"History is not the soil in which happiness grows. The periods in it are the blank pages of history." HEGEL, George Wilhelm
♫The Beach Boys - Long Promised Road♫
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...
The doors of Weltall are always open for those unfortunate enough to die with a knife stabbed on their chests, and those fortunate enough to die without any suffering left, thought they kept stabbing knives at you anyway, following the rule of sparring nobody with a life. Clouds of eiderdowns surrounded you, your ears softened by the sound, as you've awaited for your eyes to become mere dark globes while laying above a pillow of winds; now the entire earth does the same, thought you can't feel any warmth from any external source, as much as you can't feel any cold, or the rain dripping at my skin, slipping down from a piece of fur to another. To where your substance may had been gone, the body you've once shared is now meaningless, thought same is the first thing I recall into my memories, or anytime I look at the mirror, or any water puddle I step, distorcing my own image with the ripples flowing alongside my nails.
Before I leave, since I do not have anything else to do here, besides looking at what you've became for them... Lenneth Crescent... 1757-1794. Prepared for battle. Those were the words inscribed on your epitaph. They aren't even the scratch of the surface that describes you in a few words... Mom. They don't call you this way, but instead, throught your entire life ever since the day you were born and they looked at you. Besides a mother, you had been tasked to become something else, other than what they had been telling you to become it so on their vision. Attractive... yes, not only by the sight of the men. You were so beautiful, but then I remember that I was one of the few who ever looked at something more than your own body, to be listening to your true voice, same one whom they choked with far more than sharp claws.
Do I deserve the same as you? Someday, someplace, where a warm hand holds mine... From the birth, to the marriage, to the labour and death in itself; life is sustained by a cycle of rebirth and a pain that looks the same when compared to death, but it only looks. To be forgotten is worse than death... to be rememebered by something other than yourself as well. A woman isn't born out of the flesh. It's just another man who becomes a woman throught a life, so does the Dragoon Knights. A job that comprehends a group of skilled warriors trained by a same Jugend of centuries, by common definition. Common... 'I want to fly and touch the clouds, so I can eat them. There is a whole lot of clouds'; a kid said. It was me... the true common definition of what it meant to be a Dragoon Knight. A life of pleasure, as much as those nobles ones from the past deemed it so to be, when exploring the heights surrounding the world, not this world we call by Burmecia.
In these times, a horde of ironites still happens to be found on some streets, unlike before, when they could be found anywhere you went, flying atop any corner, in groups. So did the Grand Dragons; to control these invasions, half of the population became part of a militia, using whatever they could as weapons. Broomsticks... we used to spar with them when on the garden, don't we? Some may believe in the legend concerning the foundation of Burmecia or not, but nobody that I know denies of its outcomes, as much as I believed that I could fly and touch the clouds, even when you agreed to waste some of your power to do a jump so high that all I could feel was the joy of being there, next to you, besides a need to puke, but I could hold it onto myself, unlike the love I shared for you. Given the implement of poor defenses, and the disbelief of people after Kain's death, an assembly of peasants to make a sort of defense against these creatures was better than none after all.
The explanation for such primitive techniques of defense could be explained by the fact some people, mainly followers of Bahamut, believed that the rain could protect them from any harm coming from outside. If the rain really protected us, then there wouldn't be any Basilisks wandering around the corners of the houses, but then I look at the sky, who is darknening, just like my bedroom when the night came, and the candle died, instead of me... That's the only kind of protection borrowed by the rain, besides its water being clean enough to be drank, but it's part of our nature to keep suspicion with everything, so we do not mind to boil same water to pour it down our throats, pure or in a cup of tea. The rain as well may had gave us prosperity, seeing how fertile is the soil of these lands, and how many crops grow there. Bamboos, eggplants, ferns... but there are also plants that take more time to grow inside Burmecia, given the sunlight who can be barely spotted from atop those clouds.
Floating rivers... that's how many call them by. Some cereals and other plants that grow where there are sunny days only made the way to our tables due to the rediscovery of our kingdom centures later, with Lindblum and other nations estabilishing their trade routes, so did Cleyra after centures of negotiations between the parts, or halfs as they are deemed to be. You may know this story already, knew it before I was even born, but I don't have nothing special or important to do, besides going home or at the market, so... given the improvement of the militia groups into trained pikemen unitis within time, some trained by the Lord Gizamaluk, the only son of Frigg, said to have the knowledge of the Dragoon skillsets, like others who were once Vastitas, what would become the main concept of Dragoon Knight today was born. Some say that Cyan, grandchild of Kain, was the one who came up with the idea of Dragoon Knights at first place, thought only nobles were taught on the school founded by his, same one who endured with the time, unlike some of the traditions accepted before.
Not only you had been telling fairytales to your children, as it seems. Lullabies too... now they are scary too, knowing that they are meant to be told by us when young, not grown up like this. Rememeber a person by the name of Frøja? She was your favourite writer, so much that you've choose her name and its meaning to be mine. Prior Frøja, only Burmecian males could become Dragoon Knights, and before the arrival of alexandrian emissaries and their betrayal over this land, humans used to have the job of a Dragoon as well. There are far many stories to be told and discovered in regards of the Dragoons, and the majority of Burmecia, like a fair explanation of why do they 'jump' such high heights. Is it due to magic? The way the bones are enlarged? A sort of ripple flowing throught their limbs? Nobody will ever know.
All we do know about are only variants of same tale, but enough about ancient history, since it's time for me to create my own. Constantly I do it so, since I was born. So did father, mother, and Jack, who is doing his own history. Someone else had built his new home, in the main city. These houses are far bigger than the ones belonging to the neighborhood where I was raised... Anyone can jump with the feet, but they always end up falling. Mother, who once fell from the skies... I didn't knew it was because of me. I wasn't even alive, but in an instance of between the death and the life, just like mother, before she agreed to stop, cease her job for a while. The cost in gil and respect for other people wasn't enough, never that would meant to be compared with my priceless life, or what was meant to be one. I had to grow up, interact with people and objects other than mother, to call others by 'you', and to learn each day and agree as well with a nod that those fairytales were creep, despite the sweet and raspy voice telling them to me. That same voice changed to my own with the time...
I don't have any farewells to be said, mom. I know you are within me... yet, I'll have to struggle a bit if I want to be a Dragoon Knight.
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Leaving the main gates surrounding the grounds for those who lay, without ever looking behind, knowing that she'll be there awaiting, now walking throught the path of cobblestone belonging to each street of Burmecia, Freya left the main entrance of the public cemetery, sharing of a plenty of intentions other than ending up on that same place. The ground can be found everywhere, where anyone can step into, thought the path leading to the mountains is taken only by a few people. That may had been one of the mains reasons why our ancestors left the desert, in hopes of stepping on grounds less dry and far more fertile than the hot dunes belonging to the desert. Same could be said about the cleyrans as well, althought there are a few of them who 'decided' to return to their wet homeland.
Either way, whatever is the place you choose to be called by home, you'll be buried inside the earth, or have your remains be scattered across the lands, sharing of the same scent brought by the rain, or burnt like any being lost in the desert, frozen by the thick layers of snow falling upon the limbs suffering of frostbite... everyone, everything, anything who can be touched isn't meant to last forever, thought Freya. The rain, pleasant as it is for a few, is also responsible for the decay of many structures. Throught centuries after its date of foundation, the Burmecians had to figure out a way to prevent leakages coming from the ceilings, and the walls as well with the use of a rather advanced masonry, or just primitive enough compared to the easy-made bricks from Lindblum, and other nationsWhen an only house is burnt, thought the fire doesn't last that long, it takes a lot of time to build an only house according to the damage suffered on its inside.
This used to happen plently on the early days of Burmecia, who suffered from the invasion of Grand Dragons, rarely they are seem flying around here, just like the butterflies. The least that can happen of a damage inside a house may be the infiltration of water throught the layers of a painted wall, leaving those dirty stains or some eruptions that can be peeled off. Gray is the color that resides within the houses of Burmecia, so does the dust inside of a swollen wall. This may be the reason why the children do often play outside... they don't have the time to keep looking at the skies, or themselves. Instead of laying above the grass, they step over it, running away from each other before they are touched, and... Gotcha! Freya heard a shout, and felt the same as if it was her own. She then looked to a tree above, still taller than her, where the little Freya used to be hid when playing those hide-and-seek games. All they do is to seek for other kids, or a place to be hidden, but they all get bored or are found instead.
Small layers of snow accumulate above the leaves, the grass, only to be dissipated by the cavities made by the pouring rain. It ain't fun to play with snow, thought Freya, because it burns the skin, and the amount of snow who falls at Burmecia seems to be only used to preserve meat, so does the salt from the sea. A cherry tree... Freya stood beneath it, recognizing such tree even when same didn't went throught any flourishment, yet. She stood above same tree before, where many cherries to be eaten could be found, and to be put inside the cap she used to wear above her head. The same clothes of Jack, as well. At least, they were comfy, thought Freya, who remained still, looking at what used to be a cherry tree, dropping of it's blossoms withering, petals in the pavement, which others deem to be something beautiful, althought other trees and their leaves and flowers also fall in the ground as well.
Freya never had been fond of cherry trees, despite their fruits. She prefers the trees belonging to the Handroanthus genre, know by their yellow or purple blossoms. Now they all stand as an only green, or nothing at all, seeing the many branches without any leaves, and many trees without any trunks, people without their heads... why the need of chopping down a tree, if the thunder from the skies is enough to burn them naturally? Of course, because we grow with less patience throught the years. Also, the fire doesn't last for too long on a land whose rain is eternal to be found, to be used, and to be taken only as a sign, a feature of Burmecia, despite the violence of centuries. A taste of war, the other nations say, from times and centures before Freya only had been enjoying the taste of those cherries, appreaciating of the food given by the tree instead of its organs.
How do a tree grow fruits, she asked once to her father, who replied that only a few trees can grow fruits, and seeds as well. Why? Freya reluctantly asked. Well, it was better for the trees to grow fruits that protect the seeds, who can resist for a long time before someone puts it in the ground. Why it was better, Freya asked again. Was that the meaning of being alive... to be better than the generation that came before? So why the others came before? That was beginning to be interesting, like many other questions made by her. How I was born? Lenneth replied instead, since her father was gone, not before leaving a seed to be grown and to raise from above the soil it had been planted. At least, it was better than telling a Chocobo brought you here... when younger, Jack used to look for a moogle, as if those creatures were the ones responsibles for the delivery of any brothers, but he got a sister instead. He didn't wanted a brother in a way that same could overlook his, but a brother to estabilish a relation between himself and his mother, or so that's what he told or implied for Freya.
Though many decided to live in the countryside, either due of less job options, creed, or just boredom, they move on to the main Burmecia, where the market and other guilds resides between the taller buildings, aqueducts and other structures meant to denote strenght, sustain, surplus, anything for the life spent on structures that were once part of same borough, and the castle above where the seigneur rules; now, centures late, they just changed the name with the time, just like Freya's own. Same meaning, other name... The Dragoon Knights, despite their title, are seem as slaves of the Kingdom, and who else isn't? Even the children, slaves of being freed from their homes, enjoying a life of pleasure instead of a life with a duty. Young is the night, so does the barrels full of tar extracted from the woods.
There is a huge amount of time, or 'gap' as it is meant to be by some, before midday, which means 'lunch', arrives. For a land whose sun is almost inexistent, it means nothing to be looking at the skies to know which time it is. The water clock used to be there, but now it became just another relic from past times, since Lindblum invented the geared clocks. They created their own time, as much as Alexandria created their own Gaian calendar, which means this ain't the same 1794 they enjoy, thought Freya. Anything which meant inovation came from outside, and the duty of a Dragoon Knight being a tradition of centuries... it is part of many's dreams to become a Knight with same title someday, but for Freya, that's only a goal, and what comes next? What if she failed to become a Dragoon Knight? Of course I wouldn't, the Crescent thought, in regards of those times she had been trained by the best Dragoon Knight she knew about.
As for father... he was taller enough to climb up a tree, courageous as well to do it with lightning being struck at the sky. Never that he would be interested in a fixed job, like mother's. For father, it was better to choose a job 'B' or 'C' instead of an only 'A' than to fell in despair because of an only choice. If life gives you a lemon, an orange, two tomatoes, three peppers, pineapples, cherries, acorns, then you should make a salad, or eat one at once. So healthy he was, and to think he would be gone weeks later. I had a father, I had a mother, now I have both where I need them most... Throught the seemingly endless street, because of the few steps taken, it was beginning to hurt, not only the pain could be felt in the feet, but same had been felt before by same Freya, recalling of a faint memory...
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— ...I don't believe that dragons should have any pinky scales – said Jack, replying to his sister. With his father resting after an entire life spent, the max as he could, and with mother on duty, Jack once again had the task of taking care of Freya, his sister. That's what any older brother would do, even if he didn't wanted to. But seeing how much their mother had been working for them, and everyone else, Jack had to do it so; at least, it was one of the few things he was able to.
— Why not? – Freya asked, as much as she could answer questions as well, besides being able to walk with her both feet. Good for her, and Jack as well, since that such half-dependency meant that he would never be hanging on a weight with his both limbs. How could she be that heavy with such small height? He thought once. Gladly, daddy spent most of his time holding his daughter instead of giving it for Jack to do it on his place. Only when he was tired, very tired, that he would left Freya to be crawling around, instead of letting her secluded within the crib, and often within Jack's sight, like now.
— Well... I mean, they are supposed to be menacing, and pinkish ain't the certain tone to be considered fearful – Jack answered, trying to find some logic to counter his sister's supposition, a rather small talk they had been sharing while wandering throught the neighborhood, with their hands attached, just like the pair of ribbons belonging to their tails. That was one of the main reasons why Jack didn't liked to be taking care of Freya on his own... because it wasn't fun. It was rather boring, dull, unless Freya came up with something interesting to be done, like these silly questions, but nothing is silly for someone who doesn't know that much of the world, or in regards of the dragons and their skins What does make a dragon menacing anyway? Is it the teeth? Their size? Their scales? She is only five years-old, isn't she? Jack doesn't recall ever making such questions, or having an idea of answering them.
— Daddy once told me that the colorful baits are the ones with the biggest chances of catching a fish – said Freya, remembering the day she had gone fishing with 'Bat', one of the names she used to call her father by. Within time, she learnt that many people used to call his by 'Bart', but daddy was enough – the intent of their colors is to make the fish lower their guards to something attactive, ain't I right?
— Of course – Jack said. She had a point... though father only had been gone fishing while in daylight, if there is a single one at Burmecia. Watching the clouds belonging to this morning, they shared of a tone of gray blended with white, which reminded his of Freya's hair; ma's hair, pa's eyes, Jack thought again, a sort of thought that always seems to come into his mind each time he glimpses to his sister. Like a curtain of silk, it's hard to look at her eyes when hidden by those strands, and I have no time to guess what would happen if he stared at them for too long. She won't bite... When Freya used to be aflicted of an irritation coming from an only eye, without nobody nearby to notice it, she used to close same eye, while keeping the healty one open as usual, until the itching ceased.
Like a cyclops... If because of a piece of her hair stuck inside the pupils, or any other kind of mote, and if closing same only eye worked, only Freya to know for sure. Reluctantly, she had been trying to deny of Jack's presence, but in the end, she agreed to be stuck with his, because of mother. Lenneth always knew when her daughter felt ill, as much as she saw her lying and trembling with her legs, but it was cold back on that day, so did Freya justified. That was a white lie after all, harmless as a bath, althought some pretend to be drowning on those wooden tubs. And, to think the same water from the bath is also the same water falling down, in the ground, and into these children's stomaches – it's rather silly that a meat is far watery than a puddle of mud, don't you think? – that was one of the first absurds Freya came with throught her life. Unlike jokes, she never laughed when knowing them. And so it began another pointless talk, now concerning if the stamps attached on those letters sent by moogles are made or not of toad mucus. Jack didn't knew for sure which way found he should answer that question, but he couldn't let Freya on her own
Sound formed in a vaccum seemed a waste of time, unlike their hands glued onto another, and they didn't needed any mucus to make them together for sure, this if same could be said about Dan's one when holding of Learie's own... althought Jack a ton of friends other than his own cousin, he somehow felt that it wasn't right to left him on his own, even thought all that Dan's gestures and pulls told him were the same 'leave me alone', except with Learie, only because she is a girl. I am only taking care of Freya like this, even holding of her hand because of same reason, Jack thought, and yet, he didn't came up with an answer, only the rain and the steps above the thin surface of water could be heard. This awful silence... It's strange, because the reason why Dan had gotten like that was because he didn't wanted to be on his own, and now he denies me, as if... as if I was better than his. But now that daddy's gone, no more that I am, never that I was any better than his, Jack said, but the words still remained inside his head, accumulating like the dirt beneath his feet, inside his as a whole.
— No, I don't think so – said Jack, coming up with an answer. It wasn't what Freya expected of her brother, seeing the gap between her question and that kind of answer, a rather shallow one. At least, he was a good listener, not the same as daddy, but it was better than being on her own, with nobody expect herself and the doubts. Same goes for Jack, who also needed of someone else to be part of his company. They both missed Bart, as much as they didn't wanted to be alongside each other, so close with a tie of their hands, but if mother told it so for her children to be close to each, then so be it.
— Hiya, Jack! – and so the kids came up across another boy. It was Neal, one of Jack's friends, or so Freya deduced his brother to be a friend of his. He had a funny accent, maybe just because he was a kid, or because he was someone other than Jack, who kept growing and developing a raspy voice, instead of the acute Freya is sharing on its plenty.
— Hi, Neal. How are ya doing?
— A'm braw, Jack – Neal said. Besides having a funny accent, his words were strange too. Only for Freya, as it seemed to be, since Jack didn't bothered about them. In fact, it seemed that he understood his a bit clearly, far more than Freya could – mither is clammed oan kip, fayther is workin'... ay wha is this cheeld-vean? Pyth yw dha hanow? – Neal them looked to Freya, who didn't understood what he said. Nothing, except that the boy said those words, in a tone of question. Only the tones, not what those words meant, althought they seemed harmless, so Freya had no reason to follow them as some kind of offence. How could she, if they didn't knew each other before?
— Well, this is my little sister, Neal – Jack said. He was the only one there who could understand of Neal's words, besides the tone – her name is Freya, by the way.
— Dydh da, Freyja – Neal said, raising a hand to greet Freya's own. At least, she understood that kind of gesture, done by everyone once saw with the eyes, including father, besides the hugs once given to mother. Both hands were used by his, but Freya just needed to trust her left own on these kinds of situations, and gestures, Neal's hand is cold... or maybe it's just her own that is cold to his. Not that much to be considered 'often' that the Crescent heard her own name, spoken in an old pronoun. All the words coming out of Neal's mouth shared of same effect. They all seemed to be words spoken by the burmecians before the invention of a fixed alphabet. Sure, she could hear an 'A', a 'B', a 'C', who sounded like a 'X' or a 'Z'... that's the problem with the words, because each one sounds different for a person and another. But for Neal, everything who came out of his mouth sounded different, as if he didn't belonged to these times. He lived on another neighborhood, as much as he had been living with another family, but Jack knew his, and with the time, he learnt to understand what those words meant, besides how odd they sounded alike.
— What did he said, Jack? – Freya said, whispering to her brother. Certainly, he would be useful of being a spokesman, a translator, whatever that counted to understand Neal, besides being a longtime friend of his. How much time did it took for Jack to understand Neal, only his to know... but that didn't mattered for Freya.
— Well... Neal said 'hello' for you, Freya – Jack said.
— And before? I mean, he looked at me, and said something. I didn't understood, honest...
— Before? Oh, you mean when he called you by cheeld-vean? It's not a big deal, Freya. Neal said that you are a cute girl, and asked for your name, that's it. I strongly disagree, but you are one of the few who shares of an arghansek blew, I mean, a silver hair, sort of, just like mamm – and so, Jack began to speak almost like Neal, whose language and speech are also blends, in a way. For Jack, speaking like that, it was his way to prove and show to Freya that he is smarter than her, or just someone that doesn't care to whom he befriends. At least, some of his friends are polite as Neal, too polite to be a friend of a Jack like his.
— Izz... zarrafact? Ya wee as a brit... ay of corse I dinnae... – the more Neal talked, less Freya understood his, unlike her brother, who began to talk like that other boy. There are some words spoken between Neal and Jack that the second don't bother if they need to be translated or not, as Freya just keep hearing them talk, not understanding a single thing, besides when Jack decides that it's right to share of their meaning to his little sister. That's his concept of being polite, as it seems – ...ay a-dro dhe ma chi, ah hud hansel. Th'day is dreich, dinnae ya think?
— Aye. Not a particular nasty weather as drizzling is, but yeah, it's better than staying at home. Mom's not there to take care of us, but at least she prepared us a nice breakfast, right Freya? – Jack asked, on the instant his sister nodded. Freya's head began to hurt, not only due to the cold, or because the pain belonging to her feet was enough to be replaced, but that speech... it was like learning maths without ever knowing how to count. It needed to be logical, it needed to make sense... it did, only for Jack. Without holding of his brother's hands, Freya could had been gone to somewhere else, where people talk less strangely as they do, and what else? – ...and that's enough. Farewell, Neal.
— Duw genowgh... Jack, Freya – Neal said, before he waved his hand
— Hah... can you believe it, Freya?
— Believe in what?
— Before I left, Neal said to me that his father saw a bucca.
— Bucca? – Freya asked. Like many of Neal's words, she didn't knew what was it, or if it truly existed.
— A bucca, buccaboo. It means a ghost, a spirit, a hobgoblin... It's hard to tell exactly which one Neal's father saw, like many of his words.
— I wish that I could understand his as you do.
— You want to? It ain't goint to be easy, Frida, but since you aren't a dummy, I am about to tell ya the basicis. Now, for practice, say 'aye'. It means 'yes'. Come on, say it.
— Aye! – Freya said, as if she wanted someone other than her brother to listen to her words. An only word, but that was enough for her to feel a bit better.
— Great. See, you'll get it all with time, if you keep with this same spirit. Now, count with me. Onan... dew... tri... peswar... pymp... hwegh... seyth... eth... naw... deg... – and so, Freya learnt how to count on Neal's language. It was funny that others learned to count on same way while playing hide-and-seek. Before, they were confused by those words, but since they recognized of same pattern, the game became the same thing as usual.
Until today, Freya hadn't learnt all of Neal's words, or his own dialect, currently endemic to Burmecia, so does this rain only a few notice. It just became so common, so homogeneous, unlike the many customs and traditions left by the ancestors. That's all they could do in life... to left something in this small world, for only a few people. Few of them became Dragoon Knights, recognized as such as well. What I do could be turn into something universal? Only a few things become part of everyone. Only the children learnt how to count from onan to deg, because their relatives had been instructed to count from one to ten. The Crescent's of each generation became Dragoon Knights because of the blood, but Freya and those who came before her do shared of a plenty of reasons to do it so, but only those who are alive to tell exactly the why. 'From smiles to frowns, cries to laughters; If faith is what driven us together in search of ourselves, then we must try to do it on a leap', these are the words who once belonged to Lenneth, now inscribed on Freya's mind, who will someday make their meaning avaliable to someone other than herself, also leading its way to the trail of dawn.
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