorating his belt and shoulder, which Interceptor assumed might be equally dull if Shadow assessed them.

In one swift move, Shadow slapped both of Ziegfried’s hands down with the flat end of the rapier.  “Ow! Ow! Stop that!” cried Ziegfried, shaking his hands.  Shadow continued slapping the back of them.  “Quit it!”

“Get out of the way and I’ll stop,” Shadow ordered.  Ziegfried paused, shaking off the pain in his hand to cup his chin.  “You drive a hard bargain, peasant.  I’ll give you that.”

Shadow tossed the dulled rapier.  It landed with several clangs against the pavement, much to Ziegfried’s frustration.  “Move.”

“Wait!” Ziegfried shouted, holding his hands up again to halt Shadow.  “I have information!”

“You have information,” Shadow repeated, skeptical.  “I’m surprised Siegfried didn’t put a contract on you.  I wouldn’t mind some extra gil, now.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, wait!” Zeigfried muttered as Shadow drew his dagger flat against his forearm, ready for a quick slash of the throat.  Interceptor had seen it executed flawlessly countless times that the victim had no opening to react.  Only Siegfried had been able to block the attack with his blade.

“I know where to find some good treasure,” Ziegfried said.  “And I mean, really really good treasure.  Like a famous assassin’s dagger, perhaps?”

Shadow gave Interceptor a quick look.  “Go on.”

“Oh, good.  You’re a reasonable fellow, I’ll give you that.  You’ll hear me out?”

“Cut the babbling and explain concisely,” Shadow ordered.  He was running out of patience the colder his tone grew.  Despite killing his emotions, there were only so few times a person could make them resurface unintentionally.  Whoever this Zeigfried was was working his way to be added to that list.

“Lots of things changed when the world went nuts,” Zeigfried started.  “Doma castle shifted northward, I found because I was traveling eastward from here to practice my skills in the Veldt.”

Shadow rolled his hand.  “Right, right.  So you must be aware of ancient battle sites of famous combat guilds, right?  Monks, samurai, ninjas, gladiators.  I’ve been a huge fan of those stories from centuries ago after the War of the Magi that I had to investigate those sites for myself!”

Shadow paused, waiting for more info.  “And then?”

“Then I saw that due to several earthquakes, those sites that were long ago buried re-surfaced.  There’s a cave entrance on the Veldt now that leads to a different place altogether.  We only ever heard about it leading into Crescent Mountain, but that isn’t there anymore.”

“Anything else?” Shadow asked.

“Nope!  I peeked inside, but I could only go so far before the monsters in there were too much for me,” Ziegfried said, looking away as if embarrassed.  Interceptor could smell the fear in the man.  He barked at Ziegfried, unsure.

“You’ve got a point,” Shadow said, ruffling Interceptor’s head.  He casually scratched him behind the ears, which Interceptor missed terribly.  “How can we trust your information?”

“I don’t know!  I’m face-to-face with someone who probably could kill me!  What else do I have to lose at this point?!” Zeigfried, resigned, dropped the act.  “Okay, I admit it, I’m a fraud.  But I’m an avid admirer of people like you and Siegfried who make this look way too easy.”

“I suppose it’s worth a look.  What say you, boy?” Shadow asked Interceptor.  The dog sniffed a few times to gauge Ziegfried’s scent and circled the man before sitting beside Shadow.

“If Interceptor didn’t growl at you, it means you’re honest,” Shadow told him.  Interceptor scratched the back of his ear with his hind leg before shaking his head.  Ziegfried sighed heavily.  “Thank goodness!  Thank you for sparing me!”

Shadow shrugged.  “Doesn’t matter.  Get lost,” he told him.

Ziegfried backed a couple of steps towards his discarded rapier, sheathing it.  “I want to do some good in this world, at least.  I think our conversation helped clear my head.”

“Whatever you say,” Shadow said and waved Interceptor forward.

“What’s your name?” Ziegfried called as Shadow cleared some distance between the two.

“None of your concern,” Shadow called back.

“Thank you kindly, Mister None-of-your-concern!  I won’t forget this, I promise!” Zeigfried shouted, waving at the pair.  Shadow’s hand hovered over one of the projectiles given to him by Siegfried, at least a dozen shurikens at the ready.  Could this man be any more of a nuisance?  Interceptor seemed to agree on that, at least.

~.~

Their first decent meal at the pub was shared alone at a separate table.  Gerad and the Crimson Robbers had sectioned off a large table for themselves where they drank, ate, and flirted with the barmaids – much of it from Gerad.

Shadow could see Interceptor eyeing his face.  “I know, boy.  I haven’t dressed back in my gear, yet.  Been too used to this get-up.”

He could’ve changed at any time after leaving Tzen and no one would’ve known.  He had left his face unveiled to a broken world, knowing no one cared enough to recognize he was once a nothing bandit who made stupid mistakes.  They would have never known him to be Shadow except for Siegfried.

Later that night, Shadow woke to the sensation of his arm in Interceptor’s mouth.  The dog quickly released his grip as Shadow rose.  “It’s alright, boy.  Been used to these.”

Interceptor lay a paw on his knee as if to tell him he wasn’t so sure the assassin was ever going to be used to his nightmares.  He no longer counted the times he woke in cold sweats, nor the times he screamed in his sleep.  If he had ever lost Interceptor, he may have done something inexcusable at one point.  That one stray individual who stumbled upon him south of Nikeah was but one of many he could’ve taken out without even knowing.  He’d have woken to a corpse the following morning.

There was no sunlight to speak of that peaked through the windows of South Figaro.  Blood-red skies painted with sickly orange and yellow hues were what broke another day in the world.  He assessed the gear he brought with him, including all his weapons provided to him by Siegfried.  Daggers, short katanas, throwing weapons, smoke bombs, and his black ninja garb – all were accounted for and intact.

Shadow knew his strength had returned after he left Tzen, only enduring the harsh weather that would be too much for many travelers unprepared to survive a long journey northward.  Even the re-surfaced Serpent Trench was as volatile above ground as it was underwater.  He would need that strength to travel east to search the cave the imposter had mentioned.  If it contained the ancient battlegrounds of the assassin’s guild, the part that was still Clyde somehow enticed Shadow to investigate and loot the place for himself.  A blade forged ages ago that ninjas sought after and killed each other to acquire, only a select few had been able to wield it until they let themselves be buried with it, anticipating the next skilled assassin to find it.  The Striker had no equal in quality of sharpness and durability.  It was also said that it was an enchanted dagger of the War of the Magi, enchanted to never lose its sharpness.  A dagger so potent that it could pierce the skin of a dragon like a knife through butter.

He asked Siegfried if he ever considered finding it for himself.  Siegfried shook his head, scoffing back.  “A ninja’d be a damn fool trying to prove himself a ‘legend’ if he wants to wield a sharp little toy like the Striker Knife.  I don’t need legendary weapons to prove myself,” he said.

I’m not out to prove anything, either, Siegfried, thought Shadow.  The legendary knife was more of an accessory he could add to his arsenal, improving his chances.  It would also be the very thing he’d plunge into Kefka’s heart when the opportunity presented itself, magic and godhood be damned.

Back in full gear, Shadow and Interceptor left via the window, landing gracefully behind the inn.  From there, they trailed Gerad and the Crimson Robbers back to the ferry that served as a go-between from Figaro to Nikeah, bridging the gap between landmasses.  It’d at least cut into Shadow’s travel time to reach the Veldt.

Sneaking on board the ferry, he and Interceptor remained inconspicuous, not once being noticed.  They bode their time until nightfall at Nikeah’s port to remain unseen as they left the city.  To the east was the coastline with a few fishing boats left along the shore.  Shadow waited until one of the fishermen had carried his haul to Nikeah before commandeering the boat.

They weren’t certain how long the trek lasted as he rowed, keeping to one direction to the best of his navigational skill, minimal as it was.

Interceptor’s nose proved a valuable asset, as it allowed the dog to point in the direction of a scent he picked up.  His barking confirmed that there were monsters along a landmass ahead.  Though faint, Shadow was certain Interceptor directed the pair the right way.

After five days of eating nothing but fish Interceptor brought onto the boat along with some remnants that the fisherman had left behind as carry-on snacks, Shadow could see land ahead.  Whether this was the Veldt or not would have to wait until he was able to disembark.

Interceptor took the lead, sniffing the ground and air.  His ears perked up as he stared northwest.  “Monsters?” Shadow asked.  Interceptor trotted along in the other direction as if to indicate a strong concentration of predators.  His navigation allowed the pair to trek across the land with little difficulty, though the dog did stop at some point, growling around him.  “Guess we’ll have to fight our way through, then,” Shadow said, brandishing his short katana.  He held a pair of shurikens between his fingers, waiting for an opening.

Many of the monsters Shadow had seen before survived the calamity and migrated to the Veldt as if the continent acted as a conduit to attract all manner of monstrosities across the globe.  Some creatures that had been unleashed by magic along the Floating Continent survived the wreckage.  From the skies, Shadow could see a freakish-looking abomination with bat-like wings and the skinless face of nightmares, the very representation of death.  Shadow glared at it before it flew off, tightening the grip on his hilt.  Not yet.

Though they had disembarked at the westernmost part of the Veldt, the continent had shifted north from where it was, separated from Mobliz.  Where Mobliz was, Shadow had no clue.  In the days and nights spent traveling and surviving the Veldt, neither he nor Interceptor saw any signs of a village.  Among the scorched landscape were still remnants of the open savannah that comprised the Veldt.  Tall grass to conceal animals, with open areas involving predators chasing smaller creatures.

There were a few times during the days spent on the Veldt that Shadow noticed an adolescent child running among the monsters, fighting them off to steal scraps of food.  He remembered seeing that kid’s face on the Blackjack before the magical storms tore the ship apart, scattering all on board to the winds.  Another survivor, huh? 

Interceptor’s barking lured him away from the boy to the sight of a mountainous structure ahead.  Was this the cave Ziegfried told them about?

Several groups of large animals had been patrolling the mountain, each looking as intimidating as those Shadow had dispatched throughout his trek.  Their gnashing teeth and bulging musculature ate the sharp blade of Shadow’s katana while others suffered their own fate at the dog’s gnashing teeth, tearing through their throats.  “Interceptor, enough.  We’ll camp here tonight.”

Only one of these massive behemoths provided enough meat for the two to fill their bellies to full.  The carcasses served as comfortable bedrests for the pair as they slept, with only the dull embers of the open flame providing heat against the chill.

Once again, Interceptor was the first to wake, nudging Shadow with his muzzle.  He packed leftover meat from their dinner for later and the pair circled the mountain until they saw the opening of the cave.  “For such a moron, he somehow survived this place,” Shadow said of Ziegfried.  Interceptor grunted a response.  “Sometimes idiots survive as effectively as assassins,” Shadow noted.

The cave was dimly lit by several flames from a campsite inside.  Interceptor’s nose pointed in the direction of the source, which led to a party of rogues settled in an open area.  The pair remained hidden, using their colors to blend into the walls and shadows of the cave’s interior.  “So how are we gonna get that kid to join us?” asked one of them.

Their conversation trailed off with two others bickering about why that kid hissed at them, screaming that they were strangers.  One of them even mentioned that the kid had said they weren’t someone called “Mr. Thou,” which Shadow had paused to think it over.  Sounds like Cyan and Sabin had met this kid before.

It delved into a memory Shadow had of staying behind to watch those two leap off the top of Barren Falls after he parted ways.  Once he saw them at the mouth of the Veldt, he made his way onward.  Bearing witness to the atrocities of Doma and the departure of Cyan’s loved ones on board the Phantom Train often gave him pause to reflect on the family he left behind in Thamasa.  “Clyde” was dead to them, that he assured himself.  There would be no one to go back to that village for his daughter to see.  All Relm would see was an assassin-for-hire whose dog took a liking to her.  But that was only because Interceptor was born in the village and remembered Relm when she was months old.

Something else had also caught Shadow’s attention in the group’s conversation.  “Hard to believe it’ll be a year, soon,” said one of them.  The man sounded defeated, almost.  “Couple days, roughly?”

“Yeah, I know,” said another.  Shadow heard the sounds of a fire being stoked to keep it alive.  “Did you know it would be my son’s birthday coming up?”

“Same, only my wife’s had already passed two days ago.  We were planning a trip north to Jidoor to get something at the auction.  She had her eye on this art piece of Maria and Draco.”

Shadow heard one of the others sniffling, fighting his urge to cry.  “Sorry, bud.  Didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“We shouldn’t linger.  Let’s go,” Shadow told Interceptor.  The pair let the rest of the conversation fade once they found their way deeper, passing through chambers and openings.  Some required a tight squeeze, yet Shadow was able to pass through.  Interceptor had little difficulty navigating his way until he stopped.  His jaws peeled back to a snarl with an audible growl louder than Shadow had ever heard.  “Interceptor, what is it?”

The dog’s growls lured Shadow to a darkened section too obscure for human eyes to perceive.  Only Interceptor could tell what lay beyond the darkness, which revealed a pair of faint glowing red eyes.  Gnarled arms and hands comprised of bone and sinew grated the walls as it approached on legs that were unrecognizable from any land mammal it once was.  It had the bone structure of a Chocobo, yet whatever this thing once was likely was something that hunted Chocobos for sport, if not for food.

Shadow had his hand on the hilt of his blade, ready to draw.  Yet the creature that emerged from the darkness moved at such speeds not even Shadow was fast enough to intercept.  If it weren’t for his partner, he would’ve been at the end of those razor-like claws with deep slashes on his torso.

Interceptor reacted as the creature sprinted forward, biting into the creature’s shin.  It stopped, spun to acknowledge the dog, and shook it off.  Interceptor leaped and bounded out of the way of several swipes of the creature’s tail, which had now become visible once it was in full view.  What little light the caves provided came from the moisture reflected off the light from outside and the flames of the rogue’s campfire.  Shadow’s eyes had also adjusted enough in the dimly lit cave to perceive the skeletal structure of the creature who fought off Interceptor’s attacks, leaving an opening for several slashes of Shadow’s blade.

Maybe this was what frightened that idiot from searching this cave.  If this thing is what’s guarding the catacombs of the ancient battlegrounds, there’s no way to confirm for certain unless I get rid of this quickly.

Shadow’s thoughts danced as he did while circling the creature.  He slashed, cutting through some of the creature’s bones comprising its ribcage, while impaling the skull with precise shuriken throws.  Both he and Interceptor used combined efforts to wear the creature down until it eventually gave up, vanishing in a cloud of mist that drifted through cracks too thin for even Interceptor to squeeze through.  The shurikens that pierced its skull phased through and landed on the ground with a tink sound.

“Be on your guard, boy,” Shadow said, hand still gripping his blade.  “Who knows what else could be lur--”

He was cut off by a blow to the back of his head.  He could hear Interceptor barking and growling, but little else as his vision blurred.

His last thoughts swirled in his head before his face hit the ground.  If this is it, Baram, I’ll see you soon.

~.~

There was no warning.

Interceptor caught sight of the massive creature that lunged from behind Shadow as they were busy dispatching this skeletal menace that dissipated into mist.

He barked frantically to alert his partner, but that came at the same time he was struck with a single swipe of the creature’s massive arm, thick enough to be the same width as Shadow himself.

The beast shifted its focus off Shadow to him, piercing cat-like eyes trained to take him out as well.  Interceptor needed to act quickly if he was going to save his partner from becoming this creature’s dinner.

It lunged but his movement was not as swift as the skeletal menace.  Interceptor could use his deftness to avoid those heavy swings and wear the beast out.  He knew one blow would leave him in the same fate as Shadow, which was something he would not allow for one second.  Nothing would separate the two ever again.

An opening presented itself as the beast struck the ground where he once was, giving him some surface to climb to reach its face.  At least clawing its eyes out and tearing the beast’s face into an unrecognizable mess would give him and Shadow a chance to escape, even if he had to drag his partner’s unconscious body across the floor to do so.

His teeth did reach one of the beast’s eyes to bite deep.  It thrashed about, flailing its massive arms to swipe Interceptor off, only to howl in agony once it had lost its eye.  Interceptor fell awkwardly onto the ground, spitting the eyeball out.  He may not have torn much of the creature’s face, but it was enough to cause it to back off into its blackened hiding spot to tend to its gaping wound while he dragged Shadow to a safer location.

Amidst the shrieks of the beast, his ears picked up a new set of voices from near the cave’s entrance.

Familiar voices.

Even better, familiar scents.

If they were the humans he remembered from a year ago, they might be able to help take Shadow out of this place and to a safe location.  Even better, they could kill this beast and find the treasure for him.

It was worth a try.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy and all affiliated characters are owned exclusively by Square-Enix.  Please support the official release.

After the Fall // Prelude to Hope

Relm

Everything happened so fast.

At first, there was a deafening snap followed by another that rocked the Blackjack.

A bright spark descended to the land below from the Continent, yet above them, storm clouds amassed so fast the sun’s rays disappeared, blocking all light.  The skies were so dark only the lights from the Blackjack lit the deck.

“Grandpa!” she shouted.  “What’s happening?!”

Strago bolted to the port side to peer outward under the ship’s balloon-shaped mast.  His hands gripped tightly as his body tensed before he spun to face those still on board.  “Brace yourselves!!”

“What?!”

“Relm!  Get down, now!” he yelled, rushing to her.  The force of the wind blew the ship about, forcing Setzer to adjust each time to catch those who fell from the Floating Continent.

A thunderclap banged like a shotgun blast above them, coupled with a bolt of lightning that struck the top of the ship.  “Dammit!” she heard Setzer yell.

“You couldn’t stop their magic?!” Strago shouted at the quartet, joined seconds later by the assassin, Shadow.

The ship shook violently, tossing the passengers around.  Relm shrieked and tumbled forward.  “Relm!” Strago said, catching her.

“I’ve got you!” she heard Terra.  “Celes, give me a hand!”

“I’m com-AGH!” Celes lost her balance and tripped backward, crashing into Setzer.  “Celes!” Terra shouted.

Another bolt of lightning struck the ship, which caused another snap, even louder this time.  The wood creaked and cracked so quickly that the whole of the ship split apart.  Relm instinctively reached for Strago with her hand.  “Grandpa!”

“Relm!”

Strago reached back, but the wind was so strong it blew away the back half of the ship.  Relm could only look on at her grandfather as he shrunk in her field of vision.

She then found herself lifted off from the ship itself and spun around.  Her bag, containing all of her prized artwork and sketchbooks, would’ve flown off her had she not held onto the strap for dear life.  She shrieked again.  “GRANDPA!!”

Before she could pull the bag back to her, her body struck something below – the ocean.

She hastily swam upward.  She had no time to hold her breath and flailed aimlessly to reach the top, kicking fiercely.  She reached with her hands, desperate to grab a hold of something, anything to get her the chance to breathe again.

Debris pierced the water’s surface and nearly struck her.  Whether it was from the ship or something else, she only cared that she had something to focus on that would help her get out of this predicament before it became her resting place.  There was so much chaos, surviving somehow was her only option.

While reaching for what looked like a large piece of wood, her bag slipped away.  She couldn’t risk what little breath she was able to hold in to reach for it, opting for her life instead.  She swore to herself she would die before losing her creations, but even she had to be selfish enough to say screw it.

Once she had a firm hold of the plank of wood, she snagged another piece with her free hand and pulled herself out.  A gasp escaped her mouth as she exhaled, eating all the air she could get into her lungs.  She wrapped her arms around the wood, clutching onto them as she wheezed and coughed.  Spitting out salted, bitter-tasting water each time it snuck into her mouth, she searched frantically for signs of the others.  Did they land where she did?

She coughed too much to call out to anyone, especially her grandfather. 

Moments later, her bag had floated back to the surface.  Kicking with her legs, she directed herself to snag it out of the water to hang it back on her shoulder.  Violent storms, titanic cyclones the likes of which defied the natural order blew across the ocean and onto landmasses.  Lightning struck randomly, one so close she thought the heat would’ve singed her clothes and boiled her skin.  It struck one of the pieces of the ship and splintered it, showering her.  She shielded her face with her arms, cautiously avoiding catching anything on her face.  She had to find land soon and a place to hide.

What she had not anticipated was the emergence of a tsunami that had begun to form hundreds of meters away.  Relm propelled herself forward, desperate, panicked, praying to the heavens she’d find land.  The water currents began to accelerate as the tsunami closed in fast.  Relm glanced behind her once and each breath she took was fraught with nerves.  She pumped her legs so hard she could no longer feel them, but even that was not enough to outswim the giant wave that was looming over her.  “HELP ME~!” she bellowed before she was lifted by the wave and launched forward. The momentum was so fast her vision blurred before everything went black.

She felt lost in a deep fog, unable to see anything beyond her hands.  The mist was so thick no light seemed to penetrate.  Minutes, maybe hours, could’ve passed in the blink of an eye and she wouldn’t have known it.

What she did seem to be aware of was more coughing.  The mist shifted, converging into the ocean water again.  In a panic, she believed she was deep in the depths once more.  Her coughing continued until water vomited out of her mouth and on her cheeks.  Her body spasmed, or so she thought.  It felt more like someone shaking her, nudging her with an appendage or a stick.

Rolling to her side, she threw up more water, hacking aggressively before her forehead touched the wet sand.  Sand?

She opened her eyes to see that it was indeed sand she was touching.  Raising her head, her vision cleared enough to recognize a beach of sorts.  Once again, she found herself out of breath, taking in all the oxygen her body needed.

Her headscarf had been long since gone, likely blown off her head before she was ejected from the ship.  It’s not a dream, is it?

There was something else – the bag!

She checked herself first for the bag.  Her heart raced when she couldn’t feel it on her.  “No, no, no, no, no…!”

She tried to stand but tripped.  Her legs were like pillars of lead, grounding her to the sand.  Gravity worked overtime, it seemed, forcing her to crawl to search for it.  “Please, no….”

“Were you looking for this?” said a voice behind her.  It sounded familiar.  It had the tinge of a bubbling cauldron, only high-pitched and grating to the ears.  Of all the --.

She spun to face the source, an abnormally-sized octopus with lopsided eyes that looked anywhere except at her.  Clutched in one of its tentacles was her bag.  She knew who this purple-colored doofus was.

She eyed the bag and nodded.  “Here, I’ll lay it before you,” the octopus said.  She thought her brain was so water-logged she had forgotten its name, but Ultros wasn’t a name easily forgotten.  “You have got to be joking right now,” she said, more to herself than to Ultros.

“Um, I--”

“Shut it.  Not right now,” Relm said, holding her hand up to halt him.  She took her bag, brushing off the sand vigorously.  Unlatching the straps that bound the bad closed, she lifted the lid off.  She pulled items out one by one and was close to sobbing from the state they were in.  Soaked to an unrecognizable state, she turned the bag upside down and watched as a prism-colored liquid poured from inside.  She let the bag drop.

Bending forward, she lowered her head so much that her forehead touched the bag.  She dug her hands into the sand and squeezed so tight her knuckles were white.  With all the breath she could take in, she unfurled a shriek.  She shrieked, screamed, and howled, pounding the sands furiously while throwing every curse she had heard from the adult Thamasans onto her bag.

When she lifted her head, she saw Ultros shield his face with several tentacles.  “You’re mad.  Oh dear, oh dear.  You’re really mad, aren’t you?”

“Mad…?” Relm said calmly.  She rose to her feet, stomping one step at a time on the sand towards Ultros, dragging her bag behind by its strap.  “I’m mad…?”

She stopped inches from him.  “I’m not mad, Ulty.”

Ultros lowered his tentacles.  “Huh?  You’re not mad?”

He rubbed the top of his head.  Likely confused, she couldn’t tell.  But that didn’t matter considering what she did next.

“I’m fucking nettled, you grape-juice-colored jackass!” she bellowed, swinging down with the bag to strike him.  She swung and hit him repeatedly with the bag, forcing him to cower and cover his face once more.  “Ow! Ow! Stop it!” he cried.  “I’m sorry!  Please, stop hitting me!”

“The world’s gone to shit!  I lost my shit!  I’m soaked so much I can’t tell if I smell water or shit! And I want to throw up because your breath smells worse than shit! So. Don’t. Fucking. Ask. Me. If. I’m. Mad!”

After her last hit, she paused before reaching for another.  Hearing what sounded like sobbing under those tentacles, she lowered her arm slowly.  “Oh, God damn it.”

Tossing the bag aside, she stormed away from the blubbering octopus to snatch one of the soaked sketchbooks.  The cataclysmic background held little interest right now as she slumped down onto the beach.  She carefully peeled each page, hoping there was something still recognizable she drew.  When she reached the last page, she could discern the rough etchings of the Floating Continent she wanted to work on.  It wasn’t every day one saw such a colossal piece of landmass floating eerily in the sky.  Tried as she did, but she was not able to convince Strago to go with the volunteers to see the Warring Triad itself.  It would’ve made for an epic portrait if she could draw the very gods of magic themselves up close.

But those gods were what caused the devastation that lay before her.

Those gods were what tore the ship apart and separated her from her flesh-and-blood grandfather.  From her friends.  From anyone.

Any artist would’ve seen the image of the apocalypse happening at this moment and put pencil to paper.  If she had a canvas, she would’ve gone to work to paint the landscape of destruction.  But she couldn’t.  There were no sketchbooks, no easels, no blank canvasses, and no materials to draw and paint with.  She was stripped bare of what gave her purpose, leaving her alone and cold on a barren beach of who-knows-where.

She threw the ruined sketchbook as carelessly as she did her bag.  It didn’t matter where it landed.  It didn’t matter what had washed ashore.  Not even hunger mattered.  She also found her throat and lips were parched and dried from ingesting and rejecting all that salt water.  She was too fraught with unfocused rage she couldn’t care less how long she’d be without food or clean, drinkable water.

If only she had more time to learn, she’d have had Terra teach her a few spells from the Magicite the young woman acquired.  Learning fire at least would’ve been helpful to dry off and start a fire of her own to warm her body.  The winds that blew from the cyclones off in the distance made things gradually worse until she was forced to wrap her arms around herself tightly, rubbing her arms to gain any sort of friction.

She needed to take her mind off the frigid air chilling her skin.  Fishing a stick from the sand, she began to draw, tracing lines to form a caricature of an animal she soon realized was a dog.  Once she saw what she drew, she began to think about what could’ve happened to Thamasa and those who were still there.

Interceptor was there.

Adjusting the design, she changed the physiology of the dog to resemble more of Interceptor’s breed.  Once she was done, she sketched a man clad in ninja garb beside the dog.  She wasn’t a stranger to the two spending time together.  Interceptor wasn’t too far away from Shadow no matter where he went.  That one time she snuck off to trail Strago, Terra, and Locke, she was certain Interceptor would follow along to keep her safe.  It wasn’t until she reached the town’s border that the dog stopped, turning his head back to the assassin.

“You want to stay with him, don’t you?” she asked the dog.  Interceptor barked a response.  She knelt and wrapped her arms around him.  “You’re a good dog.  Go keep that guy safe, you got it?”

Watching the sketch in the sand made her think more about it and she was tempted to lie beside the drawing, imagining that Interceptor was right next to her.  Instead, she erased her sketch.  It wouldn’t be worth preserving if the tide reached her feet to erase the drawing regardless.

She continued to draw until she stifled a yawn.  At least the blubbering octopus’s sobs finally subsided after what seemed like an eternity.  So what if he was hurt by what she did?  He was a stupid octopus anyway.  She drifted off to sleep thinking about a time years ago when Strago carried her on his shoulders.  He never did fix that flying scooter, did he…?

Something hot close by woke her sometime later.  She wasn’t sure what it was until she noticed flames and the sounds of crackling wood snapping.  There was also the faint aroma of fish?

“Huh…?”

She thought she’d still shiver after waking up, but the heat from the open flame was soothing.  Part of her clothes, the front half at least, was dry to the touch in a few spots.  It wasn’t much, but she welcomed it.  To confirm the smell of cooked fish, there was something impaled on a stick upon a makeshift spit above the flame.  “What the hell…?”

“Y-you’re awake, finally,” came Ultros’s voice.  Relm wrapped her arms around herself, annoyed.  “What the hell do you want?” she asked.

“You can have that if you’re hungry.  I’m sorry I don’t have water, but that’s the best I can do.  There were burnt trees back there that I used to start a fire.  I-I, I’ll leave you alone.”

Relm eyed Ultros cautiously.  Strands of damp hair were still matted to her face, forcing her to brush it away.  She reached to snag the stick but retracted quickly.  “I can’t grab it, it’s too hot.”

A tentacle reached to take the stick off the heat, passing it to her.  “I thought you hated fire.  That’s what Terra told me.”

She heard a long sigh escape the octopus’s mouth.  “What a mess of things.  I liked those kids, and now they’re all gone.  And you’re here, but you’re mean and I don’t like it.”

Relm snatched the stick, certain it had cooled enough to handle.  She carefully removed the skin of the fish, which slid off with ease like butter.  Before she could take a bite, she could see that Ultros’s face almost had a human-like aspect to it.  It was as if his eyes were focused enough to avert her stare and bashfully conceal his face on top of it.  “I’m sorry.”

The fish was flaky and white under the skin, and even without seasonings, it was still fatty and flavorful in its own way.  It was something, at least.

Ultros busied himself by fetching additional pieces of flammable material he could add to the fire to keep it alive.  Relm could tell he wanted to ask her a myriad of questions, probably another one asking whether she was still angry – she was – or whether she intended to start searching for survivors.

The question of survivors was shortly answered the next day when a body washed ashore.  Relm waited for signs of movement, but the only thing moving was the body pushed by the ocean tide onto the sand.  Ultros rolled the body over, revealing a young woman.  Relm flinched at the sight, recognizing her as one of the people of Thamasa.

“Amicia,” Relm whispered.  A flower girl known to assemble bouquets with a little sprinkle of magic to add a beautiful palette of colors.  Relm loved spending time sketching each bouquet Amicia completed in her sketchbook to show Strago later.  She expected the body to have flowers in its hand, but Amicia’s pale face told her she had seen horrors of her own before she was swept into the depths.

Beyond Amicia’s body were a few others.  Her jaw lowered at the sight of them.  They were Thamasans, all of them.  The unique stylish clothing of flowing dresses and pants with colorful shirts and jackets was unmistakable for descendants of the Magi.  Did Thamasa itself suffer the destruction of the Warring Triad’s magic?  Were the magic users not strong enough?

The whole thing only fueled her rage even more.  Rage at what she lost, rage at her failure to be anything more than a simple virtuoso.  Her only gift was to bring her drawings to life with artistic flair, yet the apocalypse robbed her of that.  She gazed ahead at the ocean, knees brought up to her chest.  She wanted to curse, but what was the point of that now?

Each day had her sketch from memory a villager from Thamasa she discovered either washed ashore or floating face down in the water.  Each sketch was then subsequently erased with a kick, a vigorous scratch of the stick, or the tide rolling in.  She’d be bawling if she were younger, but sound advice from Strago echoed in her head.  Sure you could cry and let it all out, dear.  But sometimes things happen when you don’t have control, and that’s okay.  You look ahead, stomp your feet, and tell those things they’re not the boss of you.  They’re more stubborn-headed than I am.

She didn’t shed tears.  She wanted to keep that fire burning.  Until she could pick up a paintbrush with a blank canvas, she needed to be blazing.

As Ultros brought her more fish – edible ones at least – for her to cook and eat, her energy was coming back.  She also began to realize the aches and soreness her body had ignored earlier from the impact of the ocean to swimming for safety amidst the catastrophic storms and being washed ashore by a tsunami.  She cooked, ate, and sat to stare at the ocean.

It wasn’t until a surprising face appeared that she was tempted to release what she built.  Of all the survivors to appear, it had to have been Interceptor.

Why did it have to be the doggie?  It was maddening!

Relm restrained herself, watching out of the corner of her eye a dog elated and excited to see a familiar face.  No, you’re still angry, Relm.  It’s not the right time to pet the doggie.  But he’s alive!  This is agonizing!  I need to stay angry!  It’s giving me purpose, dammit!

“Go away,” she finally told the dog.  I’m sorry, Interceptor!

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dog’s ears lower, defeated.  He gave a small whimper before turning to leave.  A stray tear hid from his sight, forcing her to close her eyes in protest.  Don’t make this so difficult!

There was another creature of sorts that she had seen Ultros talk to on occasion.  Mr. Typhon, she heard the octopus call it.  Amidst all the “Fungah!” it screeched, it was amazing that the creature had anything resembling a language Ultros understood. 

Whatever the conversation was, Interceptor was convinced to climb onto Typhon’s back as it flew him across the ocean.  It snapped her out of her funk for a moment.  “The f-?” she whispered before she spotted the back of Typhon.  “Why does it have a mouth for an ass?!”

Ultros waved his tentacles wildly.  “Oh!  Please don’t make fun of Mr. Typhon!  He’s very sensitive!”

“You’re kidding.”

Back to being angry, it was – with a little mix of abject confusion – as she glared at Ultros.  “Does Interceptor know what he’s doing?” she decided to ask.

“He’s off to find his partner, whoever that was,” Ultros said.  He rubbed the tips of a pair of tentacles together, looking pensive in some way.  Relm rolled her eyes.  “It’s Shadow, you nimrod.  Of course, he’d go find him.”

“Hey.”

Relm stomped past the octopus to fetch the bag she cast aside several days ago.  Dusting off the sand, she examined every aspect of the bag.  Lifting the latch, she peered inside.  Shaking her head, she dragged the bag across the water to fill it up.  Swirling it inside, she poured it back out to rinse whatever colors were still blended inside, watching the remnants of the prismatic soup pour out.  She could see Ultros watching her.  Sighing, she spun back to the ongoing campfire.  “Grandpa gave this to me for my sixth birthday.  I sure as hell won’t have this lost.”

“But, you tossed it aside as if you didn’t care about it,” Ultros said.  He flinched as she raised it, ready to strike him again, but relented.  “It survived the end of the world, didn’t it?  I’ve tossed this thing around hundreds of times.  It can take a beating, and apparently so can you.”

“Why are you being so mean to me?  Am I not Uncle Ulty?” Ultros asked.  Relm paused until he backed off, watching as the trails left by his tentacles along the sand left a random pattern.

“Oh, piss off with that ‘Ulty’ crap, already.  I’ve already told you things have gone to shit and I’m not in the mood to play nice with anyone right now,” Relm said as she stormed back to the campfire.  She lay the bag upright next to the flames to dry it off.

“Not even your friends?” Ultros asked.

“Did I stutter?”

The octopus slumped forward, blowing a cloud of sand from his mouth.  “Won’t you go look for your grandfather, at least?” he asked.

“The old duffer’s lived through worse.  I know he would’ve survived this,” Relm said, stoking the fire with a stick.  “Get me a fish, would you?”

Ultros slammed his front tentacles.  “Now see here, young missy!  I’m octopus royalty!  I’ve had it being your little servant! Go get your own fish!”

“Fine.  If you’re gonna keep being a big suck, go be a big suck somewhere else.  I can manage, thank you very much,” Relm said as she approached the water.  She could tell Ultros was watching her try to figure out how to catch fish, but in her anger, she lost track of how Ultros managed to get them out of the water and by her side.  There was no harpoon or a pointed stick of sorts she could use, nor was there a trace of a net to draw them in.  Throwing her hands up, she groaned.  “Dammit!  I don’t know, I, I’m not used to, I’m, I’m, fuck!”

“You shouldn’t use such language, Relm,” Ultros said.  Relm flipped him the bird.  “Or tone it down at least?”

She paused before flipping him off with her other hand.  “Get. Me. My. Fish.” She said with a sharp grin.

“Please and thank you?” Ultros said.

“What?”

“Only if you ask nicely.  I may not look like a friendly octopus, but at least Mama always said to mind my p’s and q’s.  So Please and Thank you’s are in order,” Ultros explained as he glided across the sand to the ocean water.

“Whatever.  May I please have a fish?” She said half-heartedly.

“It’s a start,” Ultros said before he dove underwater.

Moments later, fish were flying out of the water, collected along a patch of grass still intact from the cataclysm.  Flopping around, Ultros surfaced, dropping several into his mouth.  “Didn’t realize I was so hungry!  This oughta satiate me for a while!”

“Ugh,” Relm scoffed.  Grabbing the stick she had been using to cook the fish over the flames, she tried to skewer the fish one by one so several could be cooked at once.  After several attempts, she shook her hands.  “Damn it all, it’s not working!”

Ultros did it with such ease it amazed her – for a moment.

“Thanks, I guess,” she told him after he offered the fish skewer.  Placing it over the flame, she sat and watched out of boredom the fish cooking.

“We’ve been here for some time now.  Okay, maybe not even a month, but is there somewhere you want to go?” Ultros asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What about your home?  There should be survivors there,” Ultros said.  There have been frequent thoughts regarding going back home, but she didn’t want to go back alone, not unless she wanted to be showered with questions regarding whether Strago survived.

“It’s going to be a while before I return to Thamasa.  I’ve got other things I want to get done first,” she said.  Turning the stick, she flipped the fish skewer to cook the other side.

“I could take you if you want.  Wherever you need to go, I’ll get you there,” Ultros offered.

Relm arched an eyebrow.

“On one condition.”

“What?”

“You treat me nicely.  And none of that naughty language, either.  The ocean is my domain and you could easily be swimming across if you’re not careful,” Ultros advised.  Relm propped her elbows up, resting her face on her hands.

“I won’t treat you like shit, I promise.  But don’t ever tell me what I’m not allowed to say.  Agreed?” Relm said bluntly.

Ultros playfully tapped his front tentacles.  “Agreed.  So where do you want to go?”

A smile finally crossed Relm’s lips.  “The best place for artists to visit.  Jidoor.”

If Ultros had any other expression than his usual dopey-eyed stare, he would’ve been put off by her statement.  “Wait.  How do you know about Jidoor?  Aren’t you Thamasans so back-watered you never left the island continent?”

Relm narrowed her eyes.  “It was our secret that couldn’t leave the village.  It’s not like adults haven’t left to see other places before.  And Grandpa was able to pull in a few favors to help me with art supplies when I started drawing.  Jidoor is where it's at when you want to shop for art.  I heard they have some mega-rich guy who collects artwork all over the world.  I begged Grandpa to let me travel to Jidoor, but he wouldn’t let me.  I…,” she paused, glancing at the ruined sketchbooks.  “I wanted to show the mega-rich guy my portfolio.”

“I suppose I could take you there.  I think it’s that-a-way,” Ultros said, pointing a tentacle to the northeast.

“Then we’ll go after I eat,” Relm said.  Excitement seemed to meld and subdue her anger, which given the circumstance of a free ride across the ocean, was an encouraging thing.  It was also at the same time that Typhon returned.

“Mr. Typhon!  Did the doggie make it safely?” he asked.

“FUNGAHH.”

“He says yes.  The dog didn’t give him a fuss, either,” Ultros told Relm.

“FUNGAHH.”

“I don’t think she’s still angry.  But I’m afraid to ask.”

“I’m not as pissed, no.  Because I know I have a chance to visit Jidoor and paint again!” Relm said, rubbing her hands together.  She clutched the bag tightly against her.  “What better things to fill you back up with than from the very source?  I can’t wait to get there!”

Getting a good look at Typhon was odd at first.  She couldn’t tell which head ate, or whether this thing poops or not.  She shuddered immediately at that thought.

Amidst the mostly pink coloration with yellows and greens, she studied Typhon’s color structure.  She even approached him out of curiosity.

“You’re one very strange human, you know that?  Most would run away screaming at the sight of Mr. Typhon,” Ultros said, but Relm shushed him with her finger against her lips.

“Lemme focus,” she ordered.  “These colors blend in so naturally.  And this, is this fur?  Scales?  Rough?  Smooth?  Can I touch?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.  She traced her hand along the underbelly, while her other hand explored the creature’s side.  There was a mix of fuzzy and scaly, fuzzy being what constituted Typhon’s stomach – or whatever passed as a stomach.

Scaly would describe more what was along the back and sides of Typhon, covered with unnaturally smooth fur.  “You’re awfully fluffy for a thing with a mouth for an ass,” she noted.

The creature grumbled something low in its throat, or throats, she wasn’t sure.  A thing with two mouths must have some proper anatomy inside that makes it function, yet it was low enough that she could only examine its rear mouth.

“Mr. Typhon is purring,” Ultros said.  “He likes it when you rub his belly.”

Relm almost threw up in her mouth.  “Thanks for telling me.”

She examined the front mouth.  “So where does it eat from?  And how is this thing floating, or flying?”

“I don’t know the specifics, honestly.  But some sort of wind thing exists inside that keeps him in the air.  But it gives him terrible hay fever so he’s prone to sneezing a lot.”

Relm immediately backed off.  “Hey, don’t you start sneezing me off this place, mister!” Relm exclaimed.

“FUNGAHH!”

“He already sneezed on the way here, so you’re fine,” Ultros said, patting Typhon’s top with a tentacle.  “They don’t have a cure for what ails ya, I’m afraid.”

“FUNGAHH.”

“I know.  I’m still waiting for something that’ll make me fireproof.” Ultros patted himself repeatedly, then at Relm.

“I know.  Why don’t you take Relm to Jidoor?  It’s right that way if you go in that direction,” Ultros said.  Typhon’s purring shifted into an audible burbling as it spun several times, circling above the beach.

“What the f-?!”

“FUNGAHHHHHHH!!!”

“A bat-thing?  What bat-thing?  Mr. Typhon, slow down.  What are you talking about?  What bat-thing?”

“FUNGAHH…!”

Ultros made a sound that Relm wasn’t sure was swallowing, but it did look as if he went a shade paler.

“Mr. Typhon said he saw a creature that looked like a flying stingray with a skull for a face and bat-like wings,” Ultros explained.  Relm nearly dropped her bag.

“What did you say?”

“A creature of death, Typhon said.”

“Shit….”

Relm slung the bag over her shoulder.  “Grandpa told me stories about ancient magical creatures sealed away at the end of the War of the Magi.  I liked hearing scary stories from our history, but after Grandpa told me the story of a creature called Deathgaze, I had nightmares that night.  Did anything else appear?  Were there Dragons?” she asked.

“FUNGAHH.”

“He doesn’t know,” Ultros said.

Relm nodded.  “I don’t blame you for not knowing.  But Grandpa did say this to me:  If the War of the Magi ever were to be repeated, Deathgaze, Humbaba, and the Servants of Lord Kaiser would be freed from their seals to wreak havoc on the world, fighting for no side but their own.  Grandpa said he regretted telling me the story about the Warring Triad and their power.  If what you said about the flying creature is true, then they truly are set free once again.”

“And here I thought fighting you humans made me king of all monster-kind.  Now I want anything but.  If it scares Mr. Typhon so much, I’ll have to take you to Jidoor myself.  You can go the long way around if you want to avoid Deathgaze, Mr. Typhon,” said Ultros.  Typhon exhaled another “Fungahh” before he launched himself in the opposite direction.  “I’ll go find you!  Just give me a sign like a sneeze or something to let me know!”

“Ew,” Relm whispered.  A pungent smell wafted in the air near her, forcing her to spin around.  “Oh shit!!  The fish is burning!”

She ate what was still edible before she scoured the ground for art supplies she was uncertain were still intact.  Among the paintbrushes, the bristles had warped from too much water and salt damage, rendering them useless.  The more she assessed, the less hopeful she was to recover any of her supplies.  At least some of the soil had a mix of colors from her paints.

She latched the bag to secure it, ensuring that it was hung comfortably on her shoulder.  She marched up to Ultros.  “Alright Ulty, let’s go.”

“Now?  But it’s almost nightfall,” he said.

“And?  Why should that stop you?”

“You don’t know what kind of scary stuff comes out at night nowadays,” the octopus whined.  “The magic’s run rampant all over the world and monsters galore run amok everywhere.  Land, sea, and even sky.”

“Right now, the only thing scarier than those monsters is me if you don’t take me in the next thirty seconds.  Otherwise, I might have grilled octopus to replace the burnt fish.”

Ultros shielded himself with all eight appendages, cowering away from Relm.  “I’m not tasty, at all!  I don’t want to literally become seafood soup!”

“Then quit your whining and give me a boost on top of you, dumbass,” Relm barked, kicking one of the tentacles a couple of times.  “Tick tock, Ulty!”

“Okay! Okay!” Ultros yelled.  Groaning, he wrapped one of his arms around Relm to lift her to the top of his head.  She tried moving around, but there wasn’t much surface to hold onto, much less get a good foothold.  “Geez you’re slippery.”

“How’s that my fault?!  That’s just how I am!” Ultros whined.  Relm knocked on his head.  “Whatever.  Forward!”

Grumbling under his breath, Ultros crawled along the beach until he crossed into the ocean.  From there, his movement increased, allowing for faster travel.  Relm gazed across the water as the wind blew.  From the distance, pieces of the Floating Continent floated eerily in the water, broken and soon-to-be-forgotten.  There were also remnants of the Blackjack left floating on the surface, ranging from planks of wood to the balloon that was used to keep the ship flying in the air.  She expected maybe someone from the ship to swim back and forth between land and wreckage, but the lifeless structure remained there as an eyesore.

Ultros sped along the ocean in the other direction, moving away from the masses.  Relm surveyed the surroundings, hoping to find signs of land somewhere, but oceans were all there were as far as she could see.  “Hey, where’s Thamasa?” she asked.

“To your right,” Ultros replied.  Relm turned her head, but there was no sign of land to the right.  She squinted her eyes, but no such landmass was close enough to be discerned.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I’m positive.  But it shouldn’t surprise you that as I roamed around the sea during your brooding sessions, I saw a heckuva lot of changes to the landscape.  The Warring Triad wrecked this planet something fierce, lemme tell ya.”

“Yeah.”

Relm didn’t doubt those words for a second.  Any signs of grass left intact had to be a blessing, much less a miracle.  Trees in the area were decimated, left as a charred husk of its former beauty.  The bodies of the slain Thamasans were eventually buried by Ultros, with some sent to the bottom of the ocean.  Ocean, land, none of it mattered to Relm as they served as a makeshift graveyard for the deceased.  No amount of magic could bring those back. 

No amount of magic could bring this world back.

“How much longer?” she asked.

“No clue.  We may need to find an island to camp for the night,” Ultros told her.

“You’re not tired already, are you?” she said.  Ultros decelerated until he came to a halt.  Floating in the still endless ocean, it looked like he was staring up at her, but those lopsided eyes could be looking anywhere.

“Already?  I’ve been swimming for hours!” he whined.

“Well, I don’t have a clock, okay?  Just find us an island,” she ordered, knocking twice on his head.

Grumbling again, Ultros muttered something under his breath.  “You say something?”

“No,” Ultros sighed.

“Then let's get going before I slip off your head.”

Using a tentacle, Ultros moved it around until he stopped.  “I can sense landmass in this direction.  It might be an island.”

“Might be…?”

He sped up again, forcing Relm to hold tight against anything she could grab on his head.  There were folds she squeezed with her hands, but even those proved difficult due to a mild mucous membrane that felt slick to the touch.  This is so gross!

The landmass was indeed an island, but too small for someone as large as Ultros to sit comfortably.  Relm disembarked and sat against a fallen palm tree.  There was another, but only half of it was still planted in the ground, the top half long gone.  She paced around the island, studying the land to see whether there was some room Ultros could squeeze onto, but the octopus waved a tentacle.  “I’ll sleep underwater,” he told her, diving into the ocean.

Before Relm could protest, she sighed, which quickly shifted into a yawn.  She laid her bag on the sand and rested her head on top like a pillow.  Sleep came within seconds.

The next morning she woke to an unfamiliar area, much larger than the island.  “The hell…?” she whispered.  She searched for her bag only to find it back on her shoulder.  Gauging her surroundings, she stumbled upon a town in the distance.  “Is that…?”

“Oh, you’re awake!” came Ultros’s voice as the octopus surfaced above the water.  “You were still asleep so I carried you the rest of the way.”

“You did?  Then that means…,” she said, glancing behind her.  “Is that Jidoor?”

“I’m pretty sure, I think.  I mean, it looks pretty rich-ish from here,” Ultros said.  Relm rubbed her eyes to get a better view.  “Only one way to find out,” she said.

“Aren’t you going to thank me for taking you here?” Ultros cried.  “I’ve done a lot for you.”

“You’ve tried to kill my friends on several occasions, Ulty.  And I seem to recall you initially refused to let me draw your portrait.  I’d say me not killing you myself evens us out.”

“But, but you,” Ultros began but sighed heavily.  “Okay!  I’m sorry I tried to kill them!”

“That’s better,” Relm said, ensuring he saw a clear grin across her face.  “You’ve done a lot to redeem yourself.”

“I don’t enjoy it, you know!” Ultros said, tentacles crossed.  “Ungrateful little snot-nosed girly girl with a sailor’s mouth…”

He continued to mumble as Relm stifled a giggle behind her hand.  “I’m leaving.  Do whatever you want over here.  But you’ll have to find some other way home!”

“I’ll be fine.  And Ulty?”

He stopped mid-way, spinning to face her.  “Thank you.”

Ultros dove into the water, out of her sight.  Marching forward, she’d have to hope the idiot brought her to Jidoor.

Scorched earth.

Those two words were the best way for Relm to describe what she saw before her.  It was no different than when she woke from her experience with the tsunami.  The soil still had that freshly burnt scent to it, leading her to wrinkle her nose as she trekked towards the town ahead.  A morbid thought crossed her mind.  I’m tempted to start painting portraits of all the devastation around here.

She halted and slapped her forehead.  “C’mon Relm, stop thinking like that.  Get your ass to Jidoor.”

As the town drew closer, the architecture astounded her.  Not so much that it was beautiful in its aesthetic, but the fact that the apocalypse barely left a scratch on the buildings.  What sort of magic was at work that was powerful enough to protect the town from the Warring Triad of all things?

She picked up the pace, briskly making her way to the open walkway.  It was even more surprising to see the landscape unscathed from a better perspective now that she was at the entrance.  “Only one way to find out if this is Jidoor or not.”

She flagged the first citizen middling about.  His face seemed friendly despite the destruction outside.  “Excuse me…?”
“Ah, welcome young miss.  This is Jidoor, the westernmost town on the world map!  Or at least we still believe it is!” the young man chuckled.  “Where did you travel from?”

His manner of dress seemed correct, as far as the class segregation went.  She was told by returning villagers that there were upper and middle-class citizens who lived in segregated sections of the village, with the richest man of the town inhabiting the luxurious mansion at the far end on top of a majestic staircase.  She was curious whether he resembled a tailor or a merchant.  “I’m from, um, off continent.  Are you a merchant, by any chance?” she asked.

“Sort of.  I used to run the Chocobo stable until I was told to close it up.  The birds were scared out of town when all that happened and none have returned since.  Right now I’m working with the Item merchant up the stairs there.  Are you here on an errand?”

Chocobos.  I’ve seen pictures but never met a live one before.  Would’ve been neat, though.

As she continued staring at the boarded stable, the former stable head was already on his way up the stairs.  “Hey!  Wait up!” Relm cried after him.

“Oh, hello again,” the man said.  Relm blinked.  Weirdo.

“I heard there was an art supply store in this town.  Do you know where I can find it?” she pleaded.  The man paused before pointing to the northwest.

“You’ll want the shop over there.  Lots of artists have been stopping by a few days ago from Kohlingen and South Figaro.  I even heard there was a sculptor all the way from Nikeah who’s sort of stuck here with no way back.  Been here a week before the disaster, could you believe that?”

“I suppose.  I’ll go check it out,” she told him.  She didn’t want to mention how she had never heard of these other towns due to her sheltered life in Thamasa, but the fact there were other artists must mean she could have access to materials if they were willing to lend a few extras.  It was worth a shot.

“Hello?  Excuse me?  Hey!” Relm called, waving her arms around.  “Can someone lend me a canvas and some supplies?  Anyone?”

Minutes went by without an answer.  Eventually, a woman in her mid-twenties emerged from the shop.  One look at her screamed virtuoso to Relm with the array of colors in her dress and shawl.  Even her beret and tinted glasses made her jaw drop slightly.

She clapped her hands twice.  “Artists!  This young girl is asking you for something!” she barked at the group.  Heads spun from their canvasses as if broken from a trance to eye Relm.

One of them scoffed loudly.  “You?  An artist?  Please!  Go bum some colored chalk from the shop if you want to draw kiddie pictures on the pavement if you want to draw.”

Relm clutched her bag, raising it as if ready to slam it against this jackass.  She stormed over to his current painting and gave him a disgusted look.  “Seriously?  You drew that?”

“Yes.  I’m working on a piece reflecting the hills overlooking Zozo to the north.  The sunlight casts a breathtaking aura over the horizon at just the right time and I’ve committed that to memory,” the artist narrated.  Relm narrowed her eyes.  This man was asking for it.

“Looks more like you trained monkeys to throw their shit on a blank canvas,” she told him bluntly.  The man gawked back at her.  The other artists burst into laughter.

“She’s not wrong,” said one of the women artists, pointing out areas on the painting.  “If Owzer saw this, he’d throw up all over it.”

“I’m trying!” the man shouted.  Growling down at Relm, all she did was stick her tongue out and marched into the shop.  “I dare you to draw a better version if you’re going to be a smug little bitch!”

Relm hid her grin from the man who started arguing with the female artist.  From their bickering, it sounded like they were siblings, one of which was clearly more talented.  The shop owner shook her head as she went back behind the counter.

“Every day with this,” she said, motioning to the quarreling siblings.  “I tell him to get lost, but he won’t leave until he insists Lord Owzer sees his work.  I can’t wait to see that trainwreck.”

A shelf full of charcoal sticks drew her attention first.  “Holy moly, look at the different sizes!” she exclaimed.

“I’ve no doubt you’re an artist, judging by that bag,” the woman said.  Relm patted it.  “You betcha.”

“You are rather young for one, though.  Most artists I’ve seen come by are no younger than eighteen or nineteen.”

“Grandpa always thought I drew with the skill of an adult,” Relm said.  She had moved onto blank sketchbooks and pencils of differing shades and thicknesses.  “I wish I could buy these,” she sighed.

“You came here without money?  You’re braver than most.  All the broke people we find are from Zozo,” the woman said.  Relm wanted to hide her embarrassment, but the woman knelt to be at eye level.

“I lost all my stuff when the end of the world happened.  If I had a gil to spare, I’d get something here to rebuild my portfolio.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie,” the woman said.  “What do you like to draw?”

“Anything, really.  Nature, animals, the farmland outside my village.  But I also love sketching imagery based on stories the adults would say at the bonfire.  They were amazed I was able to capture the accuracy of what they were narrating.  Grandpa, he--”

Relm swallowed, pausing.  She took a deep breath.  “You know what, it doesn’t matter.  I can’t show anyone what I’ve done because they were water-damaged.”

The woman nodded.  Fetching a blank sketchbook and a set of pencils, she handed them to Relm.  “Show me.  I want to see what you can come up with.”

“I couldn’t do that!  It wouldn’t be right of me!  If I could help out to earn some gil, I’ll buy something then,” Relm protested.  The woman gently pressed the items into her hands.  “It’s on me.  Please.”

Relm fought back a sob.  With a fierce nod, she searched for a place to sit.  An open area on the floor looked ideal and she propped herself down, sitting with her knees pressed together.  Once she laid the sketchbook on her lap, she opened it and chose a pencil to begin sketching.

She was back in her comfort zone again.  The only thing breaking the silence in the store was the rapid scratching of pencil to paper as she worked her hand.  She wasn’t sure what reaction the woman was having, but it would only matter once she was done.  As she sketched, she switched often to different pencils to add shading and line definition until she was positive she was done with her sketch.  Facing it towards the woman, she looked up.  “What do you think?  That’s my grandpa.”

Relm didn’t know why she thought of Strago first until it dawned on her that this was the longest they were separated.  She never forgot a single detail of that man’s face.  Each wrinkle along his tired, yet eager eyes brimming with anticipation to study magical creatures, each strand of his snow-white mohawk and mustache framed the face of a gentle old soul full of life.  It wasn’t until she thought more of it that she found her vision had blurred from the tears she finally shed.  Her hands were also shaking while holding the portrait.

“Aw, sweetie, what’s wrong?” the woman asked.

“My grandpa,” Relm said, wiping her face.  “I don’t know, if, if he survived.  I don’t want to lose him.”

“I’m sure he did.  I can’t believe how realistic this looks,” the woman said.  “How old are you?”

“T-ten…,” Relm said, sniffling.  “Almost eleven.”

“It’s so rare to see a prodigy come by.  Can you draw me something else?  It might help cheer you up,” the woman said, handing the sketchbook back to Relm.

Another deep breath allowed her to focus again.  She had to believe Strago was still alive, as did everyone else.  When she sees them again, it’ll be as if nothing ever happened.  She wanted to assure herself of that.  She needed it more than anything.

The second picture she sketched was the woman herself.  It had a profound effect based on how rosy the woman’s cheeks became.  “Can I keep this one?” she asked.

“Sure.  Let me sign it first, though

Relm scribbled her name on the bottom right corner.  Even her handwriting had impressed the woman.  “What else can you show me?”

It was like a lock being sprung from a prison she found herself in, and this woman had the key the whole time.  She continued sketching, letting her hand run wild along each page until she wore out some of the pencils.  The woman replaced them quickly to watch her sketch until she had filled a couple dozen pages.  The last one, ironically, was of Ultros.  Stretching, she sighed.  “I feel much better, now.”

“I’ll say!” the woman exclaimed.  She flipped from page to page, awestruck.  “Can you stay?  This shop is also where I live.  I’d love to see what you could do with a canvas.  The auction would make a fortune with your artwork.”

“Really?”

“Yes!  You’ll get a cut of the profits and that’ll pay for all the materials you’d need.  Please stay,” the woman pleaded, taking Relm’s pencil-soiled hands into hers.

The choice was quick as Relm nodded.  “This is like a dream come true.”

The woman offered her hand.  “Christina,” she said.

“Relm,” Relm responded, taking Christina’s hand.  “Now that we’re acquainted with each other, I feel I need to address the behemoth in the room.”

“Oh?”

Relm motioned around her with a finger.  “How is this town intact after all the crap that happened?  The world got torn apart yet everything here still looks so pristine!”

Christina rose, brushing her dress down.  “I honestly can’t give you an answer for that.  But the rich believe that Jidoor was under the protection of Golem and Zonaseeker.”

“Those sound like Espers,” Relm noted, rubbing her chin.  “You’re saying they used their magic to shield the town from the apocalypse?”

“Maybe…?”

“Whatever.  We’ll go with that theory.  I only care that this shop’s not wrecked and I can still pursue my art,” she said.  Christina’s grin was welcoming, an assurance to Relm that she could share her gift with a fellow virtuoso.

Christina then led Relm around the store, showcasing other items for her artwork.  Blank canvasses of varying sizes along with types of paints encased in tubes.  Relm eyed them all with awe.  “Look at all the colors!  I’ve never seen these shades before!”

“What’s your preference?  Oil? Acrylic?”

“Oil, mostly.  Though I wouldn’t mind experimenting with all of these if I could,” she said.

“Well,” Christine said, lifting a small blank canvas, “I suppose we can start you off with this and see what you can come up with.”

As Relm studied different shades of red and blue, Christina had set up a stool with an easel, placing the canvas before her.  “Go ahead, when you’re ready,” she told her.

Relm laid her bag aside and propped herself on the stool.  She eyed the blank slate carefully until she nodded.  The theory of Golem and Zonaseeker was too good to pass up, so she started with a palette of greens and reds to work into the array of brushes sitting next to the easel.  Christina resumed her work, fading into the background while Relm painted, focused completely on what she wanted to bring forth.

For a painting as small as this, it still took her several hours to complete it.  Wiping her brow with the back of her wrist, she sighed happily.  “Perfect.”

“I’ll say,” Christina’s voice propped up next to her ear.  Relm glanced behind her. “As soon as you mentioned Golem and Zonaseeker, I couldn’t stop thinking about Magicite.  It took me a while to get the finer details, but I think we have a good start.”

“I love the use of the lighting you’ve got going here and here,” Christina noted, pointing to areas where the source of light had illuminated the magicite subtly enough to convey its ethereal qualities.  Relm beamed.

“You must be tired.  You can go ahead and draw yourself a bath upstairs while I set up a futon in my room,” Christina said.

Relm blinked, spinning to face her.  “You want me to stay here with you?  I’m flattered you’re offering a place to stay, but I thought you’d book a room at the inn or something.”

“It’s fine.  I could use the company after what’s happened,” Christina said somberly.  Relm noted the shift in tone and carefully placed the palette and brushes aside.

“So something did affect you here when the end of the world hit,” Relm stated.  Christina gazed out of the window.

“I had a sister about your age.  We were on our way back from the Opera house when the quakes began.  They were small but grew more frequent as the skies changed to a black I’d never seen before.”

“She didn’t survive?” Relm asked.  Christina shook her head.  “I’m sorry.”

“There was a flash of light and a dome of energy that swelled, consuming everything in its path.  I barely escaped its reach, but Lily wasn’t so lucky.”

Relm pursed her lips, glancing at her work.  “Now I feel like shit for being so proud of this.  I’m glad you’ve been able to stay composed while I’m here.”

Christina shook her head with a small grin.  “I’ve done enough crying for days, Relm.  As much as I need to mourn, Lily would still want me to keep this store open.  I think she’d have loved being friends with you.”

“Geez, how many people died that day?” Relm asked nervously.  She closed her eyes, unable to take that question back.  But Christina merely shrugged her shoulders.  “Too many.  Or maybe enough to make us grateful we survived.  Enough to motivate us to rebuild.”

She thought about Thamasa.  What was left of that village?  Or worse, did anyone survive?  Then it dawned on her.  Interceptor stayed at Thamasa.  So if he found me, then that must mean…!

“They survived,” Relm whispered.  “They must have survived!”

“Who?”

“My friends.  I’m from Thamasa, born and raised,” she said.  Christina paused.  “What?”

“Thamasa.  I’ve seen people dressed like you stop by now and then.  Sometimes they’d bring goods from their farmland, but I’ve often seen people shop here.  Were they buying supplies for you?”

Relm shrugged.  “Maybe.  But maybe it was for Matilda, my art teacher.  She taught me so much about painting, sketching, studying life, and magic.  She even helped me develop my gift to bring paintings to life.”

“Come again…?”

Relm motioned to the finished painting.  “I have paintbrushes at home that were magically enchanted.  I can use them to paint whatever I want out of thin air and bring that painting to life, albeit for a couple of seconds.  But it helped my grandpa’s studies of magical creatures near Mount Thamasa.”

“You can use magic?  I’ve only ever started hearing about those who can use magic when those two pieces of magicite appeared months ago,” Christina said.  “People went crazy expecting them to be sold at the auction that we waited anxiously to see who’d be the lucky buyer.”

“My friend, Terra, bought them before we set off against the Empire when they raised that whole continent to the sky.”

“Hold that thought while I close up,” Christina said.  The clock hung above the front door chimed several times, making Relm realize how much time had passed since she waltzed into this store.  The artists out front had left, while the air around the town had this uncommon quiet to it.

A chill went up her spine.  “Does it get cold at night?” she asked Christina.

“Normally, no.  Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.  Just had this weird feeling from looking outside.  I hope it’s nothing.”

Christina locked the door, flipping the open sign over.  Closing the blinds, she lit a candle.  “You’re not entirely wrong, Relm.  There has been a strange vibe going around Jidoor after the apocalypse.  It’s subtle, but since that day, fewer people have gone up to visit Owzer at his mansion unless they were personally invited.  The man himself doesn’t even come out anymore, instead sending his butler to shop for him.”

“So the richest guy in town does make himself seen, does he?” Relm asked.

“He used to, often.  He’d stop by the shop and ask about new artwork, or buy art at the auction house.  He loves artwork and has no complaint about wasting his fortune.”

Relm peered out the window where the grand staircase would lead her to Owzer’s mansion.  “Sounds like a swell guy.”

Upon entering the bathroom, Christina exited, leaving the door open.  “I left a change of clothes for you.  Lily was about the same size as you so I figured they’d fit you as well.  I hope you don’t mind.”

“Thank you.”

“If you’d like, I know someone who works at the tailor’s a couple doors down the street from here.  He’ll be able to make anything you’d like.  If you want clothes that remind you of your home, he’ll do it,” Christina offered.  Relm couldn’t resist such an offer, given how long she spent imprisoned in these tattered rags.  A place of haute couture like Jidoor would immediately frown upon seeing Relm dressed like a street urchin.  It’s enough to make that one weird kid from the Veldt look clean by comparison.  “The bath’s ready for you, by the way.”

“Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver.  You have no idea how long I’ve needed a bath!” Relm said.  It was an even bigger relief to know she’d be clean again.

The water was perfect.  The right temperature to relax in.  Fragrant bubbles briefly reflected some of the candlelight from a nearby shelf.  Relm rested her head, blinking at the ceiling.  “I hope you’re safe, Grandpa.  I’ll see you soon, even if it takes a few years.  Just survive somehow until then.”

She didn’t need Christina to convince her to stay.  Her resolve had already been decided for her.  This kind woman was providing shelter, a hot bath, and hopefully good food.

Good food indeed.  That was what awaited her when she sat before a plate of fruit next to the futon set up on the floor.  “I figured you’d be starving at this point.”

“You have no idea,” Relm said, snagging grapes.  One by one she popped them in her mouth, not caring how the juices trickled down her chin.  There was cheese, apples, a pear, and thin slices of meat with a single bread roll as big as her hand.

Christina chuckled.  “You practically inhaled all that.”

“Sorry, I was famished,” Relm said, placing an apple core on the finished plate.  With a towel still wrapped around her shoulders, she resumed drying her hair.  Tugging at the pajamas Christina provided her, she noted some of the designs on it.

“Did she like Chocobos?” Relm asked.

“Let’s just say she liked admiring them from a safe distance,” Christina said.  “I took her for a ride once when she was little, but she cried the whole time.  Never went riding again.”

“I’ve only ever seen Chocobos in picture books.”  Relm examined the design further on the top.  “None ever migrated near Thamasa.  I’d have loved to see one up close, but the stable’s boarded up.”

“They might not have survived by now,” Christina said.  She kept it short and blunt.

“I suppose we should turn in for the night,” Relm said.  The lull in conversation was a sure sign, yet as she rested her head on the pillow, she couldn’t close her eyes.

Several minutes of silence went by, with only her eyes adjusting to the dim outside light pouring into the room from the street lamps.  Even after Christina extinguished the candles, there were no signs Relm could distinguish of the woman having fallen asleep.

“Christina?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you still awake?”

“Yeah.”

“This is the first time since that day I haven’t felt angry, even though I want to be,” Relm explained.

“Why do you say that?”

“I dunno,” Relm said.  She stretched her hand as if wanting to touch the ceiling.  Her eyes could distinguish the wood finish above, the closed window with a set of curtains hung over it, and her outstretched hand.  “Maybe I want to be angry at the people who caused all this.”

“Yeah.” Pause.  Then Christina breathed a sigh.  “I want to pay back those who took Lily from me.  But I start thinking I‘m not the only one with a vendetta.”

“I wish I had the kind of power to fight back against the Warring Triad and Kefka, but all I can do is paint.  I was angry because I lost that which was the most precious to me.  There were survivors, but it didn’t matter to me.”

“If I could trade every single thing in this shop to bring Lily back, I’d do it without a second thought,” Christina said.  Relm turned to face the bed to see that Christina had lain on her side to stare down at her.

“I guess I can’t blame you,” Relm said.  “I thought being able to draw again today would help relieve that anger, but it still left me feeling empty.”

She shifted to her side to face Christina.  “Maybe it’s because Grandpa’s not here to see my new drawings.”

“Would you give up your art if it meant you could see him again?” Christina asked.  Relm paused.  She hadn’t considered that question before.  Shifting again, she ran it through her mind.  Shifting several times on the futon, it became more agonizing.

“I’m afraid to answer,” Relm finally said.  “I’ve never been separated from him this long before.”

“It’s okay.  Maybe he’s out there looking for you and will eventually come across this place,” Christina said.  It was a relief hearing that since Relm could sense a tightening of her chest.  Agonizing over Strago on top of finding a comfortable position to sleep felt like a noose wrapped around her body, constricting her.

“I want to believe he’s still alive,” Relm said.  Her lips curled into a grin.  “That stubborn old bag of bones laughs in the face of death.”

“I wish Lily had your enthusiasm,” Christina said.  Even with the lack of light, Relm could detect Christina’s smile.

“Will you tell me more about your sister?” Relm asked.

“Oh.  Um, sure?”

“I want to know what it’s like to have a sister.  I’ve only ever had my Grandpa to talk to, but he’d only share old hunting stories with his friend Gungho.  I never had anyone I could talk to like this.”

Christina’s grin widened.  Relm adjusted herself to get the best hearing as Christina began narrating.  She drifted to sleep mid-way.

She expected Christina to still be in bed the next morning but found herself alone in the bedroom.  She made her way down the stairs fighting the remnants of sleep still in her eyes and her mouth when she caught the scent of breakfast.  Why does it smell like home?

“Good morning,” Christina said.  “You zonked out rather quickly last night, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep during your story.  Sorry about that.”

Relm exhaled another yawn, using the doorframe for support.  The shop doubled as Christina’s home, given that there was a fully furnished kitchen with a dining table for two.  Beyond the kitchen was a door that led outside, located to the side of the shop to dry laundry.  There was another door Relm had noticed to the right of the main shop’s room but hadn’t questioned Christina about it yet.

“You’re probably reminded of your home with all this breakfast, aren’t you?” Christina asked as she turned the sausages in the frying pan.  She had already finished the eggs, bacon, diced potatoes with fried onions, and freshly squeezed orange juice.  Relm opened her eyes even more to gander at how much of her home’s food had made it to this table so far away.

“You must cook a lot for your sister, huh?” Relm asked.

“Someone had to take over the parenting duties.  We lost our parents when Lily was still an infant.  Ambushed by muggers from Zozo.”

“Oh my god…!”

Christina waved her off.  “You don’t have to apologize or anything.  I’ve made peace with that long ago.  Up until recently, Lily was a huge source of strength for me to keep going.  That and running this store.  My mom was an artist, and my dad was a carpenter.  He made furniture of all sorts and shipped them across the world.  It didn’t matter who bought from us, whether it was the Empire or Figaro.  Someone was always interested in what my dad made.”

She placed a plate full of deliciousness in front of Relm, pouring a glass of juice beside it.  “I hope it’s edible.”

“It smells okay, at least,” Relm said.  She examined everything and then took a bite from one of the sausages.  “It’s good,” she said, giving her a thumbs up.

“I’m not like Jidoor’s finest chef or anything, but I haven’t had any complaints from Lily whenever I cooked for her.  So don’t hesitate to say if my cooking’s lousy or it sucks or anything.”

Christina chuckled as she took her seat to eat.  “You can finish your story about Lily.  Since I’m more alert, now,” Relm said mid-bite.  She didn’t have Strago around to tell her not to eat while talking at the same time.  She wasn’t sure whether or not Christina was strict with her sister until she got to know her a little more.

She did slow down the pace at which she ate so she could listen to each word Christina spoke of Lily.  There was often talk of how Lily loved to model new clothes their mother made for them, giving her and Christina ample opportunities to paint Lily in a new dress or a school outfit for the academy down the road beneath the auction house.

“You have a school in Jidoor?”

“Had.”

Relm arched an eyebrow.

“Not much of a school worth going to when the end of the world has everyone pre-occupied.  It’s not a huge school, mind you.  One classroom, one teacher, and about a dozen kids.  But the teacher does get paid handsomely by the rich folk up ahead.  Our profits were what allowed Lily to get her education.  I was homeschooled.”

“Same,” Relm said.  “Grandpa provided a lot of reading material about the history of our people, magical creatures, how to use magic, how to conceal magic, how to blend in with the general crowd without giving away our dirty little secret.  I hated keeping that from visitors.”

Relm stabbed another sausage.  “Anytime we saw a new face, Grandpa would scold me for daring to suggest I’d show them something cool, which he believed was a magic trick with my paintbrush.  It’s enough to make you go crazy.”

“There won’t be a shortage of crazy nowadays, that’s for sure,” Christina sighed, glancing out the window.  Relm spotted a couple walking a small dog, the woman carrying an umbrella to shield them from sunlight.  It was odd, to say the least, as she looked up to see the sky did not indicate sunlight spilling through.

“Do you have pictures of Lily?” Relm asked, getting back on topic.

“Of course!” Christina said excitedly.  “When we’re done, I’ll take you to the studio where the magic happens.”

Relm’s eyes lit up.

“Metaphorically.  Sorry.”

“Oh.”

Once they were done, Relm hurried upstairs to pick out one of the outfits the young sister had worn.  It comprised of a pair of overalls and a yellow shirt.  Even better, it had a head scarf that was much like Relm’s.  The old tattered clothes she came to town with were less appealing the more often she stared at them. 

As she dressed, she could see there were pictures hung on the wall.  One had an older couple she assumed were the parents, while another had separate pictures of Lily and Christina.  One thing of note was the lack of a picture where the two were shown together.  Either it was located somewhere else or there never was a picture to begin with.  Lily was every bit a miniature version of Christina, only her smile had a hint of sadness to it.  She wasn’t sure when this picture was taken, but judging by Lily’s age, it had to be after the parents died.

She located a pair of shoes that Lily wore that resembled hers, but was unsure regarding the size.  “Tiny feet.  Figures.”

Having to settle for going barefoot, she hurried back downstairs to the one room she hadn’t seen yet.  Christina was standing by with a key in her hand.

“You’re fortunate to have arrived when you did.  We’re closed on weekends so I have all the time in the world to work on something new in the studio,” she said, unlocking the door.

The treasure trove of artwork blew any expectation out of Relm’s mind the moment she laid eyes on the inside.  Walls full of paintings, incompleted paintings stacked one behind the other on the floor, sculptures still being worked on, and one painting Relm noticed was a current project of Christina’s front and center.

She took her time studying each completed work.  There were painted scenes from areas across the world, from places she didn’t know existed to places she could only imagine were created from the depths of Christina’s creativity.  “I can’t believe how gorgeous these look,” Relm said breathlessly.

“These over here,” Christina began, pointing to one side with covered paintings, “are paintings I’m donating to be sold at the auction house.  The auctioneer will be by this afternoon to pick them up.”

She continued.  “And these over here are works that I thought looked promising but couldn’t for the life of me like it enough to finish.”

“You’re definitely an artist,” Relm said.  “I’d have shown you incompleted sketches if I hadn’t lost them.  I have tons at home, but who knows if there’s a home still there?”

Christina pulled up a stool and a second easel for Relm.  “Here.  You can start on something you’d like.  Everything you need’s over there by the table.”

Relm couldn’t help glancing over her easel at Christina’s current work.  It depicted a family picking fruit from an orchard, with the father giving his young son a boost to reach a high branch.  Christina busied herself adding differing tones of greens, yellows, and browns to the trees.

Relm’s work by comparison was a memory of Strago and Gungho playing a strategy game on a wooden board at their dining table.  Gungho slowly sucked at the tip of his pipe while Strago reached for a piece to be moved on the board.  She intended to make the still frame as life-like as possible to impress Christina and showcase another aspect of her grandfather.

Once she was finished, she noticed Christina had left the studio.  How long she was gone for, Relm couldn’t determine.  Only that Christina returned with a gentleman dressed in a tailored coat and bowler hat.  He tipped his hat and bowed at Relm.  “Good afternoon to you, young lady.  Is this your donation, Christina?”

“Yes, and these as well,” Christina replied, pointing to three hung paintings on the back wall.  After the man Relm assumed was the auctioneer left with the set of four paintings carefully wrapped, she waited for Christina to have a look at her completed work.

“I can’t see those going for any more than fifty thousand gil,” Christina noted.  Relm would’ve commented on how that was a huge amount, yet the somber look the woman gave off said anything but.

“That’s not a lot?” Relm asked.

Christina shook her head.  “The last few weeks haven’t seen much interest in those styles.  They don’t sell for a lot.  If I knew what piqued their interest, I’d be working on that instead.”

“Why not ask around?” Relm suggested.

“Part of me is afraid of the answer,” Christina said.  The paintings Relm examined had a similar theme of simplicity and peace associated with them.  They were casual reminders of happier times with an air of grace and serenity that could pre-date all those talks of the war she heard Thamasans speak of from passing travelers, not to mention the ugly history of their ancestors at war with Espers generations ago. 

But what if that was a subject that would pique their interest?

Relm snagged an open sketchbook and began scribbling furiously on a blank page.  “Something inspire you?” Christina asked, nodding at the sketchbook.

It was a rough sketch, considering how quickly she drew it.  There was enough detail on it though when she showed it to Christina that her face lit up.  “Is this a battle?”

“It’s from my village’s history.  I come from a bloodline of Magic warriors who fought in the War of the Magi over a thousand years ago.  Our village was founded by our ancestors who fought in that war.  I remember the Mayor telling this one story to the kids about a great Magi knight who fought valiantly with his enchanted sword against an Esper, but none of them could remember its name.  He did describe what the Esper looked like, as you see here.”

Relm pointed out a pair of wings, a spiked tail, and three horns on the Esper’s head.  The Magi knight was in a position to thrust upward with his sword as the Esper lunged at him.  “This one image the Mayor described stuck in my memory for a long time.  I’d sketch something like this now and then.  Sometimes I’d sketch just the Esper or the knight, but never the actual battle between them.”

Christina traced her finger along the sketch.  After a few seconds, she showed it back to Relm, tapping it.  “You need to paint this.”

“But I don’t know what they really looked like though.  The Mayor only had a vague description of the Esper’s features, and the knight’s armor was a guess of mine.  I don’t know whether he wore armor or whether he fought in the buff, or whatever.  This’ll take me a while.”

Relm puzzled over her sketch until Christina’s hands laid themselves on her shoulders.  “You’re good, Relm.  You bring an awe-inspiring realism to anything you’ve drawn for me, and I believe you can do this justice.”

“But I may make a ton of mistakes and waste your materials,” she argued.  Christina tilted her head up by the chin.  “Whatever it takes to get it done, go for it.  I believe in you.”

“After only a day…?” Relm arched an eyebrow.  Christina chuckled.

“Okay, I’ll reel it back.  I’ve seen enough of your work to know you can get this done.”

Relm slapped the sketchbook with the back of her hand.  “You bet your ass I’ll get this done.”

As the days rolled on, Relm worked each day to make this one rough sketch a reality on canvas.  She needed a larger portrait to work on, pacing around the studio while examining her work.  There were at least four discarded pieces she worked on and stopped a quarter of the way, annoyed it didn’t produce the ideal aesthetic she aimed for.  Not dark enough, she kept saying to herself after each attempt.

Days then bled into weeks, then months.  All the while, Christina ran her shop as she did, provided Relm with all she needed, cooked and cleaned after her, and doted on her much as Strago had.  Nearing completion of “A Magical Conflict” as she named it, she had been working on two other projects, one of which was on the largest created canvas that could still fit through a door, while the other was always kept under cover by a white sheet.  Relm vehemently protected that painting from Christina’s sight whenever she visited to check on her progress or to work on her own projects while the store was closed.

Christina’s work gradually shifted away from uplifting themes to more grounded subjects.  Her sculptures involved models who would pose for her, which was something Relm thought nothing much of but admired the finished work.  They visited twice a month and were awkward at first having to pose in front of a girl Relm’s age – not even Lily was permitted in the studio whenever models were inside – but after Relm had sketched them a couple of times, the models were comfortable enough that they often brought her small gifts of gratitude.

The sculptures were Christina’s best-sellers at the auction, most often purchased by Owzer via his butler.  She used the money to commission new clothes for Relm to preserve the Thamasan style she arrived in Jidoor with, as her way of being hospitable.  It was a relief to wear a brand new version of the clothes she had worn so often, yet the materials were of such high quality, that she refused to believe they could be something related to home.  Yet there she had stood in front of a mirror and saw those same yellow trousers, green shoes, black top, and flowery headscarf, just like the tailor back home made.

If she didn’t seclude herself in the studio, she was either at the tailor’s at Christina’s request or enjoying lunch with Christina at the café down the street from the weapon shop.  She was convinced the shops were only there for decoration, but Christina had alluded to several travelers visiting now and then who needed to defend themselves against the monsters roaming the world.

She also noted how eerily the townspeople behaved whenever a visitor approached the stairway to Owzer’s mansion.  After the moment passed, any question she’d have about it was met with silence.  It was clear the mansion was off-limits, and she didn’t want to explore the idea of what these townspeople would do to those visitors if they dared go further up the stairs.

She thought she might have seen a familiar face or two, but none of the significant ones she traveled with had shown up.  Terra, Celes, and Locke weren’t seen since she fell off the airship.  What’s worse was that Strago was not seen either.  She tried to reach him via magic to sense his aura, but either it was unreachable, or the magic at work around the world negated any attempt to connect.  All she could do was keep her hopes alive and continue her work.

It was nearing lunchtime when she emerged from the studio while Christina finished a transaction with a customer Relm knew as a frequent shopper.  “Hey, Brad!  Christina!  I finished it!” she exclaimed.  She bounded on her feet, beckoning Christina to follow her inside the studio.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” Christina told her.  After Brad, a young man likely five years older than Relm and not quite ready for adult clothing judging by his manner of dress, handed his gil to Christina before excusing himself.  Relm enthusiastically greeted anyone who entered the shop when she was out of the studio for a break, but her manner of approach seemed to intimidate them more than make them feel welcomed.  Brad was no exception, almost going pale each time she showed her face.

“If you get any more excited, you’ll scare my customers into never coming back,” Christina told her.  Relm waved it off.  “Brad needs to grow a spine and communicate more.  Besides, I think he likes you.”

Christina cleared her throat with a cough.  “I don’t date customers, you know that.”

“Now while you’re working, obviously,” Relm said.  “But I stand by what I said.”

Christina shook her head.  Relm took her wrist and pulled her into the studio.  “Ta-da!  ‘A Magical Conflict’ is completed!”

The rough sketch Relm drew morphed into the most impressive piece of work Christina laid her eyes on.  She raised a cautious hand towards the canvas, not wanting to touch it.  She then retracted her hand.  “There has to be over four dozen colors at use here.  Possibly more.  Look at the way the lightning forks in the back from the sky.  Look at the muscle definition on the Esper!” She gasped, pointing at the knight.  “How did you accomplish this level of lighting?  Look at the color blending of the white with the yellows.”

Relm felt warmth bleed into her cheeks.  Having such a high level of praise heaped on her for this degree of work was something she hadn’t experienced often from the villagers back home.  From a fellow artist, her work had gained another level of recognition.

“If you get in a second view, you can start to make out the other battles in the background.  Ramuh and Ifrit are fending off a powerful magus.  And just above that are the legendary servants of Kaiser, the mythical Dragon Lord.”

Christina exited the studio.  “Christina…?”

Before Relm could follow, the woman immediately returned with a frame for the canvas.  “We need to get this to the auctioneer right away.”

“Careful!” Relm said, standing between Christina and the painting.  “Slow down first before we cause an accident.  I’ll take it to him.  I want to be responsible for this painting from start to finish, or at least until someone buys it.”

Fitting the painting in the frame for Christina involved a great deal of precision.  She treated this like taking a scalpel to an injured Imperial soldier to remove shrapnel from an explosive device without aggravating what was already there.  “Easy does it,” she whispered.

Covering the framed painting with a sheet, Relm attempted to take it with her hands only to realize it was too wide for her arm's length.  “Well, shit,” she said.

Christina took Relm’s hand, directing it to one end.  “We’ll take it there together.  What do you say?”

“Well, it’s my work and your materials, so I guess it’s a team effort,” Relm said.  The height was manageable for both as they moved the painting out of the shop to the stairway which would lead them to the second level of the town, past the item shop, and into the vicinity of the Auction house.

The doorman casually opened the door for both to enter, where the Auctioneer stood mid-conversation with the presenters, a pair of costumed women with feather hats and coat-tails designed for show more than anything else.  Relm hadn’t been in this building before, and needed to watch her feet to avoid catching it against the chairs set up row-by-row until she reached the stage with a podium overlooking the auditorium.

“Welcome! Welcome!” said the Auctioneer after one of the models directed him to Relm and Christina. “Another fine painting donation for us, I see?”

“When you see what’s under this sheet, you’ll want to save this for the last item today,” Christina told him.  Leading Relm to the small set of stairs, they ascended to the stage to rest the covered painting on an empty easel.

“We’ve received quite the haul today, as a matter of fact,” said the Auctioneer.  “Seems paintings are all the rage today.  Locals have been delivering these to us left and right.  I was not expecting from your store until Friday.”

“My friend here,” Christina said, pointing him to Relm, “had just finished this work of art.  It’s the most detailed painting I’ve ever seen, frighteningly more detailed than anything I’ve ever made.  Though I still have her beat on the sculpture department.”

The adults shared a laugh.  Relm rolled her eyes.

“Still, let us see this creation of the young lady, shall we?” The auctioneer and Christina carefully removed the sheet covering the painting.  He paused, hand to his chin.

“What’s he doing?” Relm asked.

“He’s appraising the painting to estimate a starting bid.  He does that with every item,” Christina whispered back.

The lack of a reaction from the Auctioneer left a chill in Relm.  She squeezed her hands, hoping they hadn’t gone numb, swallowing several times while waiting for the Auctioneer to finish.

After what felt like the most painful five minutes, the Auctioneer made his way to the podium and dipped a quill in his ink bottle to write something down.  “Do you have a name for this painting?” he asked.

“’A Magical Conflict,’” Relm told him.  She hugged herself, tapping her foot.

“’A Magical Conflict,’” the Auctioneer repeated audibly as he wrote it.  “Exhibit number four-three-six dash H.  Done.”

He snapped his fingers twice, directing the pair of women to cover the painting with the sheet again, carrying it behind the curtain.  The Auctioneer shook Christina’s hand before bowing to Relm.  “Today’s Auction will commence at four today.  You are welcome to attend at your leisure,” he told them.

“Thank you.  We’ll return before the action begins,” Christina said.

“Hey, wait, aren’t we going to know how much…-?” Relm began before she found herself nudged back down the stairs by Christina.  Once they were outside, Relm threw her hands up.  “What the hell was that?!”

“Relax, it’ll be fine.  No one is supposed to know what they’re valued at until the initial bid is announced.  I know you’ve never been to one of these before, but it’s a necessary process to discourage fake bidders from legitimate ones,” Christina explained.

“Could’ve told me that from the start,” Relm said.

Later that day, Relm sneered at her reflection.  She was told to wear a fashionable dress if she was to attend the auction, to avoid disparaging comments from the attendees.  “Well, I suppose this can be a one-time thing,” she said.  She played with the threads of the frilly yellow dress, tapping her black shoes on the floor.  She didn’t like how tight the white leggings felt underneath the dress, but Christina insisted it was ideal for the dress in terms of etiquette.  She did admire the gloves she was given, along with the ribbon tied to her hair.  “The ribbon’s okay, I guess.”

“Oh my god, you look so cute!” Christina said after she knocked and entered the bedroom.

“I hate this,” Relm said but stopped once she saw the gothic look on Christina’s outfit.  “Holy moly-!”

“It’s my auction-house outfit,” Christina said, spinning around to showcase the charcoal-colored dress that reached her ankles concealed beneath stiletto heels.  Relm had to get a good look at the dress with a corset above the waist, along with a black hat that veiled her face, and arm-length black silk gloves.

“You look amazing!  How come you never told me you had that for a dress?” Relm asked.   Christina giggled.

“Lily begged me to make one for her but I insisted she grew up first before trying to copy me.  Thank you for the compliment, though.”

Relm scoffed.  “You can’t stop me from having a dress like that someday.  I should march to the tailor’s after this and get him to make one for me just like yours.”

Christina grinned.  She then poked Relm on her nose.  “You’re not developed yet for a corset, sweetie.”

“I never said I wanted a corset!” Relm shouted after Christina as the woman left the bedroom.  Scoffing loudly, she stormed out, mouthing to herself.  “Developed my ass.  I’ll show you developed in three years when they’ll be bigger than yours.”

Once out the door, Relm was handed an umbrella.  “The hell is this?  It’s not raining.”

It was odd that little to no rain ever reached Jidoor.  The storm clouds above have been eerily hovering above Zozo up north in a fixed pattern, yet they never once migrated elsewhere.  She knew this had to be an effect of all the weird magic that ran rampant across the world once the Warring Triad were awakened.  Or could it have been Kefka’s doing?

“Look around you,” Christina said, opening her umbrella.  “It’s customary for a lady of repute to carry herself in a dignified manner when attending a social event.  You may not expect anything of this sort elsewhere, but we do still have traditions that need to be respected, apocalypse or not.”

“Whatever.  Let’s just get this over with,” Relm said, opening her umbrella.

She followed the procession along the stairs to the auction house where the doorman had the door held open.  Each auctioneer who elected to participate greeted the host and was given a paddle with a number assigned to it.  Relm and Christina took seats in the back row, laying their umbrellas across their laps.

Among the attendees was a man with a well-tailored suit and coat-tails.  Christina nudged Relm.  “That’s Owzer’s butler.”

“Him?  Does he ever come out of the mansion?  He looks paler than a ghost,” Relm noted.

“It’s not too far from the truth, sadly.  He rarely interacts with anyone, only to run Owzer’s errands and buy artwork here.  Maybe he’ll buy your painting?” Christina suggested.  Relm eyed the nervous wreck of a butler with uncertainty.

“That guy’s hands are so fidgety he’d drop the painting as soon as he was out of the building,” Relm said.  Christina shushed her with a finger to her mouth.  There was also something about the way he looked around the room until his eyes met hers that Relm turned her head immediately.  “He’s seriously creeping me out right now.”

“You don’t have to talk to him,” Christina whispered.  “But please be polite while you’re in here.  We don’t want to damage your reputation once they see the painting you made and connect that to what they’d call ‘an uncultured brat.’”

“They can call me whatever they want.  It’s not stopping me from painting,” Relm said.  She gave nearby attendees a dirty look as though they overheard her.

“Ladies and gentlemen!  Esteemed art aficionados!  I hereby welcome you to another splendid day for an auction in our beloved town of Jidoor!  We will commence today’s auction with our first item, exhibit number four-two-two dash A,” the announcer called as he slammed his gavel on the podium.

The artwork in question was an aquarium from a close-up perspective.  It was on a smaller canvas, about a third of the size of what she had donated earlier in the day.  As the Auctioneer rattled off numbers, she witnessed how the procedure went until the gavel slammed the podium again.  “Sold, for two-thousand and forty gil!  Let us proceed to exhibit number four-two-two dash B,” the auctioneer shouted.

One obvious thing Relm realized from the whole process was how incredibly dull the experience was for her.  The repetitiveness of the gavel slamming the podium to the numbers being shouted one after the other in increments with paddles raised until she heard the line “Are there any more bids!  Come now, don’t be shy!” as his verbal cue he was ready to declare the item sold to the last placed bid.

She was nudged on the side several times by Christina.  She realized she had rested her head on the woman’s arm, the boredom of the whole process making her eyelids heavier and heavier.  The slam of the gavel woke her fully.  “Sold to our esteemed Lord Owzer’s attendant!” the auctioneer shouted.

“That’s five paintings now sold to Owzer,” Christina noted.  “Only three left until we get to yours.”

“Can’t we just skip to mine?  I can’t stand another second of twenty-thousand this, and fifty-five thousand that.  Fucking numbers are driving me batshit.”  She drew hard looks from the attendees in front.  “Eyes front, people.  It’s not the first time you’ve heard a kid swear.”

“Relm….”

Christina was ready to pull her veil tightly to conceal the redness on her face.  Relm raised her umbrella, shoving it forward in a stabbing motion to direct the rows in front to turn back around.  “God, I hope I never do this again.”

“Sold!”

Another item was presented and sold, leaving two paintings left.  The one that appeared before hers was something she recognized Christina had painted by the brushwork she knew was unique to her.  “Hey, how come I never saw that one in the studio?” she asked.

“That’s because I worked on it while you took your breaks,” Christina told her.  Relm couldn’t help but chuckle.  “Clever.”

As she examined it further, her mouth dropped.  “Wait.  That’s me.”  She turned to Christina.  “You painted me?”

“Yes.  One night, there was a clear break in the sky that allowed moonlight to shine into the window.  You had the look of a little angel sleeping so peacefully.  It was so adorable I had to paint it.  That’s why I wanted to take you here, even if you hadn’t finished your work yet.”

There was a subtle hint of grief behind those words, Relm realized.  The futon she had been sleeping on was always Lily’s, and Christina had always placed it by the window to catch the light of night and day.  It pained her to think that this painting could’ve shown Christina’s sister sleeping peacefully under the moonlight instead of her.  The whole sensation left a vice grip on her chest and heart.

She rose from her seat.  “Relm?”

“I have to go.”

“But your painting…?”

“I’m sorry.  I can’t stay.  Just tell me later how much it sold for.”

Relm walked briskly to the door and shoved it open.  She reached the top of the staircase and found herself nearly hyperventilating, using the railing to hold herself up.

A moment later, Christina emerged from the auction house.  “Relm!”

Relm fell to one knee, hands still gripped to the railing.  It was like the whole town was spinning.  “Relm!  Are you okay?!”

“Can everyone please shut the hell up…,” Relm hissed through her breath.

“Relm, talk to me,” Christina said, patting her on the back.  She eased her back to her feet.  “I’ve got you.”

“Sorry about that,” Relm said.

“If I did something to offend you with that painting, I’m truly sorry,” Christina said.  Her voice was on the cusp of breaking.  “You are a great inspiration for me to continue my work, Relm.  I mean that.”

Relm slowed her breathing, regaining her composure.  She spun to face Christina.  “I mean this with all sincerity how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me since I got here.  But please don’t let me become a replacement for your sister.  I don’t want that burden, ever.  Don’t ever think any less of Lily just because I’m around her age.”

Christina’s hand retracted.  “How can you say that…?”  Her voice was edging closer to breaking completely.  “That was never my intention!  I’ve invited you to stay with me because it was the right thing to do!”

“Then why does it feel like you’re looking after me the same way?  Sometimes when I see you looking at me, I swear it feels like you’re looking at her instead.  And I got scared thinking you’re only looking at me with a big sister’s eyes instead of a host’s.”

Christina raised a hand, shaking her head at first, then nodding.  There was a moment when Christina paced in front of her before taking a deep breath.  “Sorry.  You’re right.  You’re more fearless than Lily was, but there’s still a lot in common between you two that I realized over the last few months.  The night that inspired me to create that painting was the one time I thought I saw Lily sleeping on that futon by the window instead of you.  It scared me too.”

“Your hands are shaking,” Relm said.  She glanced back at the shop.  “I’m not sure if I want to show this to you now or wait until I’ve finished it.”

She hesitated on waiting for an answer and instead took Christina’s hand.  She led her down the stairs to the shop.  Several hours had passed since they went to the auction house as evidenced by the lights from the street lamps.

Relm then led Christina to the studio.  After lighting enough candles, Relm presented one of the paintings she had covered with a sheet.  “It’s nearly complete.  I still have much of the bottom to work on, but you’ll get the idea when I show this to you,” she told her.  Her hand froze as she grabbed the cloth.

“We’ll do it together.  How about that?” Christina offered.  Relm closed her eyes and let Christina’s hand guide her into removing the cloth.  Once it hit the floor, she turned to face the woman.

Christina’s reaction was immediate.  Covering her mouth, she shut her eyes tightly.  Painted on the canvas were Christina and Lily, the younger sister presenting a flower of her namesake to the older sister.

“I remember you saying that this was the happiest you had ever seen Lily,” Relm explained amidst the sobs Christina fought hard against.  “All those happy moments you two have ever shared should be all over this shop.  I want to do everything I can to capture this moment forever so that you’ll never have to feel alone ever again.”

Seconds later, Relm was pulled into a tight embrace, wrapped in Christina’s arms.  She accepted the gesture, gently placing her arms around the older woman.  She didn’t know how long Christina held her, but could only vaguely hear her whisper “Thank you.”

Christina was the first to sleep, clutching the unfinished painting against her chest.  Relm knew better not to dare take it away to finish it.  She’d leave that up to her.  For now, she was relieved that there was no animosity between them.  She couldn’t live with herself if she had.

The next morning the Auctioneer paid a visit.  Relm was the one who answered the door when it knocked.  “She’s still asleep,” she told him.

“I wished to speak with you, actually,” said the auctioneer.

“To me?”

“Of course.  It was unfortunate that you did not stay to witness the bidding war over your painting, but it sold for six hundred and fifty thousand gil to Lord Owzer care of his butler,” the auctioneer stated.

“Get the fuck out!” Relm exclaimed.  She nearly lost her grip on the door handle as if someone smeared grease all over it.  “Six hundred and fifty thousand?!”

“My, that is quite the vocabulary for one as young as yourself, lady Relm,” the auctioneer said sheepishly.  “I can see you are pleased with the results?”

“Six. Hundred. Fifty. Thousand,” Relm repeated.  “Six hundred and fifty thousand.  I need to sit.”

She retreated to the kitchen and awkwardly found her way to the dining table.  “I’ve never seen that much money before.”

“I am certain Lord Owzer will be most pleased with his newest acquisitions, my lady Relm.  I look forward to future donations.  We will deliver the funds to you at this location this afternoon.  Enjoy your day,” the auctioneer said with a bow.

“I heard yelling,” Christina said groggily, belting a yawn.  “What’s going on?”

“Christina!  My painting sold for a shitload of money!” Relm cried.  She hopped from her chair.  “Six hundred and fifty thousand!”

“What?!”

“SIX HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND!”

Christina still had the incomplete painting in her hands.  After laying it gently on the table as if it were the most fragile object in the world, she stood before Relm.  “Six hundred-”

“-and fifty thousand!”

Christina took her hands and screamed.  Relm joined in as the two bounced on their feet, dancing around the kitchen.  “What do we do with all that money?” Relm asked.

“I don’t know!”

“Split it in half?”

“Maybe!”

“Spend it?”

“On what?”

“I don’t know!”

Relm was back in her seat, covering her face.  “Who would’ve thought the end of the world would make me stinking rich?!” she belted.  “I should-“

She stopped herself.  “I should think this over carefully.  I can’t hog all the credit for this.  You helped me a great deal with this painting.  Call me crazy, but I’m starting to think maybe you should have the money.”

“What? No!  It’s your painting.  I earn plenty with my sculptures.  We’re both raking in a lot of gil with our work,” Christina said, taking the other seat.  “But we should think this through.  Six-fifty isn’t something one can overlook.  There has to be something we can put it toward.  Maybe we can help the villages destroyed rebuild themselves from the apocalypse?”

Relm froze.  Not out of realization over thinking greedily about being given a lot of gil, but over the fact that she had stayed in Jidoor for so long she almost forgot that other villages and cities across the world would not have been able to survive intact.  She then lifted the incomplete painting and her lips curled up.

“You’re definitely right about your idea.  We need to rebuild the world.  That madman up there can knock us down, but we’ll rebuild anything he takes out.  Whenever I see my friends again, we’ll take that son of a bitch out.”

Christina matched Relm’s smile.  “Six-fifty is a lot, but to rebuild the world?  It’s going to take a lot more.  And it could be years before we ever see the world as it was before the apocalypse.  You’re confident your friends are alive?”

“Always have been,” Relm boasted.  Regardless of whether they all survived, or two-thirds survived, as long as Strago was among them, she’d have the motivation to fight back when the time was right.  Even if she had to wait another year or five years or even maybe when she reached Christina’s age, she would never give up.

She then chuckled.  “I doubt we want to run the shop in our nightwear,” she said to Christina, pointing out the window.  “We’re about to open in a few minutes.”

Christina covered herself out of instinct.  Grabbing the painting, she rushed back up to her room.  “You sure you won’t let me finish that painting first?” Relm asked.

“It’s fine as it is!” Christina yelled back.  Relm laughed.

Her next major project was nearly finished as well.  Though she spent most of her work on “A Magical Conflict,” it was the other two paintings she dedicated a small percentage to to ensure that they would be completed soon.  Now that she knew Christina valued Relm’s expression of sisterly love between her and Lily, Relm need not worry about that one.  Her eyes were on this bigger prize that she was confident now would fetch an even bigger price at the auction.

Two months passed in the blink of an eye for Relm.  Working countless hours from dawn to dusk, even into the late night, she ensured this would be done.  She even accepted commission work from the auctioneer on behalf of several townspeople for special paintings they wanted to see sold at the auction.  Paintings depicting war, attrition, pain, misery, and God only knows what other depressing imagery she had to paint were all done at the request of a strange old man who visited Jidoor.  A strange old man who once lived in Kohlingen who headlined the construction and operation of a battle coliseum that drew fighters across the world.  He even boasted about having monsters under his employment.  I bet ya anything Ulty’s working there as a receptionist or a janitor.

He was described as a war-savant.  A man dedicated to preserving chaos and destruction, finding the beauty in the misery of the world after the Apocalypse.  Relm thought this man was crazy until she heard him say that people thrive better on war.  If it meant that much to him, she painted those images to his every specification.  If it filled the coffers of Relm’s goal to rebuild the world, it was an unusual sacrifice to make.  The man even sang his praises to Kefka of all people!

There were days where Relm worked herself to exhaustion, often finding herself waking up in Christina’s arms as she was being carried up the stairs to the bedroom.  Christina didn’t mind laying her in the larger bed, as long as Relm was able to sleep comfortably.  As the older woman covered her with a blanket, Relm let out a lengthy yawn.  “Just a few more touches and I’ll be done,” she whispered.

Christina sat on the side of the bed, brushing Relm’s hair out of her face.  “You don’t need to work yourself ragged like this.  Take a break.”

“I can’t, not while I’m so close,” Relm protested.

Christina shook her head.  “It’ll still be there.  Maybe you’ll catch something you missed and will have a clear perspective on it.”

“But-“

“Relm.  Take a few days off.  Catch up on sleep, work on something else, and then go back to it,” Christina said.  Relm groaned.

“There’s that big sister voice coming out again.  I hate it when you do that,” she said.  She felt Christina’s hand pressed against her cheek.

“Sweetie, you’ve become my second sister, whether you like it or not.  I can’t replace Lily, but I can accept that I am still able to take care of someone.”

“But I-“

“No buts, Relm.  You’re my little sister, and I love you.  Now go to sleep.”

Relm’s cheeks flared.  The only family she ever knew was in Thamasa.  She had a grandfather, but that was about it.  She only knew her mother from an old picture, while nothing was ever known about her father.  She never knew what having a brother or sister felt like, nor did she consider the kids she played with as siblings.  Having someone care for her the way Christina did made her accept the inevitable conclusion that she wanted to care for her as much as she cared for Lily.  She would have to accept a sister no matter what.

“Is it okay, then, if I call you sis?” Relm asked.

Christina froze for a few seconds.  She then leaned forward and placed a kiss on Relm’s forehead.  “Of course.  Good night, sis.”

“Good night, sis,” Relm whispered, closing her eyes.

She realized when she woke up how exhausted she made herself working on that large painting in the studio.  The fatigue was gone and the grogginess was non-existent.  How long did I sleep for?

When she dressed and went downstairs, the shop was busy with several customers.  “Eh?!”

“Good afternoon, sis!” Christina shouted.  Her face was beaming as she attended to the patrons but did not have a single look of stress about her.

Relm wondered why Christina said it was the afternoon.  Now she had to know how long she slept in that bed.

“How long was I out?” she asked.

“I don’t know.  I didn’t check.  I let you sleep as long as you needed it,” Christina said, thanking the patron after he handed her a small bag of gil.  Relm needed a moment to process everything.

“You wouldn’t believe the amount of people waiting outside the door when I opened,” Christina said.  “Hi, be with you shortly!”

Relm kept her distance from the customers showering Christina with questions.  Questions about what’s on sale, how good the quality was, and whether more will be in stock.  It was as if they never knew there was an apocalypse in the first place.

“Uh? Let me give you a hand!” Relm offered.  She didn’t want her sister to handle all of this alone.  Considering how much time she spent in the shop while living with Christina, she had gained hands-on knowledge and experience with the materials sold.  She delegated patrons towards her and answered their questions while recommending some of the colors she loved using the most with her paintings.  They didn’t seem to recognize her as the artist who painted the 650,000 gil masterpiece the other day, but she did gain some notoriety by the end once Christina locked the shop’s door.  Leaning against the wall, she slid down to sit on the floor.

“What the hell happened today?” Relm asked.

“Word got around that the painting we sold came from this shop and not some random traveler,” Christina said.  She sounded deflated, that was for sure.  Relm perched herself beside her.  “Guess we’re super popular now, huh sis?”

Christina tugged Relm to rest her head on her shoulder.  “Thank you for helping me out, even though you didn’t need to.”

“Did Lily help you out, too?” Relm asked.

“Nah, there wasn’t much of a need.  We never had this much business, ever.”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t want to overburden you if it meant we would need to hire extra help,” Relm said.  She lifted her head to glance at Christina and noticed she was nodding off.  “Looks like it’s your turn to march up to bed.”

“Maybe I’ll just, um, sleep here,” Christina whispered.  She lowered herself so much her head rested on Relm’s lap without a chance for her to protest.  “H-hey….”

Relm nudged her several times.  “I’m not your pillow, sis.  Get off.”

“Shh, big sis is sleepy,” Christina muttered, curling up closer.

“Dammit,” Relm whispered.  She eased the woman’s head off her lap and retrieved a decorative cushion Christina kept in the kitchen.  From the studio, she returned with an unused sheet to cover her sister with so she could stay there and sleep it off.  “Well, then.”

Once she was back in the studio, Relm uncovered her large painting.  She stayed back several steps to study it and pointed out several areas she realized she needed to touch up.  The painting depicted the Warring Triad themselves in a state of conflict, with the Goddess immersed against the Demon as if attempting to soothe his rage, while he used his lance to parry an attack from the Fiend’s massive claw-like appendages, flaring its imposing aura.  She had seen old paintings her ancestors created in reverence to the Triad long ago during the first War of the Magi as they fought the Esper invasion.  Each was made in a unique style that revered their ancient qualities and god-like ferocity, while that of the Goddess who worked tirelessly to subdue the other two had a vision of nurture, sadness, and hope each time she gazed upon the others.  Relm read up on them often, first at the behest of Strago to help her learn Magi history, but more often it became an interest to learn all their features and expressions to conjure a painting of their likeness even they would be impressed by if they ever saw it.

Studying the anguish on the Goddess’s face as she was torn between her love for the Fiend and the Demon, Relm understood why they made a pact to restore balance to the world by petrifying themselves in synchronous harmony to preserve their power and to release the bonds that chained the world and its inhabitants.  Relm didn’t want to exercise the notion of how enraged they must feel over being stirred from their eternal rest.  Strangely, she sympathized with their fate.

As she lifted a palette to reapply the paints she selected to use, she laid it back down.  “Maybe I need more time away from this.”

She re-covered the painting with a sheet and placed a small blank canvas on an empty easel.  She reached for one of the clear, freshly washed palettes and examined the blank canvas.  “Something else to pass the time,” she whispered.  She contemplated several ideas related to war and conflict, even going as far as to think about what the Empire once looked like – though she hadn’t once set foot in Vector.

Her only experience with the Empire before the apocalypse was the attack set forth by Kefka and those giant walking machines piloted by soldiers.  The memory of the ground being struck by a laser that sent her and Strago flying to when she was shielded by her grandfather while the Espers attacked was like venturing into the core of a volcano after escaping a frigid tempest.  And the laugh that accompanied all of it.

Something compelled her to paint that imagery, mostly of the death machine that attacked Thamasa.  The imagery of anger and insanity, the image of monsters preying on the defenseless with the laughter of a madman buzzing in the background.

She needed the right colors, colors to represent the chaos.  Reds, Violets, Oranges, Yellows, things she could think of that were angry colors mixed with just the amount of madness that bordered on megalomania.  These people of Jidoor would see images they’ve never laid eyes on before as a reminder of what the world had endured, and what it had become now due to their negligence.  It agonized her to paint out of her comfort zone, but the work she produced of the War of the Magi and that of the Warring Triad necessitated discomfort as a motivator to continue.

She attacked the canvas with her brush once she mixed her colors.  Rapid, precise strokes sculpted the image of the Magitek Armor, and the shapeless pilot that had no form, no humanity.  It was a husk that was blended into the machine, giving it the monstrous appearance it deserved.

She took no liberty with this painting, nor did she limit her discomfort with subsequent paintings.  One of them was of the fallen soldier, Leo.  She remembered a stoic figure with a reputation that preceded him, and how much reverence Terra had for him whenever she spoke with him.  She also remembered a flash from powerful magical incantations cast by Kefka while she watched through Strago’s arms.  The old man was still functional enough to keep her out of harm’s way yet she would watch on regardless.  She witnessed his murder, done without semblance of combat, betraying his ethics as a soldier.  It was conveyed as a painting of Leo caught in a vice-grip by a snake that bore Kefka’s face, smile, and maniacal laughter.  She had tackled that painting with as much aggression as the first.

She then slammed the palette against the wall, belting out a scream.  It was never supposed to be this way.  A ten-year-old girl should never have to see death so liberally. 

Friendly creatures snuffed out of the sky. 

A great man, murdered in cold blood.

The end of the world.

“I HATE HIM!”

There was a knock on the studio door.  “Sis?”

“Go away!”

“You know I can’t do that,” Christina’s voice spoke through the door.  She didn’t sound concerned as far as Relm could tell, but it did sound stubborn.

“I’m not in the mood right now!”

“Well, I’m coming in, anyway,” Christina replied.  The door opened with Christina approaching Relm, the unused sheet draped over her arm.  “I’m certain you woke up half of Jidoor by now.”

Christina then laid the sheet on a blank space along the countertop.  She paused at the two fresh paintings until she noticed the discarded palette, splattering its colors along the floor.  “Seems I missed out on some inspiration, I take it?”

Relm didn’t want to look her sister in the eye.  She brushed past her to the bathroom so she could wash her hands and face.  She then started drawing a bath for herself.

It was only a few minutes later that she sensed Christina hovering over her by the door.  “Talk to me, sis.”

“It’s nothing.  Just a few painful memories I had to contend with.  But hey, all to give these rich folks a taste of my artwork, right?” Relm said with venomous sarcasm.

“They have a lot of passion behind them, though.  I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you to go through.”  Christina tested the water and adjusted the temperature.  “You’ll burn yourself if you bathe in that.”

“Maybe I want to scald myself.  Maybe I want to scald that asshole’s face, too,” Relm said, which sounded amusing to Christina.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.  Whenever you’re ready, you can-“

Relm gripped the side of the bath.  She turned off the faucet.  “I can still remember the ringing in my ears from the initial impact of their weapons after they fired.  I couldn’t react.  I saw Celes and Locke launched into the air before I realized Grandpa and I were in the air, too.  Grandpa crawled to me and covered me.  He kept whispering to keep my head low, to shut out the noises.  He said not to look at what’s going on.

“But I kept looking because I wanted to.  I saw what happened to General Leo.  He didn’t deserve that.  He died, and that asshole laughed.  If I had the magic, I’d have saved him.  I know I could’ve.  I would’ve helped Terra, Celes, Locke, and everyone in Thamasa.  I was helpless, and I hated it.  But not as much as I hated the Empire.  We could’ve ended centuries of strife between us Magi and the Espers, but he took it from us.  Now I don’t know if the Espers could ever forgive us.”

“It wasn’t your fault, sis.  You didn’t know what was going to happen.  I don’t think anyone could’ve,” Christina assured her.

“But they did know!  They were set up by the Empire and used us as bait to kill the Espers!  Nothing’s changed over a thousand years because they always used us Magi to do their dirty work.  That has always been our legacy.”

“You’re speaking from a position of anger, Relm.  You can’t think rationally when you do,” Christina said.  Relm turned the faucet back on.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m more rational than grown-ups,” she said. 

Christina breathed a chuckle.  “Maybe.”

Relm then noticed Christina’s arms wrapped around her.  “One thing I’ve learned growing up is that we tend to be at our most expressive when we’re angry.  Something like dropping the barrier that separates our normal self from our true self.  There are things we need to keep buried because of how much pain it could inflict, either on us or on someone else.  Children don’t have a strong enough barrier to keep those emotions properly buried and can let it out at the wrong time.”

Relm wanted to fight her off but realized much of her tension had melted away.  Her head was nuzzled next to her sister’s heart as she continued. “I was angry a lot after we lost our parents.  It was hard managing the shop by myself at first, and I only realized after I lost my temper on Lily that I couldn’t do that to myself.  It wasn’t easy at first, but I eventually cast away much of my anger for a bright smile that I’d show everyone, every day.  Especially when it concerned Lily that I would never let her see her big sister angry ever again.  Now I think the opposite should be the case.”

“My bath’s gonna get cold if I don’t go in soon,” Relm said.  Christina hugged her tightly, kissing her on the top of her head.  “I know,” Christina told her.

Relm noticed seconds later that Christina wasn’t leaving the room, but rather undressing.  “Um…?”

“You’ve never had a family bath, before?”

“Well,” Relm said, glancing away.  “Only when I was very little.  It’ll be too weird at my age, now.”

“I’m sore from that busy day and it’s late.  I’m not wasting this water for just one person,” Christina assured her.  “I guess not,”  Relm muttered.

Relief finally washed over her once she completed the painting of the Warring Triad two days later.  That break Christina recommended was the right thing to do after all, despite Relm’s assurance she would’ve completed it on that day.  She covered the two “angry” paintings from earlier with a sheet to help her focus on the task, but she knew those extras would be donated to the auction soon, provided there was a large enough frame to fit this grandiose piece.

“Careful, careful,” Relm said as she and Christina meticulously slid the painting through the door frame, angling it enough to provide extra room.

“I’m being as careful as I can, sis,” Christina responded from the other end.  Once they were cleared of the first door, there was a matter of circumventing the display shelves in the shop before they reached the front door.  The main counter was the only obstacle that made clearing the painting from the shop difficult.  “So how do we tackle this?” Relm asked.

“We’ll need help.”

“I’ll say.  If we can move the counter, we’ll have a clear line to the outside without bending the painting,” Relm said.  She pushed against the counter, but it had a great deal of resistance.  “I wish that studio had a back door or something.”

“Don’t worry,” Christina said.  “The counter’s easy to move.  How else did we get this large canvas in there in the first place?”

Relm blinked a few times.  “Shit, you’re right,” she laughed.

Christina flagged a few passersby to help move the counter out of the way enough for them to move the painting out of the shop.  It was angled in such a way that no one could get a good enough view of the painting as a whole, which was then covered with a pair of sheets.  “Can someone help us get this up the stairs?” she asked.

The auctioneer was flabbergasted once the painting was revealed to him.  Even he couldn’t contain his excitement.  “Is this for real?” he asked.

“As real as the end of the world outside of Jidoor, Mister Auctioneer,” Relm said.  “A kid shouldn’t have to sacrifice so much sleep, but I finished it.”

“What remarkable brushwork and shading.  So many vibrant colors!  Did you really paint this?” he wondered.  He whispered something to the gentleman who aided in bringing the painting inside and the gentleman exited the house.

The Auctioneer paraded around the painting.  “I can’t see anyone but Lord Owzer himself buying this.  I can’t let this go for less than seven hundred and fifty thousand as an opening bid.  I could easily see this climb up to three million, maybe more.”

It was like a weight was added to Relm’s legs, pulling her down until they disappeared to leave them hollow.  Christina needed to hold her up.  “Are you sure it’ll go that high?”

“Demand for these are higher than you could possibly imagine, Christina,” he said.  He pointed to the images of the Warring Triad.  “The aesthetics of art change over time.  They ebb and flow like ocean waves.  One minute it’s peace, the next war.  As long as the world is in a state of chaos, artwork such as this attracts the most attention.”

“But why would artwork like this be more enticing?  Wouldn’t you want something to help you escape the reality of what’s out there?” Relm asked.

“It’s all about the passion one brings to these, lady Relm,” said the auctioneer.  He shifted to grandstand before the painting.  “Jidoor is home to what one finds most beautiful.  And this piece is the most beautiful I have ever laid eyes on.  This image of beauty will be revered by all who gaze upon it.  Even if it’s a fraction of time to study this, such a moment can only happen once in your life.”

The gentleman returned with the town’s tailor.  “You requested me, sir?”

“Yes.  Please measure the length and height of this beautiful painting so we can construct a worthy frame to encase it,” the auctioneer instructed.  The tailor froze upon seeing the painting, almost forgetting what the auctioneer had just said.  “Y-yes sir!  At once, sir!”

“I have two other paintings I’d like to donate,” Relm said.  “Yes, yes, very well,” the auctioneer replied, yet his eyes were still fixated on the painting.  “Bring them whenever you can.”

Relm and Christina exchanged looks.  They both shrugged and left the auction house.

“Three million gil.  That sounds excessive, doesn’t it?” Relm asked.  She was excited enough to receive 650,000 that day, but to become a millionaire at her age?  Strago wouldn’t be able to handle it if he knew.

“It’s not, depending on who’s the one buying,” Christina replied.  But even her hands were wringing each other out of nervousness each time Relm looked.  That was a lot of gil.

They encased the other two paintings in simple frames before returning to the auction house.  The auctioneer appraised them without a second glance, assigning a high value to them.  Was it because of what they were, or was it because Relm painted them?  Could she have built a high enough reputation to put other artists to shame?  She fought against exercising that mindset.  The need to cast aside her pride was as hard as fighting off an attack from the Triad itself.

Such a secret could not be contained within the four walls of the auction house.  The tailor eventually blurted it out to the townspeople as they visited, bragging about a new painting that looked priceless.  Soon enough, the upper and middle-class townspeople crowded the outside of the auction house while those who were inside were only allowed in by special invite due to their net worth.  All the outsiders could do was squeeze in a view from the window.

Relm, meanwhile, stayed in the studio.  She didn’t need to be smothered by onlookers and townspeople who’d cast a deluge of questions about where she received her inspiration, who taught her, how she’d know the techniques, or even whether she had a personal relationship with Owzer himself.  She wanted to retch at that last thought.

Christina wanted to give her some practice in sculpting, asking her to replicate one of her past creations.  Despite how secluded they were, they could still hear the roars of the crowd at infrequent times.  “They must be bidding over the painting, now.”

“Guess so,” Relm said.  She missed her mark and chiseled a piece unintentionally.  “Shit.”

“It takes time to get it right,” Christina said.  Relm traced her finger along the divot.  “Not when they’re out there making so much noise.”

“Did you want to call it a night?” Christina offered.

“Yeah.”

The following morning, several knocks on the front door compelled the pair to leave the bedroom.  Christina rapidly tied a knot around her nightrobe while Relm had to contend with only one slipper.  “Alright, stop knocking!” she shouted at the door.

The person on the other side was someone neither had expected to meet once Christina unlocked the door.  “Oh!  Hello?”

“The hell are you knocking so many times for?!” Relm shouted.  “Can us girls get some beauty rest?!”

“Sis…!”

“M-my apologies for the, um, in-intrusion, miss, and little miss,” the man said.  The annoyance ebbed immediately.  Something was way off about this guy, even though he was well-dressed in a suit, polished shoes, and white gloves.  But there was something unmistakable about the lack of color in his hollow, gaunt face and the quivering in his voice that betrayed the presentation.

“Forgive us.  My sister can be a little on edge in the mornings,” Christina said, yet there was a half-truth behind it.  Not about them being sisters – now – but by the fact Relm didn’t consider herself to be in a foul mood most of the time when she woke up.  She gave her a look regardless.

“Lord Owzer requests the presence of the young artist who painted the Warring Triad he purchased at the auction yesterday,” the man said.  His voice steadied, but Relm could still detect he was in a state of mind that told her he did not want to be outside the mansion whatsoever.

“Owzer?” She paused to consider the name and then it hit her.  “Hey, I remember you, now.  You’re that butler guy I saw at the auction house a few months ago who gets his stuff for him?” Relm asked.

“Yes.  I am his Lordship’s most humble servant.  My Lord has been most impressed with the works he had me purchase at the auction that he requested I send for you to meet him in person at the mansion.”

The butler bowed, hand pressed to his heart.  Relm scanned the area around him.  “Huh.  Um, won’t you come in, then?” she offered.

“I am most sorry,” the butler said.  “H-he insisted that y-you come im-m-mediately.”

“What?!”

“Forgive me!  His Lordship will punish me severely if I do not return with you!” the butler pleaded.

Relm eyed Christina.  “Could you give us a moment?” she said before slamming the door shut.

“What the fuck is wrong with that guy?” Relm hissed.

“Calm down,” Christina said.  “And please work on your language.”

Relm rolled her eyes.  “Immediately?!  I’ve got work to do here!  Besides, wasn’t it some sort of forbidden rule against going to that mansion?  What the hell does that Owzer guy want with me?”

She thought it over for a few seconds before opening the door again.  “What does your boss want with me?  I won’t go unless I know what this is about.”

“I’m s-sorry!  I cannot divulge the details.  Only that if you do not accompany me, bad things could happen to the townspeople,” the butler explained.

“Look, asshole,” Christina said.  Relm had to do a double-take.  “If this is a prank you’re trying to pull on us, then get your ass back home.  My sister is not a bargaining chip for your sick game, got it?!”

The butler prostrated himself before them.  “No!  I’m serious!  You don’t know what it’s been like up there since the incident happened!  We need the services of this girl!”

“Geez.”

Relm bent to pull his arm.  “Get up.  Come inside.”

The butler resisted at first until his other arm was held by Christina.  “Come, it’ll be alright.”

As Christina boiled water in a kettle, Relm pulled out a chair for the butler.  “Tell us what’s been going on.  If you do that, I’ll go with you.”

“I swore a vow of secrecy. I can’t speak of this.  I’m cursed to die if I do,” the butler protested.

“You won’t die if I’m going to cooperate,” Relm assured him.

“But she has a way of knowing.  She’s had a hold on this town since the incident,” he said.  “Oh dear, I’ve said too much now.”

His voice shifted from normal to near-wailing as he spoke.  Relm wanted to prod him further, regardless.  “What’s this ‘incident’ you keep referring to?”

“The apocalypse?” Christina chimed in.  The butler nodded quickly.

“It wasn’t immediate, but before we knew it, the mansion was haunted by some demon.  She didn’t seem demonic, but as days went by, Lord Owzer’s mood changed.  He became more demanding, more secluded in his room, ordering me to perform all sorts of tasks for him.  His preference for art changed as well.  He was more critical of what he saw, berated his long-time artist until he quit, and sent me to buy art from the auction house.  Whenever I’m in that room, I swear I hear another voice, speaking to Lord Owzer.  It sounded seductive, and enticing, but only to him.  To me, she was vindictive, shallow, and full of malice, as if I was a plaything for Owzer to be abused at her whim.  If I didn’t know any better, I swear there were two of them sharing the same body.”

“So where do I fit into all this?” Relm asked.  “If the mansion’s haunted, shouldn’t we find someone to get rid of the demon possessing it?”

“She feeds off the sins of the people in Jidoor.  The richer they are, the more she feeds from them.  Their greed and apathy towards the lower classes are a veritable buffet for her.”

Christina had a cup of tea ready for him.  “Here.”

“I haven’t had much of an appetite or desire for anything.  My soul’s barely clinging on as it is.  I’ve said more than what was needed.  By tomorrow, I may not have anything left to call a soul in my body once she’s had her fill.  I’ll end up as some mindless puppet,” the butler said.  The sunken face and hollow-eyed gaze the butler had on his tea was so gaunt it was amazing to Relm that he could speak with such a steady voice.  His soul must have clung on long enough to tell someone of the dark secret Owzer’s mansion hid from Jidoor since the apocalypse happened.  He drank from the cup without a care for how hot it was.  “I’ve lost my sense of taste and smell long ago.  That was the first thing I noticed she took from me,” he muttered.  Even his voice was on the brink of going.

“Don’t we have anything to heal him?  Something to restore his soul before it goes?” Relm asked.

“There is one thing,” the butler said.  “But she’s been quite protective of it.”

“Is that so?”

Relm gave Christina a somber look.  She nodded to the studio and rose from her chair.  “Excuse us.”

After Christina closed the door, she rested her hand against the knob.  “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked Relm.

“I think so.  I’m not much in terms of using magic or being a Magi, but I’ve had this bad tingling on the back of my neck for months.  I tuned it out, but after what that butler’s been saying regarding the townspeople, there’s no mistaking the fact that Jidoor is under the control of this demon.  It’s become apparent whenever they stop to stare at anyone climbing the stairs towards the mansion.  Besides, I’m not about to let some ancient bitch intimidate me.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” Christina said.  Relm wrapped her arms around her.  Often she’s had to be pulled into hugs by Christina, but she knew this time she needed to initiate.  “I’ll be careful.  I promise.  I’ll save Jidoor, then the world.  I’ll come back when all of this is done and we’ll have a normal town to live in again.”

“Then we should start packing some things for a long stay,” Christina said.

The butler was in his seat, staring into the empty cup.  “I’ll go,” was all Relm told him.

She chose her Thamasan garb for this trip.  If anything, she wanted to leave an impression on Owzer that she was proud of her hometown, and that it was an artist from so far away who painted the very gods of Magic.  Packing a trunk full of clothes and painting supplies made it a chore for Relm to drag out of the shop.  She gave her sister one more long embrace.  “Thank you for everything, sis.  I’ll come back, count on it.”

“I love you, sis.”

Rather than haul the heavy trunk up the stairs, the butler seemed to perform the task with little difficulty.  “Geez, for a guy who looks so fragile, you’re still pretty strong,” she noted.  The butler did not say anything as he ascended the long stairway.

A deep chill blew through Relm as she cleared the stairway to the top.  She clutched the straps of her bag tightly, pressing it against her.  “Okay, maybe a little intimidating, but I can manage.”

The grand hall of Owzer’s mansion was puzzling at first glance.  The absence of light gave off a vacated vibe as she walked in.  “Hello?  Mister Owzer?” she called.  Her voice should’ve echoed, given how vast the area was, but it was absorbed in the darkness ahead.  She could faintly see the semblance of a stairwell at the far back with a side stair that led to a separate study area.  “Hey, butler, what’s with the lack of light?”

“Conservation of electricity,” the butler responded flatly.

“Electricity…?” Relm muttered.  She couldn’t put a finger on what he was talking about until he pressed a switch next to a lamp hung over the stairwell.  Seconds later, the entire area was illuminated.  “Holy…!”

“If you’ll excuse me, lady Relm, I must bring his Lordship’s journal to him,” the butler said.  He directed her to a writing desk with an open book that he snapped shut.  He ascended the stairs and disappeared before Relm could process where he was ascending to.  “Does Owzer live up there?”

She decided to follow the butler’s path up the stairs until she reached an art gallery.  “Ooh!  Fancy stuff!” she exclaimed.

She approached each piece and studied it.  They had an old quality to them, as though they were painted some time ago, possibly years if not centuries.  Armor that pre-dates anything she figured was prominent, as well as a still-life of flowers.  “Whoever did this has a gift for bringing this to life,” she whispered.  “Kind of like me.”

One painting had a dignified old man with an almost dog-like face.  Long mustaches that dropped past his chin and neck framed a rigid posture, yet exuded power.  Power was written all over this painting the more she observed it.  “It looks like it’s about to fall,” she said.  Adjusting the painting to get a better grip on the hooks, a piece of folded paper fell from the back of it.  “What’s this?”

She unfolded the page.  “Seek the entrance where the mountains form a star.  There…,” she turned the page over.  “Not much of a note if the rest is either erased or faded.  I can’t make the rest of this out.  Oh well, back it goes.”

She tucked it into an open slot on the back of the painting enough so that it wouldn’t fall out so easily.  She resumed adjusting the painting until she was sure it had a better position on the wall.  “You’re creepy, whoever you are,” she muttered at it.

She caught herself mid-gasp when she spun to see the butler stand before her.  “This way, please.”

“Ever consider a career change?  Like an Assassin, perhaps?  How in the hell do those shoes not make any noise?” Relm asked as the butler opened the door.  “Forgive the lack of lighting,” he said, guiding her forward with a candleholder in his hand to light up the way ahead.  He led her down a stairwell to the lower levels and through a series of hallways that functioned as a maze, it would seem.  Sounds of whispers could be heard from the walls, along with a woman’s subtle, yet quiet laughter.  The paintings hung on the walls all depicted portraits of historical figures, none of which Relm recognized, yet their manner of dress and posture implied that they must have some history with Jidoor in a way.  But she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were watching her walk by while following the butler.

One final door led to a grand room that was fully lit.  “Lord Owzer’s grand chamber,” the butler presented her.  There were two sets of stairs across from each other that zigzagged to the same level.  She wanted to ask why two sets of stairs, but she was more fascinated by the painting above the door.  It turned out to be the one she first painted that sold for 650,000 gil.

Once she reached the second level, the Warring Triad masterpiece she crafted was mounted on the far left wall.  Under its own set of lamps, Relm could get a better view of how much the Triad stuck out from the background.  “Holy shit, I did a lot better than I thought I did,” she whispered.

It did not prepare her for the sight that beheld her once she ascended the stairs to the third level of the room.  Seated on a sizeable chaise lounge was a husk of a man with a blob-like face and jowls so wrinkled and low she wondered what was holding them up.  He was also grotesquely obese, clothed in layers of haute couture that she imagined must have been a nightmare for the tailor to sew.

“Ah,” the man breathed.  Wheezed sounded more like it.  Every motion seemed to require a lot of energy to pull off.  “You must be little Relm.”

“May I present to you, the esteemed Lord Owzer,” the butler said, bowing before her while extending his hand to the large husk.

Keep it together, Relm.  “Hi.  It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”  I’m going to throw up.

“Leave us, servant.  I have much…to discuss…,” Owzer said.  Every word he spoke sounded like it would be his last, yet he still had much resonance behind it.  Relm stood in place.  “Come, come, don’t be shy, Relm.  I have been…looking forward to…seeing you….”

Large mounds that counted as arms rose to clap his hands.  “Servant!  Bring us crudités!  And fetch my wine!”

“It shall be done, Lord Owzer,” the butler said with a bow.  “And prepare a juice for the guest!” Owzer added.

It didn’t take much for Relm to realize how awkward this meeting was going to be.  “Alright, let’s cut to the chase.  I’m here now, so what do you want from me?” she said in a flat tone.  She wasn’t about to let some well-dressed mass of fat and bones boss her around like he does the butler. 

Owzer began to laugh, however.  “I can see why these paintings of yours are so popular,” he said.  He flicked his tongue around his mouth to lick his lips as he spoke, which added another layer of disgust.  He pointed his arm forward at the Warring Triad.  “Your feistiness is written all over that one.  You are someone blessed with much passion.”

He grabbed the side of the lounge to pull himself up into a neutral seated position.  “I need that passion from you for something.”

“Look, I have my limits.  So if you’re asking me to paint your portrait, forget it,” Relm didn’t want to mince words and insisted she spoke as bluntly as possible.  This incited another fit of wheezing and laughter from Owzer.

“My appearance means nothing to me, Relm.  Nor does my vast wealth.  The paintings are what give me life.  They are my babies.  My precious treasures.”

She did not expect to hear that from him.  What could she say in response to that?

When the butler returned with a tray full of crudités and two glasses, one full of a pale liquid, he passed it to Relm.  “Your juice, my lady.”

“Thanks.”

“Servant, fetch the painting over there.  It’s about time she sees what she’s here for,” Owzer said.  After the butler poured Owzer his wine and brought the tray to within arm’s reach, he retrieved a covered painting from the back bookshelf, tucked between the shelf and the wall.  It was large, whatever it was.  “Servant, leave us.”

Relm stopped mid-sip once she saw what was uncovered.  After the butler left the room, she examined the painting.  It was worn and faded, yet she could still distinguish the pose of a middle-aged woman with a shadowy husk hovering behind her, arms reaching out towards her face and chest.  Relm downed the rest of her juice, making a face in the process.  “Sour,” she muttered.

“Tell me, young Relm,” Owzer began, biting into a piece of fruit so juicy it trickled down his face and onto his vest.  “What do you know of the Goddess Lakshmi?”

“Lakshmi…?”

She had trouble thinking through the question while watching him stuff his face with pieces of crusty buttered bread, cheese, and fruits.  He cared little for his table manners, instead eyeing Relm as he waited for her answer.

She rose to approach the painting.  Gazing at the woman in the frame, she ignored the shadow to focus on the facial features.  There was something more to the woman’s features, almost ethereal, it seemed. 

There was no mistaking it.  She could sense magic in this painting.

When she took a few steps back, she studied the rest of the painting.  Blue robes were faintly visible, wrapped around the woman modestly enough to cover her, with protrusions she deduced were some sort of crown worn along the back.  The magical aura exuded by the painting directed her to the bookshelf where the painting was stored.

“Step away from the shelf,” Owzer barked.  “Will you answer my question?”

“Yeah, yeah, calm yourself lard-ass,” Relm said.  “I know magicite when I see it.”

“Then you know who this is?” he asked.

“Judging by the magic I sense, she’s probably an Esper,” Relm told him.

“Correct.  I need you to restore this painting for me.  You are capable of restorations, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Not as such, but it doesn’t look too hard from the looks of it.  How much am I getting out of this?”  He better fork up a lot of gil for this.  I should be paid just for looking at his ugly face.

“Food and lodging,” Owzer answered.

“What…?”

“I have all accommodations prepared for you, Relm.  A bed is provided, and my servant will prepare any meal at your request until the work is completed.”

“Oh, hell no.  Fuck this, I’m not doing this for free, fat-ass,” Relm barked, spinning around.  She took a step forward but found herself impeded by an invisible force.  “The hell…?!”

“I’m sorry, little Relm, I truly am,” Owzer said.  He didn’t sound like someone imprisoning her.  If she didn’t know any better, he sounded like someone equally imprisoned.

“Hey!  Demon bitch!  This isn’t funny!” Relm bellowed.  She was met with a melodic giggle.  “Damn it all.”

She balled her fists.  “So that’s why you haven’t left the mansion?” she asked.  She couldn’t bear the sight of him.

“And made me say horrendous things to my butler!” Owzer cried.  “I try to resist her, Relm.  But I become a terrible person when he is in my presence.  The trauma he must endure!”

“No shit!” Relm said, rounding on him.  “Look how thin his face is!  There’s barely anything left of him!  Why can’t you do anything about it?  You have money, don’t you?  Hire someone to get rid of this bitch!”

He can’t.

Relm froze.  The melodic giggle came back.  He’s a wonderful toy, isn’t he, girl?  Once he’s outlived his usefulness, you’ll be next.

She hissed through her teeth.  “What the hell are you?”

That’s not up to you to decide.  Restore the painting at his request and I’ll release my hold on this place.

“What’s in it for you?  What do you gain by me restoring that painting?”

Unlimited power, promised to me by Lord Kefka.

“I’ll burn the painting, then.”

Owzer wheezed as if trying to gasp.  “No!  I can’t have the painting ruined!”

“What do you mean you can’t have it ruined?  Destroy it and she won’t have this ‘unlimited power.’”

Then I’ll suck every last drop of souls in this forsaken town.  Tempt it, if you must, girl.

Relm chuckled.  “Then what?  Without unlimited power, you’d be stuck in this area, wouldn’t you?”  No response.  “So there’s a catch, isn’t there?”

You’re a quick one, I’ll give you that.

“So if I finish this, you get your wish and we’re set free.  I destroy this now, you kill all of us, and you stay trapped in this mansion forever.  Either way, we still win, more or less,” Relm said.  Another melodic giggle.  I like you, girl.  Make your choice.

“Not much of a choice.  There’s no guarantee you’ll free us anyway if I do complete the restoration,” Relm said.  No giggle, but she could tell there was some air of amusement from the demon’s part.

I wouldn’t waste too much time thinking it over, however.  The servant is nearly depleted, which means I may have to move onto a new source for my satiation. Perhaps you? Perhaps, say, a sibling?

Relm’s chest tightened.  “You wouldn’t.”

Another giggle.

“Stop laughing!”

The giggle increased, growing louder.  “Stop it!”

Relm struggled with few emotions during this tumultuous time after the apocalypse.  The pain of not knowing whether Strago or anyone survived or not to deal with the enraging loss of her prized artwork.  The grief of seeing how much Christina had to deal with over losing her family.  She grieved herself once she came to grips with what happened to Thamasa both before and after the apocalypse.

But this was the first instance of abject terror coursing through her heart.  She gained a new family member in Christina and grew to love her as such.  Threatened to lose her left her hollow before she realized it.  Now she couldn’t cope with the possible consequences.

So you’ll do as I ask, then?

“Fuck you.”

That’s my girl.

She faced the painting.  “Let’s get this mounted against the wall.  I’ll need a lot of space to work on this.”

The look on Owzer’s face was like a man trapped in a mask.  Whatever that mask was, it changed, as if they were theatrical masks that shifted from happy to sad.   Only in this case, it went from serene to angry, depending on the presence of the butler.

Owzer’s face shifted once the butler arrived.  “Servant!” he barked.  Seconds later the butler returned.  “Prep the painting on the wall!  Do not damage it or I’ll have your hide!”

His wheezing and phlegmy breathing irritated Relm.  It irritated her that it was forced malice from the demon’s magic.  He knew the consequences of his actions.

Relm ignored the voice for now.  She moved to aid the butler but was locked in place.  “Seriously?!  He needs help!”

“Servant!  Get a move on!  I want that painting restored, post-haste!” Owzer howled again.  Realizing the truth of the situation made each mistreatment like a bludgeon to the heart.  She wanted to cry.  “And replenish my tray!  I’m famished!”

The butler’s hands struggled to hold the painting aloft.  “He’s not going to get it up.  It’s going to fall!” Relm shouted.  “Let me go so I can help him!”

Alright.

Lifting her leg, she dashed to the butler and pushed against his arms to keep the painting steady.  “I’ve got you.”

It took some effort from a weakened adult and a child, but both were able to secure the painting in place.

“About time you finished, servant!  Now get my wine!” Owzer barked.  Relm couldn’t help but flinch.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

She laid a hand on the painting.  Lakshmi, if you’re there, give me the strength to endure this.  We’ll find a way to get rid of this demon.

When the butler exited the room, Owzer burst into a fit of coughing.  Relm paused to hear him, and there was no mistaking the number of sobs that were interspersed with them.  She glared around the room.  One day my friends will find me, and they’ll make you pay dearly.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer – Final Fantasy VI and all affiliated characters are owned by Square-Enix.  Please support the official release.

After the Fall // Prelude to Hope

Terra & Strago

“…ra….”

“…erra…?”

“Terra.”

The sound resonated in her ears, rousing her from a fog of unconsciousness.  Her vision, though blurred, adjusted to the faint light that illuminated the room.

“Wh-what…?”

“Easy.  I’ve got you.”

She muttered a groan.  “Is that Strago?” she said weakly.

“Aye.  I’m here.”

She lifted her head until something sharp and stinging jabbed her on the side of the head.  She reached to touch it, only to come into contact with something damp and viscous.  When she lowered her hand, blood caked her fingers.  “What happened…?”

“A fragment of the Floating Continent clipped you on the side of your head.  You managed to catch me from falling but you were knocked out.  If we weren’t pulled by some magical force, we’d have taken a dip in the ocean.” Strago eased her into a sitting position.  “I can’t imagine you surviving had you landed in the water.”

She hissed each time she touched the wound.  She dismissed his offer to use his magic.  “It’s fine, I’ll do it.”

Closing her eyes, she drew her hands close together.  “Oh angel Seraphim, grant me a reprieve from pain and anguish.  Cura.”

The warm glow of her spell enveloped her body until the pain dulled.  New skin formed and merged on her head, closing the wound.  Seconds later, she was limber enough to stand.  She then offered a hand to Strago.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“This is not a place I’m familiar with,” Strago noted.  The interior resembled a prison cell based on the enclosure limiting their area and a single door ahead with a circular window.  She examined the walls until she stopped.  “Shh.  Listen.”

A low rumble pierced the wall, vibrating it.  Terra backed away, pulling Strago aside.  “What in blazes?” Strago exclaimed.

“Quiet!  I sense a powerful magical presence behind this wall,” Terra said.  Strago pursed his lips.  “I sense it now, too.  Must be your Esper senses being more attuned than ours.”

“It’s a creature.  Large, fierce…,” Terra muttered.  She reached out with her hand, gauging the creature’s magical aura.  Something immediately snapped back like whiplash on her as she sank to her knees.

“Terra!”

“And strong…!”

“Are you alright?!”

Terra was slow to rise, nodding.  “Yeah.  I’ll be fine.  But there’s something else.  Something in the air that feels off.  Something about the magic itself.”

Strago stroked his beard, shaking his head.  “Aye, it’s foul, whatever it is.”

The longer she reached out, the more her stomach churned.  Not from the dizziness of waking up, but from the feedback she was receiving from the magical force permeating the air.  It wasn’t long until another wave of dizziness made the room spin.  She would’ve fallen forward had Strago not held her aloft.  “S-sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, Terra.  Can you recognize anything here?” Strago asked.  Terra refocused her senses on the room, using Strago to stabilize herself.  There was a single bench bolted to the opposite wall and a single toilet at the back.  She took a few steps back towards the door and upon further inspection, realization hit as hard as the wave of dizziness.  “This is Vector,” she concluded.

“Vector?  The Imperial Capital?”

“Yes.  It has to be,” Terra said but paused.  Something about this did not sit well.  “But Kefka killed the Emperor, so there’s no one in charge of the Empire.”

“Unless he declared himself Emperor in his stead,” Strago added.  His face shifted into a scowl the moment Kefka’s name left her lips. 

The man solely responsible for ransacking Thamasa and murdering countless Espers.

The man who took Leo’s life.

The madman who ended the world.

It was like a bubbling cauldron ready to burst in her stomach, shooting up foulness.  She covered her mouth.  “Oh god.  It really happened, didn’t it?”

“Aye.  I dared hope we all dreamt this nonsense.  But the Warring Triad was stirred from their slumber and scorched the world with their magic,” Strago said, then whispered, “just like before.”

“I might need that toilet,” Terra managed to say.  She swallowed several times to keep it all down, leaning back against the door.  Sliding to sit on the floor, she wiped her face with her hands and held her head aloft.  She was tempted to remove her hairband as if it cut the circulation to her brain but paused to breathe slowly.

“This will be the hardest thing to accept, going forward,” Strago said.  He sat by Terra along the adjacent wall.  “The world is out of balance.  Who knows what it looks like now?”

She wrapped her arms around herself.  Every fiber in her body felt like it was stretched and compressed at once while the cauldron sloshed around randomly.  One moment she tensed, the next it was like a gaping hole formed in her chest, leaving her hollow.  Please wake me up.

Please.

The hollow void inside her was rocked by the sound of faint laughter.  It was unmistakable how inhuman it resonated in their ears each time they were forced to listen to it.  Especially for a woman who endured it often as she grew older under the watchful eyes of the Empire.

Only this time, this laughter had more power to it.

“Kefka,” Strago hissed.  He was back on his feet.  “I know it’s you, you crazy git!  Show yourself!  What right do you have imprisoning us in here?!”

Terra rose, but more slowly.  Her eyes scanned the room with unease.  It bloomed as the laughter increased, getting louder by the second.  “Something’s different,” she muttered.

“Different?”

She shook her head slowly.  Strago was still defiantly glaring upward.  “Something about Kefka feels different.”

“Are you sure?” Strago asked but froze.  “Terra!  Your hands!”

“Huh?”

She glanced down to see that her hands were fading.  Moments later she found herself enveloped in a bright light.  She reached for Strago only to see him and the room shift.

~.~

Strago only had a moment to process a reaction.  Once the light was gone, he approached the empty spot she once occupied.  “No…!”

He closed his eyes.  With his magic, he searched for Terra.  He found himself among a sea of fog so thick he wasn’t sure if he could even see his hands.  Amidst the thickness, a distorted laughter was heard in the distance.

The laughter crescendoed until it focused on a singular point ahead.  From the sound emerged a creature, like a giant snake.  What should’ve been the snake’s head was Kefka’s instead, striking at him with such velocity that all Strago could notice were teeth encased in a maddening grin.

He staggered back.  “What in blazes?!”

Balling his hands into fists, he dug into the source of magic once more to search for Terra.  She had to be alive!  There’s no way some light would take her so easily.

Another flash in his field of vision produced Kefka’s laughing face until it jerked him back into the jail cell.

“What have you done with Terra, you monster?!” Strago howled.  “Release me at once!”

He used his fists to bludgeon them against the door.  He pushed and pulled, even trying to channel magic into the latch to move it.  The door would not give.  He gave it one final smack with an open palm.  “Damn you.”

“Are we having trouble?” said a voice from behind.  Strago spun, panicked.  Instinctively, he backed into the door to meet his new cellmate, a thin man he had never seen before.

“What the devil is going on here?  How…?” Strago asked, searching the room.  There were no openings along the walls and ceiling to speak of, with only the creature’s low rumbling piercing the wall to his left to add to the ambiance.  The man sat on the bench, legs stretched out with one crossed over the other.  He adjusted his seat and offered a space for Strago to sit.  “Well?”

“Who are you?” Strago asked.  The man rose from the bench and gestured before Strago with a short bow.  His garb was simple for a man of his size with trousers, boots, and a loose white long-sleeved shirt.  But his face held an ancient aesthetic older than Strago could perceive.

The man extended his hand forward.  “I sense a kindred bloodline in you, friend.  Do not be afraid.”

“Kindred bloodline?  What do you mean?” Strago asked. 

The man continued to hover his hand before him.  “Shake my hand and you’ll find out.”

There was no way to easily give in to this, Strago knew.  He raised his hand, slowly, only to find the man clutching it in a firm grip.  “Take it easy.  I won’t bite,” the man chuckled.

A surge of magical power flowed into Strago the moment the man made contact.  It was a depth of power so vast and so open he couldn’t figure out where it began and where it ended.  When the man released his grip, Strago pulled his hand away, using his other hand to soothe it.

“You still have that puzzled look about you,” said the man.  “So be it.  Had your blood not diluted so much with all that backwater village life, you’d have realized much sooner who stands before you.”

“You know of us?” Strago asked.  He steadied his voice, which was something he had no other recourse but to do considering the company he was keeping.

“We’re brethren!  Cut from the same magic cloth since ancient times!  Come, brother, surely you haven’t had the wool pulled over your eyes so much they’ve fused to your retinas?”

Brethren?  It could only mean one thing.

“You’re a Magi,” Strago concluded.  The man did a two-fingered salute before he eased himself back on the bench.  “But we’ve only had Magi in Thamasa for generations since the end of the war.  We would have recognized you.”

“Ironic, you say that.  In fact, I was sort of in a prison like this one,” said the man, tapping the wall with his finger.  “Annoying thing, that seal.  If I had to guess based on my perception of time and space, several hundred years have passed?  Maybe more?  Less?  Why don’t you fill me in, brother?”

The unease of the questions didn’t come close to the way he addressed him as “brother.”  The closest person he’d ever consider a brother not by blood was Gungho.  This Magi held an air of command that thickened the air in the cell, under his aura alone.

“A thousand years,” Strago said.  The Magi nodded, accepting the fact so easily.

“Impressive.  Doesn’t feel like it, but then again, time didn’t exist where I was.  Locked away with so many others, bound by the power the Warring Triad held over us.”

Once the Magi mentioned the Gods, it became obvious what happened.

“I see.  Awakening the Warring Triad unsealed your prison, is that it?  Then that must make you one of the Magi from the war itself,” Strago stated.  The Magi wagged his finger, mocking him.

“Not one of the Magi.  The Magi,” the man said.  “I was the Grand Magus, the Master of Magic that led our people to glory against the Esper monstrosity that tore this world apart.  Bastard servants of the Gods, they were.”

Strago swallowed.  The Grand Magus, himself?  “Grand Magus Thamasa?”

He was silenced with a single look.  “Do not call me that.  I hate that name.  I discarded it a long time ago.”

“But we founded our village after you!” Strago protested.  The Grand Magus arched an eyebrow.  “Did you, now?”

“Aye.  My ancestors found a stretch of secluded land and built a village in your name and honor.  They revered you highly, choosing that land to preserve your legacy and keep the Magi name strong among us.”

“I’m touched,” the Grand Magus said.  “But I wouldn’t go as far as to say your ancestors revered me, as you claim.  Mumblings of me passed around in hushed tones, saying I was too hungry for power, that I slaughtered Espers for the fun of it.  But I could not care less about their opinion, brother.  I cared about the mission of claiming our birthright to conquer this world for the Magi to rule as Gods.  Had it not been for the Espers wasting my time, I’d have secured the power of the Warring Triad for myself.  Seems there was someone else who beat me to it.”

He chuckled.  “Lord Kefka would’ve made the finest Magi in my company during my time.”

“You serve that madman?” Strago said.  It was sickening to hear such a thing said so casually.

“I tolerate him.  No, that’s not correct.  I recognize his power.  I daresay I can respect such a bold gesture to pull off the impossible.  In fact, that is why I am here sharing this cramped space with you, brother.”

Strago furrowed his brow.  He wasn’t having any of this.  “Where did you take Terra?  Answer me!”

“Lord Kefka summoned her to him.  He sent me here to put you to work as one of his acolytes,” The Grand Magus explained.  Strago raised his hands in defiance, ready to channel magic.  It didn’t matter how often he’d see Kefka’s deranged form before him as he cast his spells.  Grand Magus or not, he’d get a taste of an old man’s wisdom.

“You wish to raise hands to your Grand Magus, brother?” The Magi asked.

“I will do what I must to escape this cursed place,” Strago hissed.  “I am still capable in my old age.  I’ve read all the stories about you, Grand Magus.  I have magic that can hurt you.”

The Magi’s ancient face stared back, amused.  “Your courage is commendable, brother.  I’ve no doubt the Magi blood in you would have figured out ways to counter my skill.  However long that will last, however, is not up to you.  You are being put to work at Lord Kefka’s orders.”

The Magi did not mince his words.  He moved with such a blur that Strago couldn’t perceive where he went.  He froze as two hands sandwiched his head between them.

“I will give you a choice, brother.  Either you submit to the will of your new God, or you rot in this cell for the remainder of your days,” the Grand Magus whispered.

“I’d rather die than choose either option.  Kill me now and get it over with.  I will not be a slave to this chicanery!”

“You are outclassed, brother.  You stand before forces you do not yet comprehend.  All those studies, all those books you’ve read in your youth that spoke of monsters I’ve slain and fought with.  All those weapons of war at the tips of my fingers.  They pale in comparison to your new God of Magic.  The Warring Triad’s time has passed.  The time of Kefka is birthed before a world of chaos.  And I will be his General to usher in that new world with a beautiful tower in his honor.  A tower that you will aid in its construction.”

The Grand Magus’s words stirred a sea of disquiet within Strago.  He struggled to free his head, trying to strike back at him with an elbow or a foot to kick him with.  Once the Magus finished talking, he released his grip, flashing back to his original location in another blur.

“What good would it do to enlist the services of a feeble old coot like myself?” Strago said.  He used the door to hold himself aloft.  “Even if you work me to death, my friends will--“

“Your friends are dead,” the Grand Magus said bluntly.  “And in moments, so will the girl.  It is pointless to resist us, Strago.”

“No…!”

No one survived the Triad’s magic?  It couldn’t be possible.  “You lie, Grand Magus!  I will not accept such a bastardized statement!”

“Their bodies were scattered and torn apart, Strago.  You will never see them again.”

He couldn’t figure out whether the Grand Magus’s calm tone throughout the entire exchange left him hollow or fueled a fire ready to burst.  “I will send you to the deepest layers of Hell itself,” he howled.

Before he could move, the Grand Magus halted him with a hand.  “A moment.”  He paused, touching his frontal lobe with a finger, then sighed.  “Very well.”

He shrugged his shoulders.  “Lord Kefka requests my presence.  As for you…,” he said, approaching him.  “Unfortunately I’ll have to choose for you.  Your presence is more important to him as an acolyte than a corpse so I’ll expedite the process on his behalf.  This may hurt a bit.”

“What are you…?!”

The Grand Magus moved again.  Too fast.  He was simply too fast for Strago to react or process.  He only found himself kneeling before him with the Magi’s hand clamped on his head, fingers digging into his skull.  Everything around him blurred and faded.  “Relm,” he choked as he shook.  “I’m sorry, Relm!”

He couldn’t move his hands.  The last thing he could sense was the tear that trickled down over his cheek and into his snow-white beard.  His eyes rolled back as the room faded.

All that surrounded him was darkness without sound, sight, smell, or taste.  Darkness he could not sense.  Whatever the Grand Magus had done to him, he would never know.

~.~

When the light vanished, Terra found herself in a different location.  It was empty, save for mountains of unnaturally placed debris bonded together as if drawn to each other like one giant magnet.  Situated at the center of the debris was a shape that resembled a throne of sorts.

Before she could move to examine the area, a pair of hands covered her eyes.  “Guess who?”

Belting out a shriek, she stumbled forward, spinning to face him, the madman.  Kefka.

He laughed.  “Jittery, aren’t you?”

She raised her hands in defense.  “Please,” Kefka cooed.  He flicked his fingers in a downward motion.  Terra’s hands moved on their own to lower themselves at her sides.

“What’s going on?  Why am I here?” Terra asked.  Kefka didn’t answer.  Instead, he sauntered over to her, face full of caked-on white make-up with that wide red-lipped, teeth-filled grin of his until it was inches from hers, looming over her.  “Shall we dance, my dear?” he offered.

“What?!”

Taking her hands, Kefka began moving around, swaying and sashaying with her in tow.  To her surprise, her legs moved in sync with his, dancing along the floor.  If there was music playing, she didn’t hear a single note of it.  “La danse au folles!” he sang.  “Un petit séjour avec toi, ma chère.”

Why can’t I control my body?!

She grunted and pulled back, but there was no give.  Kefka shifted into a different dance routine, threading his fingers through hers in one hand, while wrapping his other around her waist.  He marched her forward, stopped, and then did an about-face to march in the opposite direction.

“Let me go!” Terra howled.  “Stop this!”

He turned his head and stuck his tongue out before he continued the dance.  She was spun around until he caught her from falling to the floor, her back arching slightly.  Everything about this disgusted her to no end.

Twirling her back to her feet, Kefka conjured a chalice from his hands.  “Beverage…?”

“No!  I don’t want anything from you!” she cried.

Kefka downed the contents instead.  Tossing the chalice carelessly, he began humming a tune to himself.  As he did, she found the floor began to move under her feet, rising like an elevator.  Kefka continued to saunter as he hummed until the floor was high enough to tower over the abstract pillars ahead.

“Will you cut this out, already?!” Terra hollared.  Was nothing going to reach him?

Kefka stopped and arched his head back, giving her a view of his eyes.  “Hmm?”

Watching his teeth bared again in that malicious grin, Kefka moved his hand up to wave her forward.  It was as if a noose was tied around her waist, jolting her forward without any ability to resist.  The invisible noose stopped, placing her next to Kefka.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he said.  “Gaze upon it.  Drink it all in.”

Terra furrowed her brow, confused.  In his most non-insane posture, he gestured towards the world below for her to see.

The bubbling returned in a violent crescendo within her insides.  She covered her mouth, stifling all attempts to void the contents.  The devastation that occurred below was ongoing.  Cyclones upon cyclones migrated on land and sea.  Cracks of immeasurable size sundered across the continents, forcing them apart with jets of magma gushing forth like a fountain.  Mountains that were seen as she flew across the world so long ago split and crumbled, creating avalanches.  The obsidian skies ejected bolt after bolt of liquid-hot lightning that struck the world below.

People fled below.  Panicked and paranoid, they frantically searched for a safe place to hide.  They scurried as much as their legs could take them until they were picked off one by one, either from falling into a freshly opened chasm or vaporized by a lightning strike.  Directly below, domes of light expanded and burst, some as large as a house, some even larger.  Those caught in their wake, gone without a trace.  Nothing left of them, not even a charred corpse.

All the while this happened, she spotted Kefka swaying his body, eyes closed, humming that same distorted tune of his.

“What a symphony,” he sang.  “Do you not hear it?  The unified cries of the condemned?  The shrieks of panic and helplessness?  Listen, Terra.  Listen to the Triad’s harmony.”

Terra backed away from Kefka, working to gain any sort of distance from him.  He never sounded this unhinged before, but what made it worse was that he had the confidence behind those words to say them so casually.

She continued backing away until she bumped into a figure.  Turning her head, her heart jolted at the sight of Kefka.  She blinked several times to assure herself she was not seeing double.

“Leaving?  But the song hasn’t ended,” Kefka said.  The world around her was spinning again.  She needed to be anywhere but here.

Sprinting away, she was halted by Kefka’s presence.  She hurried in any direction she saw an opening, only to see the madman blocking her path.  Her breathing increased, and her eyes searched everywhere, but the sight of Kefka grounded her.

“Come now.  That’s no way for my entertainment to act,” Kefka said, tsking with disapproval.  Terra averted her eyes.  Anything to draw her focus away from his gaze.  Every attempt to back away was met with a pair of hands caressing her shoulders.  “The entertainment’s only begun, my dear.”

The floor began to lower until it was back in its original place.  Maybe there was an exit that she hadn’t noticed before.  Maybe there was an opening within a wall she could burst with her magic.  She attempted to channel her magic to teleport away yet her connection was interrupted by Kefka’s deranged visage.

“Trying to cast a spell?” Kefka asked with a chuckle.  Terra sneered back at him.  “What did you do?” she hissed.

“You tell me.  But it looks like you’re tapping into the source to cast your little spell to go away.  But why would my lovely little face be there as you did it?” Kefka tilted his head pensively.  Terra was ready to throw daggers with her glare until the slow, dreadful realization crept into her mind.

“Blessed Kirin, grant me this brief reprieve.  Cur-,“ she froze at another flash of Kefka’s face.  “It can’t be.”

“Look at you, you clever shrew,” Kefka cooed again.  “You’re getting warmer.”

She reached with her magic, searching for something specific.  Ignoring the flashes of Kefka’s face, she attempted to reach the Warring Triad, the very Gods of magic themselves.

But found nothing.

It hit her like a cannonball to the chest.  A lump formed in her throat, forcing her to swallow it.  “What did you do?” she whispered.  “Where are the Warring Triad?”

“Around,” Kefka said, twirling a finger in the air.  “Somewhere.”

“What did you do?!”

“Feh!  Why would I tell you all my dirty little secrets?  Where’s the fun in that?” Kefka spat.

“When is it going to be enough?” Terra said.  A torrent of magic slowly welled up within her.  “How much more do you need to take from us?  From me?!”

Kefka sat, floating in mid-air.  Crossing one leg over the other, he leered at her with an amused look.  “You took my mother!  You took my father’s dignity and pride!  You took my free will!  You took Leo!” she howled.  Power flowed, ready to burst.   “You took the world!  And now you dare take my magic?!”

The Esper in her roared.  Shifting to her alternate form, she screeched at blinding speeds towards the fiend before her.  “GIVE IT BACK~!!”

Kefka remained in the same pose as his crazed eyes widened with giddiness.  She rocked him back with a right hook that sent him soaring to one of the pillars.  She didn’t care that he laughed as he flew back, only that she saw him crash.  He cackled, dusting himself off.  “Yes!  Entertain me more, witch!”

He bounded to his feet and hopped around, skipping along uneven surfaces until she reached him again to unload on his face with punches.  He swerved and flew back, goading her to move forward.  She was lost in her rage, unable to realize the danger she found herself in.

She flung spell after spell at Kefka, channeling elements of Fire, Lightning, and Ice.  She willed a piece of magicite before her, hovering her hands around it.  “Father, grant me power!  Smite this foe!”

From the crystal, a lavender-colored beast emerged with human-like features.  Maduin, her birth father, flew around her and stopped at her side.  “Let us fight as one, daughter!” he shouted.

“This ought to be amusing,” Kefka said.  Terra hissed back at him, lacing her fingers into her father’s.  Together, the pair aimed a concentrated burst of powerful magic that enveloped Kefka.  It seemed to work as she could hear him howling in agony from the effects, but she was more distracted by the fact that her father soon vanished as quickly as she summoned him.

Kefka’s pained shrieks eventually became interspersed with gales of laughter as the magical force shattered like glass, the pieces floating away.  Terra was still glaring venom at him.

With another burst, she had a direct line for a heavy blow, only for him to hold his hand out.  “Ah, ah, ah!  Wait a moment, my little firebrand.”

“No more waiting!  Die!” Terra shrieked.  It was at this critical junction that she found herself at odds with a force she could not comprehend.  It was still Kefka, but something else was somehow superimposed on him, something she couldn’t make out.  It froze her on the spot.

Kefka clapped his hands twice.  “Yoohoo!  Come here, if you would!” he shouted.

A pillar of dark blue smoke crackled beside Kefka.  A pair of boots emerged connected to a slim man whose face looked ancient, far more ancient than Strago’s.  He stepped forward, hands in his pockets, eyes closed.

“This better be important, Lord Kefka.  I have work to do,” said the man.  He opened his eyes and met Terra’s before he turned his attention to Kefka.

“My toy’s being defective.  Do be a dear and dispose of it for me, would you?” Kefka asked.  Terra lowered herself to all fours, ready to pounce on the new presence.

“I’ll kill you both,” she hissed.

The man sighed.  “You summoned me for this?”

Kefka chuckled.  “You’re more than a match for this tasty little morsel.  I’m about done with my entertainment.  I only need to take care of the leftovers.”

“Who are you?” Terra asked.  The man shrugged his shoulders.  His bored expression hadn’t ebbed.

“I shouldn’t have to explain myself to the likes of you, but I’ll make an exception this one time.  I was once the Grand Magus of the Magi, sealed away with the Warring Triad when they felt they needed to cease the conflict.  Disrespectful whelps.”

He approached Terra, tilting his head slightly.  “You are a curious creature.  I sense the presence of many Espers on your person.  You are an Esper I have not seen before.”

“My father was a powerful Esper warrior named Maduin.  You better remember that name!” Terra boasted.  The Magi’s lips curled into a grin.

“One among the ancients.  Good.  What of the others?  Valigarmanda?  Odin?  Alexander?  Ragnarok?  Bahamut?  Do they not dwell within you, girl?” the Magi asked.

“Who?”

The Magi’s smile vanished, replaced by a scowl.  “Pathetic.  I’ll make an example of you quickly before I secure Lord Kefka’s treasure in a safe place.  We can’t have your grubby little mitts on such a valuable trinket.”

“I’m strong in my own right!” Terra shouted.  “These Espers fight with me!  My bloodkin won’t let this world be eviscerated any more than it already has once we’ve rid it of your filth!”

“Your magicite,” the Magi stated, “is dead weight.”

He rolled the sleeves of his shirt back and from his pockets he produced a pair of gloves, slipping them onto his hands.  He gestured with them, goading Terra.  “Prove your worth, Esper child, if you value your strength.”

Within her fiery aura, Terra noted a shift in the Magi’s posture.  It was unclear what he had done, only his aura fluctuated with prismatic colors.

She aimed and unloaded a blast of fire.  Anticipating a direct hit, it was eaten by the aura and coated the Magi.  “Fira,” he said.  “What else have you for me?”

It was clear he knew the spells.  But how many?  She shifted to a different tactic and planted her hands on the floor to conjure a deluge of ice that would’ve created a prison of cold had it not also been absorbed into the Magi’s aura.

It’s not working?!  What is he?!

“Blizzara.  Interesting.  You’ve studied the elements, girl.  Good.  But not good enough.”

The Magi’s voice didn’t sound mocking, though she wanted to believe it was.  She howled again.

“Thundara!”

“Bio!”
“Break!”

“Death!”

The Magi stood, hands behind his back as each spell fizzled without a single hint of effectiveness.  “Are you done?” he asked.

The aura surrounding Terra diminished until it faded.  The pink, rose-colored fur-like flesh of her Esper form morphed back into her pale human skin, clawed hands changing back into her gloved ones.

The Magi scoffed, turning his head to Kefka.  “Lord Kefka, why am I wasting my time with this?  I have a tower to assemble with those peasants you insist on sending me.”

“Oh, very well,” Kefka said, waving him off.  “I think she gets the point now.”

Terra fell to her knees, breathing heavily.  This can’t be real!  What was he?!  Nothing I cast had any effect!

The Magi bowed formally, hand to heart before he disappeared in that cloud of dark blue smoke.  When it imploded with a pop, Kefka stalked over to her.  He placed one foot on the back of her head, pushing it down.

“Do you understand now, my dear?” He asked.  “All your boasting?  Your theatrics?  Your heroics?”

His foot felt like a boulder, crushing her.  Fighting to escape it, she was pushed down until her face pressed itself against the floor.  She cried out from the pressure, reaching with her hands to pull his leg off.

“Call all the so-called Esper dreck you want, it matters not,” Kefka whispered.  Her cries were pleading for release, but it only made him press down even more.  “But don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon.”

He lifted his foot.  The pressure somehow was still there, even though she could move again.  She crawled backward in a feeble attempt to gain distance from him.  She lifted her head.

“Please,” she pleaded.  “Let me go.”

“Oh, I’m not done yet,” Kefka said.  His tone was no longer playful, she realized.  That was only the start of the horror she soon found herself subjected to.  She tried to crawl but her body was locked in place.  The force that bound her wrenched her body so fiercely she wanted to scream, only her mouth was forced shut.

“You’re not playing wiTH CHILDREN’S MAGIC ANY LONGER,” Kefka said, but his voice lowered, and lowered, until it was a bottomless pit of chaos she had never heard before.  Lifted into the air, arms and legs spread open like a torture rack, she gazed upon Kefka morphing into a figure beyond human limitations.  His pale skin which could’ve been make-up for all she knew, darkened to an unsightly violet, covering his body from head to toe.  Gone were his green robes, replaced by robes that concealed very little of his toned physique.  From his back sprouted wings, two sets adorned with feathers, a third below them leathery and black like a bat’s.  Eyes that once had pupils vanished into a pale misty husk that still looked as if it knew what it was staring at.

“YOU KNOW NOTHING OF MAGIC, TERRA.  THE ONLY THING YOU WILL KNOW FROM NOW ON IS YOUR PLACE IN THIS WORLD.  MY WORLD.”

He raised one arm, draped in one of the many robes that concealed his flesh from the waist down to his legs, and opened his hand, palm forward.

“OH, MOTHER OF DESTRUCTION.  REND THAT WHICH IS CREATION INTO OBLIVION,” he recited.  It was an incantation that never touched Terra’s ears in her entire life.  It was leading to something that made her want to plead for the god of dreams – if there was such a being – to wake her.

“ULTIMA.”

The bonds sealing her mouth shut were released, as if Kefka wanted to hear the wails of agony she was doomed to be subjected to.  From the center of the room, a sphere of blue and white light expanded, distorting all that was within.  It was approaching her fast, with no means to escape.  She reached one last time in desperation to teleport, but her resources were depleted.  She was completely and utterly helpless before what came.

This spell, named Ultima, made contact.  It consumed and distorted her flesh and bones, driving deep within her very soul, even.  Time and space melded and shifted, contorting reality itself around her.  Her screams were absorbed into the sphere until it ejected her far away from Kefka.  If he was laughing while this happened, she would never have known.

The raw, pure, destructive energy left her battered on the ground she found herself in.  How it didn’t destroy her was too baffling to ponder, as the liquid fire, frigid chill, and crackling electricity seared and tore at her, making her believe the spell was still consuming her to destroy her mind.  Only it was her body writhing on the ground until she could no longer hear herself cry from the endless agony.

“Cure,” she said, her voice hoarse.  “Cure…!  God, please!  Cure!”

It was pointless.

She depleted her magical essence.  Each part of her body wanted to howl.  She crawled until she reached a stray boulder to help her lift her body.  Her legs were like gelatin, causing her to tumble back onto the ground any time she attempted to gain stable footing.

“Get! Up!” she barked, punching her legs.  “Get! Up!”

She sidled her back along the boulder, hoping that it would keep her on her feet momentarily.  “Come on!”

She wobbled forward and backward.  “COME ON~!”

Her throat was dry from all the screaming and heavy breathing.  Wheezing, she carefully moved one leg forward, stomping the ground.  Once she was confident it would keep her steady, she moved her other leg.  After a few steps, some measure of strength returned to her legs.

Now that she had regained some momentum, there were two desperate issues at play.  One, she was still writhing everywhere, and two, the winds blew a bitter cold that made Narshe warm by comparison.  Looming ahead was the spire that launched her.  Pieces of land and buildings were still amassing themselves towards the structure.  Stray strands of her emerald hair hung across her face, forcing her to brush them away, even though the winds were more than capable of blowing them about.

She hadn’t the slightest clue which direction she needed to go, but as long as it was far away from Kefka, she’d take it.  The land behind her stretched over to a fork in the road that curved outward.  Her pace was slow, but she eventually reached the junction.  It was only a matter of where to turn next.

Go left?  She considered it, only she realized within moments that there was a procession of people migrating her way.  She stumbled forward, going to the right until her legs gave out again, causing her to trip.

She watched them walk by, eyes dead to the world.  Their vacant expressions said the same thing only they were smiling.  Why were they smiling?

She continued, silently, until her eyes locked on someone she dreaded would be among them.  Strago.  She reached with a shaking hand, waving it around frantically until her strength gave out again, making her fall face-first into the scorched dirt.  She had no voice for which to shout his name, with only the mouth muscles enunciating his name as her call to him.

The brief trek was exhausting in her debilitated state.  Once Strago was too small to distinguish, she belted a groan as she rose.  She dared not pursue him or the people he marched with.  She could not discern what foul magic was at play that involved those unfortunate souls.  She hobbled in the opposite direction.

The more she walked, the more stability returned to her legs.  It wasn’t much, but it allowed her to carry on wherever the route took her.  Ahead lay a small forest, yet the trees had seen better days after the magic had its way with them.  She expected some semblance of greenery to remain, but the leaves and trunks were a sickly blackish brown that did not entice her to examine further.  She wanted to distinguish other noises among the wind and detect some movement within the trees, but in her condition, she’d be playing tag with death itself.

The skies had receded from their darkness, leaving only a bloody husk.  The crimson cloud cover rolled above like waves, offering no light from either the Sun or the Moon.  Who knew what time of the day it was, or how long the devastation had lasted until it subsided?

Her bones and flesh throbbed the entire time.  Each step, regardless of strength, sent wave upon wave of death through her body.  Something had to be there, soon.  A house, or a campsite.  Anything.

Something did eventually come into view, however.  There was a house, or what was left of a house.  A body of water surrounded houses that she discovered were submerged, leaving partial sections of the roof above.  Terra surveyed the area, searching for other houses only to find three were still above ground.  Along the ground, Terra detected a thick line of charred soil that ran upward until it changed direction.  It had no distinct pattern, yet she realized that they ran along the edge of the land that had once been above the water, now drowned within it, taking houses with them.

At least the sight of one house intact left her with a chance to take refuge and recover.  As she approached it, she was met with the sound of barking.

Three dogs, medium-sized with black and brown fur, rushed towards her and barked fiercely at her.  There was no strength in her to defend herself.  It took all she had to reach this section of land that was the last surface area before the ocean beyond.

She stepped back on aching legs, wobbling on uneven ground until she lost her balance.  The dogs didn’t pounce, however, but rather continued to bark and snarl at her, as if an unwelcomed guest in their territory.  The warning barks continued until a young man emerged from behind the house Terra would’ve reached, brandishing a sword.

“What do you want?!” he shouted.  He sounded hysterical.  “Back off!  Go away!”

Terra couldn’t shout back in her defense.  She mouthed the words “I’m sorry,” but could only opt to crawl away from the man and the dogs.

She tried to lift herself, to apply all the weight she could to her legs, but there was nothing left of her to exert.  Each attempt had her fall back repeatedly until she noticed the man approaching her, keeping the dogs at bay.  It was clear, based on her memory of all the times she witnessed training exercises at Vector that this man had never wielded a sword in his life.  He clutched it in his shaking hands, pointing it awkwardly at her.  “I mean it!  I’ll use this if I have to!  Go away!”

“Duane!”

A blonde woman emerged from the back of the house.  The man named Duane waved her back with vigorous motions.  “Don’t come any closer, Katarin!  I’ve got this!”

The woman’s dress was torn and caked with mud and soot.  Very few patches of the white fabric were still visible.  She needed to hold part of the top to conceal her chest while she had lost much of the bottom that was exposing her leg.  This woman, Katarin, did look more stable than Duane, it seemed.  Duane looked no worse for wear, as his pants and shirt were ripped apart and hanging loosely from its threads.  It gave Terra a moment to examine her own wear to see how much damage Ultima had done.  There was a flash of memory that surfaced while remembering Kefka’s spell.

Something else about Ultima concealed a different power, separate from the spell itself.  A light, shot like balefire from the top of the spire as she was engulfed in Ultima’s nexus, steered her ahead and left her careening down to the ground while it continued its trajectory.  She could not discern where the light had reached, unfortunately.

“For God’s sake, Duane!  Does she look like she can pose a threat?!” Katarin cried.  She laid her hand on the back of Duane’s, lowering the sword.  “Look at her!”

She went to each dog and patted them on the head, soothing them.  As she turned to approach Terra, several other figures emerged from behind the house.

Eight of them, Terra spotted.  All smaller than Duane and Katarin.  All of them children.

Some approached quicker than others while some stayed in place, holding hands.  Those younger children were either sucking on a thumb or a finger, yet there was no mistaking the haunted looks in their eyes.  They’ve seen horrors and nightmares they should’ve only had while sleeping so their parents could soothe them away.  Terra searched the area and found no such adult present except Duane and Katarin.  Yet even those two looked too young to be adults.

Katarin caught on to her observing the children.  She kept her voice steady.  “If you’re looking for their parents, don’t bother.  We’re all that you see here.”

Terra fought to stand again.  So much physical anguish flared in each step, it dragged her down to her knees.  She reached with a hand towards the children but brought it to her mouth.  She couldn’t bear to let them see how much she struggled against a well of emotion fighting to surface.  Each breath was halted, cut off by a sob she did not want to leave her throat.  But more came, harder and faster, until she had to shield her face.  She was shaking her head, desperate to believe this couldn’t be happening.  But as she looked around the wrecked houses, the appearance of bodies she hadn’t seen initially, and the little silent faces of the children before her, Terra’s face contorted to her wailing, no sound able to escape but a faint shrill.

She couldn’t scream.  She could only lay shaking and blubbering like a child until she found herself wrapped in Katarin’s arms.  But not even the young woman soothed her.  She too had succumbed to the emotional state Terra was in, as if it were contagious.

What made it worse was that throughout this ordeal, she could detect the children joining in where they were.  All that was left was a despondent Duane pleading for them to stop.

Terra wanted to stop.  She was desperate to reach out to her mind and scream at it to stop, but her wailing went on auto-pilot.  She clutched at Katarin, shaking and burying her face in her lap.

It was unclear how long she was there until Duane’s erratic voice broke through.  “Get the children in the house, NOW!”

Terra raised her head.  There was something present that wasn’t before.  In her hysterics, she stopped long enough to sense the ground jolt beneath her.  She glanced to her left and along the water’s surface were small bubbles that emerged.  It was a small number, but as each second passed, the number increased, as did their size.  Another jolt in the ground rocked her and Katarin.  “What’s--?”

“Katarin, get the door open and bring the kids in!” Duane yelled.  “Hurry!”

Katarin wiped her face and was back on her feet.  The children were still in hysterics, yet Terra was able to see the young woman usher them to the front door.  She drove her shoulder forward, opening the door.  One by one, she quickly lured the children inside.

Terra couldn’t look away from the water.  Something was coming, and each step of whatever this was shook the ground underneath.  In her lucid state, she found herself lifted into Duane’s arms.  “There’s no time, we need to hide!”

Once inside, Duane kicked the door closed and used his weight to keep it shut.  Terra slid awkwardly out of his grasp and rolled forward on the floor.  The impact sent a fresh wave of agony through her body that she mouthed the sounds, but they never emerged in her throat.

“Quiet! Everyone! Katarin, get the kids to stop crying!” Duane hissed.  He peeped through the keyhole, breathing heavily.  Sword still clutched in his hand, he frequently attempted to shush the kids.

“Kids, it’s going to be alright.  Please lower your voice,” Katarin whispered.  She did her best to maintain a soothing tone.  She turned to Duane.  “What about the dogs?  They’re still out there.”

“It’s either us or them, Katarin,” Duane said.  “I’m sorry.”

Terra slid along the floor until she reached Katarin.  Something about her presence helped her focus.  But what she didn’t realize was that the children were surrounding her.  She stopped moving once they all lay down around her.  Each child put their hands on Terra, holding onto a part of her.  She soon found herself nuzzled in the middle as if both she and the children needed comfort from one another.

Terra curled herself up into a fetal position on the floor.  The children moved to lay on top of her like a blanket.  She kept her ears perked to listen for signs of what was out there, as well as what she could hear Duane and Katarin saying.

“Stay down, we can’t be seen,” Duane advised.  “Let’s wait here until it leaves.”

“Look, Duane.  The children.”

Terra didn’t understand what was going on.  Why were these children smothering her?

Katarin’s hand lay gently on her head, soothing her.  “I think we’ll be safe in here.  Can you tell me your name?”

Terra swallowed.  She forced the sound from her mouth.  “Terra.”

“Terra.  My name is Katarin.  That’s my boyfriend, Duane.  You’re in Mobliz, or what’s left of it,” Katarin explained.

Mobliz!  How could that be possible if it was located on the Veldt?  The route she took could not have brought her here.  There had to be some mistake.

“We’ll talk later,” Duane muttered, laying a hand on her back.  Something about the presence of all in this room was comforting.  All she could do was nod weakly.

Duane and Katarin huddled together while they sat on the floor, overlooking the children who had fallen asleep on Terra.  Terra couldn’t move a millimeter, bound to the floor.  She could only face one wall, moving her eyes to study the room.  Although her back was turned against the couple, she could at least tell where they were in proximity.  It was enough, at least.

They stayed for hours in the room.  Occasionally she’d hear a few words from Katarin to assure her they hadn’t left until Duane was heard rising to his feet.

“Are you sure it’s gone?” Katarin asked.

“Only one way to find out,” Duane responded.  He showed himself in her blind spot and she followed him with her eyes until he reached the window to peer out.  His posture was sturdier than it was earlier as if he had adjusted to the situation at hand to hold himself more confidently.  He angled his head as far as he could to get the best view until he moved out of Terra’s sight to the door.

“I’m going outside,” he said to the room.  Terra wanted to protest and shout at him to stay inside, but the door was already heard opening before she could attempt to lift her head.  Katarin slid to her.  “The noises must have stopped a while ago.  I don’t feel the ground shaking,” she told her.

It was something.  Terra couldn’t sense the jolts from each step either.  The air was still with only the howling of the wind outside to dull the silence.  “I think it’s gone, whatever it is,” Katarin whispered.

It was a stressful few minutes without Duane in the room.  Terra could only fix her eyes on the far wall and the ceiling while the kids were napping on her.  The frigid air of the wind outside kept the door open and banging against the wall behind her.

She wanted to ask Katarin how long Duane was out for.  She wanted to move to see for herself.  Yet the more she willed herself to move, the more resistance came from the children.

When Duane returned, he was accompanied by the three dogs that “greeted” Terra earlier.  They immediately went to Katarin to shower her with kisses, wagging their tails.  “You all survived!  You’re such good boys!” Katarin said.  The door could be heard shut, leaving only the sounds of elated canines and wagging tails as their claws clicked on the floor frantically from their movement.  More survivors.

“Any sign where it went?” Katarin asked Duane.

“I found the dogs first after I went outside,” Duane said.  “They followed the footprints left behind back to the water.  We stayed low, waiting for any sign it might emerge again, but there was nothing.  I believe we’re in the clear, for now.”

Thank goodness.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Duane stated.  “Starting with beds.”

“Do we have any healing potions left?” Katarin asked.  It was difficult to pay attention to a conversation she couldn’t see, Terra noticed.  She tried to move her head and was able to get a slightly better angle.

“We lost the Item Shop and the Armory.  The Relic shop up north is still intact, and we’re currently in the Post office.  If I had the means, I could dive into the water to search for anything we could retrieve and use.”

Terra muttered a grunt through her throat.  The couple eyed her.  “We’ll get you into a bed as quickly as we can, Terra,” Katarin told her.  Terra nodded.  Another wave of emotion bubbled to the surface.  All the misery that plagued her gnawed at her.  She pleaded with her eyes, desperate for an end to her suffering.

“We’ll need to wake the children, first,” Katarin suggested.  “Kids, it’s time to get up,” she whispered to them.

Terra watched her gently rousing the children from their sleep.  One by one they opened their eyes, wiping away stray tears they still shed until they sat around Terra.  Draping one arm each on their shoulders, Duane and Katarin lifted Terra to her feet.

“Kids, we’ll need you to help us guide Terra down the stairs, okay?” Katarin instructed the children.

“Is the lady going to be okay?” one of them asked.

“Where’s mommy?”

“Where’s daddy?”

“I’m hungwy, Katawin,” said a girl who had to be only four years old.  She tugged at Katarin’s dress.

“We’ll figure that out later.  Right now, we need to get Miss Terra into a bed,” Katarin said.  Terra hung limp, relying on the couple to move her.  Where they would lead her was up to them.

“I know the postmen keep cots downstairs.  We’ll set some up for now until we see what we’re working with,” Duane said as the pair took each step with caution to avoid dropping her.  Terra’s head drooped forward, her vision blurring.  It was as if each step they took sapped what little reserves she still had left until there was nothing but a wasteland in her core.

“Am I dying…?” Terra struggled to say.

“You’re not going to die.  We won’t let that happen,” Katarin told her.  “Two more steps.”

Can’t keep my eyes open.  I’m going to die as broken as this world.

“Kids, check the emergency supplies.  See if you can find a potion or a phoenix down.  If we can keep her stable, she’ll be able to sleep off the rest,” Duane said to the children.  The older two, no older than eight, scrambled to search the crates labeled “For Emergency Only.”  They tried to lift the lid off, but pulled their hands away, shaking them.

“We can’t open them, Duane,” said the boy.  The other boy eyed Terra somberly.  “She’s going to die, isn’t she?”

“No,” Duane said firmly.  “No one here is going to die.  Not on my watch.  All you need is a crowbar to pry the lid open, that’s all.  There’s one on the hook there.  See it?”

The boy followed Duane’s finger until he spotted the crowbar and nodded.  “Good.  Go ahead and use that.”

The boys took some effort but were able to jimmy the lid open enough for Duane to pull it off completely.  “Okay.  Let’s get Terra on a cot first.  They’re on that wall over there.  Bring a couple down to unfold them.”

Little by little, the children followed Duane’s instructions until Terra found herself lying on the cot’s mattress.  Duane sifted through the contents until he pulled out a glass vial.  “Katarin, help her up.”

No sooner was Terry lying down that she found herself lifted via Katarin into a seated position.  The young woman held her aloft to keep her from slipping.  Pulling the stopper off the vial, Duane presented it to Terra.  “Open wide.”

The taste of a healing potion was never pleasant, she remembered.  It was always bitter and grainy, yet she welcomed all of it as though she was drinking clean spring water.  She forced her throat to push the contents down due to how parched it had become, yet she was glad it didn’t go down the wrong pipe.  It was the last thing she needed to happen to her.

Seconds later the molten fire that coursed through her body subsided.  There was enough feeling returning to her bones and muscles that she could move her arms and legs.  “Thank you,” she said hoarsely.

Katarin pulled her head to her shoulder.  “Leave everything to us, Terra.  You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

Katarin clapped her hands.  “Okay, children.  We need the oldest to help Duane find food.  Who wants to be brave?” she asked them.

The eldest, the two boys who opened the crate, raised their arms hesitantly.  “Is it safe out there?” one of them asked.

“What if that thing comes back and eats us?” asked the other.

“We don’t know what that thing is yet, though,” Duane said as he sifted through the rest of the crate.  He breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled a satchel as long as his head.  “Is this what I think it is?”

Opening the satchel, he turned excitedly to the others.  “Dried Meat!  There’s food in this crate!”

“That’s amazing!” Katarin cried.  Terra wanted to echo their sentiment but had to contend with more aches throughout her body.  She could down a hundred potions and still wouldn’t be relieved of the pain. 

Katarin took her hands into hers.  “We’ll have something to eat, finally.  There may be more in the other crates, I’m sure of it.”

The young woman’s hands were smooth, despite what she had endured.  As she stared at them more, she saw where cuts and abrasions had formed on the knuckles and fingers.  “What happened to your hands?” Terra asked, straining her throat.  She couldn’t bring herself to speak more than a few words.

Katarin avoided Terra’s eyes and pulled her hands away.  “Let’s see if we can find you some water.”

Terra looked to Duane for answers, but he was still preoccupied with emptying the crate’s contents.  The children, meanwhile, surrounded her, watching her intently.

“Hi,” she said.  Each word spoke was like scraping glass against her trachea.

“Why is your hair green?” asked a little girl.

“Do you have a home, lady?” asked another.

“Did your mommy and daddy go into the big hole, too?” asked a girl who looked a couple of years older than the first one.

Terra closed her eyes, shaking her head.  The big hole must’ve been part of the remnants of Mobliz.  She wouldn’t dare imagine what fate those adults suffered to save these children.

“That’s enough questions,” Duane told them.  He offered a handful of dried meat to Terra.  “Here.”

As he passed around the contents of the satchel to the children, Terra pulled off a piece with her teeth.  Chewing on the smokey, salted beef, she eyed the rest in her hand.  Duane propped himself down on the floor and ate with the children.  Katarin and the pair of boys returned with canteens in their arms.

“We found these in a broken fridge upstairs behind the desk,” Katarin informed them.  So there was a desk, too?  Terra would have to get a better view of the upstairs room later.

“Let’s hope it's water and not something the postmen drink on their break,” Duane said, taking one of the canteens.  He unscrewed the cap and brought it to his nose.  After smelling it, he took a swig, swishing the contents in his mouth.  He nodded after swallowing.  “It’s water.”

“Oh, thank God,” Katarin said.  She quickly presented a canteen to Terra.  “Here.”

Terra laid the dried meat aside and quickly uncapped the canteen, drinking the entire thing in one go.  It was like a cool waterfall dousing a river of magma as it slid down her esophagus.  She tapped to get any additional drop she could before she lowered it, hugging it against her chest.  “You’ve saved my life.  I owe you both,” she told them.

Katarin sighed.  “You don’t have to owe us anything.  We’re relieved you’re still alive, that’s all.”

Terra was equally relieved to hear such sincerity.  She spotted the young girl from a moment ago.  “I was born with green hair,” she told her.

“Weawwy?” said the girl with her mouth full of dried meat.

“Yes.  And I had a home, but it’s gone now,” she said to the other child, a young boy.  To the third, she tightened her lips.  “I lost my mom and dad, but they did not fall into a big hole,” she said, then paused.  “They were taken from me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Duane said.  He tossed more dried meat to the dogs, who eagerly feasted along with the children.  It wasn’t much, but it did look like a family get-together.  She almost had one back at Thamasa had things not taken a turn for the worse.  If only Leo had survived.

“Will you tell me more about yourselves?” Terra asked.  “Was it difficult living next to the Veldt?”

“Not at all,” Duane said, more to the second question.  “That’s what these guys are for.”

He patted each dog on the head.  Katarin sat next to them and stroked their heads while they ate.  “They helped keep the animals away from attacking the village.  “That one’s Roscoe, that’s Diego, and the one with a missing eye here is Moxley.  They were rescues from the Empire who were going to train them to be soldier dogs.”

“We had a sick soldier from the Empire, but he died,” said the second oldest boy, the one Terra figured was still pessimistic.

“She doesn’t need to know that, Dan,” Duane told him.  “The less we hear about the Empire, the better.”

“Forgive him,” Katarin chimed in.  “We don’t want to address the Empire too often.  Especially not you-know-who.”

“Yeah, not you-know-who,” Terra repeated.  It was obvious who it was.  Saying his name would be too much for the children’s ears to handle.

“Uh, why don’t you all introduce yourselves?  Kids, this is Miss Terra.  Why don’t you tell her your name and how old you are?” Katarin said, gesturing them to her.

“I’m Dan.  I’m seven.” said the second oldest.

“Chris, eight years old.”

“Gina, five years old.”

“Patrithia.  I’m going to be five years old nexth week,” said a girl with a missing baby tooth.  Her smile warmed Terra’s cheeks.  “Hello, Patricia.”

“I’m Tommy and I just turned six two days ago.”

“Sam-mu-el,” whispered another boy, who looked about Patricia’s age.  “His name is Samuel and he’s three,” Katarin said, helping him out.

“Daisy.  I’m almost as old as Chris.  Tommy is my little brother.”

The last one, the youngest of the children, said nothing.  She still had her portion of dried meat in front of her, uneaten.  The other kids waited for her to speak.

Though still weak, Terra managed enough strength to leave the cot and approach the girl, placing herself next to her.  “Hi.”

The girl made a sound in her throat.

“Are you scared?”  Terra asked.  The girl nodded.

“It’s okay.  I’m scared, too,” Terra told her.  “But you’re safe, now.  You’re with everyone here.”

She addressed the other children.  “You’re all going to have to stick together.  You’re all brothers and sisters and need to look out for each other.”

The kinship she remembered sensing within the Espers she encountered had that familiarity.  They clung together like a family, sharing their experiences with her.  When she connected to Yura, she felt the strong bond he shared with the other Espers, dating back so many centuries during the time of her father.

If anything needed to be taken from that experience, it’s that she needed this to be present in this room with Duane and Katarin.  “Does anyone know her name?” she asked the children.

“Hope.”

The word left Katarin’s lips, not with enthusiasm, but with regret.  “Her mother passed her to us just before the light hit her.  She’s the youngest of them, no more than two years old.”

Hope leaned forward, wrapping her tiny arms around Terra.  “Mama,” she mumbled.

“What did she call me?” Terra asked.  “What did you say, Hope?”

“Mama,” Hope repeated.

Terra’s chest tightened.  “Mama,” she whispered to herself.  It wasn’t long before the other kids caught on and rounded on Duane and Katarin.

“Can we call her Mama, too?” Daisy asked.

“Please?  Can she be our new mama?” Chris added.

More echoes of “mama” surrounded Terra from the children as they crowded her.  “I’m going to cry again,” Terra warned them.

“We’ll take care of you too, mama!” Samuel shouted.  Terra gave Duane and Katarin a pleading look.

“I think it’s unanimous,” Duane told her.  “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Have you ever looked after children before, Terra?” Katarin asked.

“No, no I haven’t,” Terra said.  Her eyes lowered.  “I never had a chance to.”

“I believe you’ll do just fine with them,” Katarin assured her.  She sidled closer to Duane.  “Before all this happened, Duane and I had plans to get married in a couple of years.  I wanted to open a school here and teach the children while Duane worked as a wildlife ranger with a team of experts to catalog all the animals on the Veldt.”

Terra wanted to lift Hope into her arms, but there was still much stiffness in her arms.  “Do you want to sit with me, Hope?” Terra asked.  Hope nodded and took Terra’s hand.  Scooping the dried meat off the floor, Terra led Hope to her cot.

“Once my strength comes back,” Terra said after she swallowed another piece.  “I’ll be able to help you out.”

“We’d appreciate all the help we can get,” Duane said.

It had been a long stretch of hours for Terra.  Finding herself imprisoned by Kefka to being a part of a small group of survivors was not something anyone expected by any stretch.  Still, it was a relief to see she didn’t have to meet the world alone.  The irony of a girl who was named Hope proved to be not so much an irony after all.  Hope was that which these children needed now more than ever.

After she finished eating, she lay back down on the cot.  “Terra is still exhausted, children.  Let her sleep,” Katarin instructed the children.  “Hope, leave her be, okay?”

The girl kept looking back and forth between Terra and Katarin until she decided to snuggle next to Terra, squeezing her tiny frame into Terra’s arm.  Patricia and Daisy managed to fit on the cot as well, somehow, while the other five huddled together next to the cot along the floor.

“Don’t smother her,” Katarin warned them.  “She needs to rest and heal.”

“It’s alright,” Terra said.  She wrapped her arm around Hope.  “I’ll manage.”

“We want to make sure Mama is all better,” Tommy said.  Patricia managed to sneak in under Terra’s other arm while Daisy was just underneath.  Terra expected all the excess weight to crush her but was able to adjust her body to accommodate.

As her eyelids drew close to closing, she could overhear  Duane and Katarin discussing a plan of action.  “…will need to find a means to provide electricity…” she heard from Duane.  Don’t worry.  Once I’m better, I’ll handle things for everyone here.

She drifted into the dreamworld, a lucid realm that looked no different than the world of the Espers.  I’m home?

She checked for the gate but found only a solid rock wall where the doors should’ve been.  It was at this spot she witnessed the sparks of magic create her from Maduin and Madeline.

Father.  Mother.  I wish you could be here.

Crossing the bridge to the entrance of the Esper World, she found herself among Espers.  They weren’t dead, after all.  No, this is a dream.  It has to be.  There are no Espers left living except me.

Another voice spoke from behind her.  That is not true, Terra.

Terra spun to face the source behind the voice.  Another Esper, he held humanoid features save for the wings along his back and protrusions on his tanned head.

I remember you from Father’s memories, Terra said.  You’re the Elder.

Though the Elder’s eyes had an opaque sheen to them, there was a hint of amusement behind them as he grinned.  I am far more than that, child.

He rested a hand on Terra’s back, leading her into the Esper village.  I am the gatekeeper of worlds.  Human, Esper, Waking, Dreaming, Living, Death.  My purpose is to protect the sacred passages binding all realms.  Even in death, I am still bound by my purpose.

The Espers that Terra believed were roaming around were gone.  What happened to--?

Those were interpretations your dream self conjured, Terra.  I am all that is physically present before you, said the Elder.  Terra closed her eyes.  When she opened them, her mother and father stood before them, staring at each other with their hands clasped together.

You’re projecting that which your heart desires most at this time, said the Elder.  He gestured to them.  I had long been skeptical of the possibility of a human-Esper hybrid, doubting a human’s ability to channel magic.

Terra reached out to them.  Her hand passed through her father before retracting it.  Her eyes then met her mother’s, but could not for certain know whether she recognized her daughter.

I see them, but I can’t sense them.  I want to speak with Father again.

The Elder circled her parents.  Maduin and the others who had accompanied you left.  They were drawn to another in a far-off place from where you now reside.

Does that mean I can’t speak with him anymore? Terra asked.

The Elder remained stoic.  I’m afraid not, child.  Not for a while.

But there’s so much I still need to tell him!  I can’t do this without him!

The Elder shook his head.  You suffered a setback, child.  Not all has been lost.

Terra scoffed.  I wouldn’t call being enveloped by a spell that I was convinced tore me apart in unimaginable horrors a “setback,” Elder.  I can’t stand here and call anything I’ve been through since I was born merely a setback.  She wrapped her arms around herself, averting his gaze.  I’m not strong enough to fight back against Kefka.  And right now, I don’t feel much like trying.

The Elder’s hand pressed on her shoulders.  If that is what you feel, currently, I understand.  Kefka is an intelligent creature, yet he is cursed with madness.  But chaos cannot reign forever, not without order to balance it out.  In time, order will be restored to the world.  How that order is restored, I leave that up to you and your friends.

Terra wanted to agree but shook her head instead.  But how will I know what to do?  I’m so lost!  What can I possibly do?!

The Elder only smiled at her.  A bright light began to consume the village and soon Terra, herself.  His last words before everything faded away were “You do what you can.”

Terra’s eyes opened.  Back in the waking world, it seemed.  Patricia and Hope were still in her arms, sleeping soundly.  There was a desire to leave the cot for a moment to collect her thoughts and process what she had seen in the dream but opted to stare at the ceiling.

Do what you can, she thought, echoing the Elder’s words.  I still don’t understand, Elder.  How can I help them?  The children decided to call me “mama” but I don’t know what that means.  Mother never had a chance to raise me, nor did I get to see how other women looked after their children.  Katarin would make a better mother than I would.  Why did they call me “mama?”

Pursing her lips, Terra shook her head again.  Sleep was far more important than letting her thoughts run rampant.

When she opened her eyes again, she was alone in her cot save for a pair of children, Dan and Hope.  She turned her head to them.  “Hey.”

“Oh!  You’re awake!  Everyone!  Mama’s awake again!” Dan shouted up the stairs.  Terra rose to sit along the cot, quickly greeted by Hope as she raised her arms to be lifted.  “You want up?” Terra asked.

She studied her body, analyzing the degree of her injuries to ensure she did have the strength now to lift a child.  Reaching down, she took Hope and raised her to sit on her lap.  “There we go.”

She then opened and closed her hands.  Relief washed over her once she realized her magic reserves had returned.  “Thank goodness.  I thought I lost that for good.”

“Lost what, Mama?” Dan asked.  Seconds later he was joined by the rest of the children who all ran to jump on the cot to sit next to Terra.

“Are you better, Mama?”

“Can you play with us, Mama?”

“Duane and Katarin were kissing again.  I saw them outside,” said Gina, pointing the couple out.  Terra giggled.  It was the first instance of a positive reaction she’s had since back in Thamasa.  It likely wouldn’t be the first instance of seeing how red in the face the teens were getting.  “Gina!” Katarin muttered.  “That’s none of your business!”

“But you do the lip-touching thing mommy and daddy did that’s gross,” Gina said with a disgusted face.

“Eww.  Lip touching?  Like with two different people?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah,” Gina said with a hard nod.  “Their lips touch and move each other around.  Sometimes I could see a worm crawling between them.”

A unified cry of “Eww!” resonated with the other kids except for Hope, who was in the middle of touching her lips.  “Do I have a worm in my mouth, Mama?” she asked.

Terra stifled more giggling, even forcing herself not to look at Duane and Katarin who were so beet red Katarin hid her face in her hands.  “I think we should talk about something else, children,” Terra advised through chuckles.

She raised her arms, shaking off the sensation of breaking into laughter.  “What are you doing, mama?” Daisy asked.

“You’ll see,”  Terra said.  She relaxed her hands towards her shoulders, crossing her arms.  Closing her eyes, she began to recite.  “Oh, angel Seraphim.  Grant me this reprieve from pain and anguish.  Cura.”

The children, except Hope, backed away immediately once a light enveloped Terra.  Hope stared at the aura curiously.  She reached out with her hands to try and catch some of the light as it washed over Terra.  The warm and soothing touch of the spell’s energy washed away the aches and stiffness Terra still endured after she woke up until she lowered her arms to her sides.

“What in the…?” Katarin said.  Her mouth was agape, but not as much as Duane’s.  “What was that?!” he exclaimed.

“Magic,” Terra said confidently.  She lifted Hope off her lap and stood up with little effort.  She gave Hope a small toss above her before catching her again.  There was still the lingering effect of Kefka’s mocking face while she channeled, but it didn’t look as pronounced as it was.  Either she adjusted to it, or she wasn’t as close to him.  Regardless, she was assured of her physical recovery.

Lowering Hope back to the floor, Terra conjured spheres of light that she sent dancing around the room.  The children giggled and chased the lights while she approached Duane and Katarin.

“Like I said, once my strength was back, I can help you out,” she told them.

Katarin rushed to her in an embrace.  Duane nodded to her assuredly.  “I’ve heard about this magic stuff, but never saw it in person before.”

The children eventually huddled around their new “mama” to embrace her too.  It wasn’t much of a home, but it never stopped her from accepting its inhabitants.

Chapter Text

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After the Fall // Prelude to Hope

Mog

His flight to flee this dance to save himself

On Moogle’s wings did obsidian rage

To flee from death he cast aside his health

For what would ache his soul not bound by cage

The world doth rent from powers quite immense

The land which split in twain it cleft persist

The laugh of God forever shall they tense

No hope no plea no mortal shall resist

The miner’s town under diamond dust lay

Survive they would but cast apart from him

Frigid azure hath locked humans away

Naught friend remain alone was he so grim

After the fall would he behoove his strife

Prelude to hope in time his heart gains life