Bruford Crescent, or dad, was a burmecian. And a Dragoon Knight.
He managed to live as both. How long his wife Frigg kept awaiting, lying over bed, for news.
To expect the worse from happening. For another son to be brought to that world dad promised to fix.
He had the power, and was aware of same.
I wanted his approvation. I wanted to be far more than a selfish child.
Could that power he holded on its hands, alongside that spear, enough to satisfy that need I had?
When I became a Dragoon, mom cried for three days, and these weren't tears of joy.
Dad wasn't there. But he knew how tiresome were the walks, the training sessions, sparring matchs...
When Burmecia began to consume his strenght.
When all the dreams children had relied on being like a Dragoon Knight.
And to end up as statues after death. Petrified, but fearless.
Mom may not had been a Dragoon, but she was strong as one, despite the fears she felt.
Never that she lend a hand over me and my siblings, althought I am sure that sometimes we deserved it.
And Reis kept watching, awaiting for me to kill myself for recognition.
That's all I had been doing lately.
The sound of the sky falling from above is pleasant to my both ears, but I'm older enough to know this single moment of happiness will soon be gone.
My ears do not stand tall as they used to.
Only the spear.
And Brahne, that punchbag.
Pretty fat for one. Now that the training room had been left in crumbles...
Alike my home.
And my people.
I was about to get out. To this door...
No, I'm tired. So tired.
Nothing prevented me, or dad, of fulfilling each of our duties.
Is it part of my duty to stay at Alexandria? Shouldn't a Dragoon Knight only be found within Burmecia?
In a way, yes. Given that place became a graveyard without light...
Given that an once immaculated sanctuary as Cleyra had been disturbed by strenghts other than men's own...
Given that I didn't became a part of the sky, that I am still able to feel of the sun's warmth...
Instead of shivers on my skin, cramps brought by a cold breeze on my spine...
Given that Alexandria and its people are enjoying the best of days...
I'll get out. yes, I'll do. A pocket of gils is enough to fill in my stomach. Anything is worth a try. I haven't slept for a while... Whatever. I'll get out of this hovel to breathe new air, maybe the last. Then, a Pluto Knight arrives, and his spit soaks my claws choking that neck. A grimace of someone who had swallowed frog piss overcomes what once was a face. I can feel its swollen aorta and how easy it became to lead it open with a single scratch. I won't, as the Knight pleads for me to spare his life. One life to be sparred, in change of another. He leads me to wherever Queen Brahne is at this castle, as I mercilessly beat her withtheseownfists breakingbones underneaththatfatblueskinsheddingofredandBrahnelooksuglierthanbeforeclaimingformercyandIwon'tstopuntilshegivesbackeverythingtakenawayfrommeandeveryoneinthatroomstaresatmeandtheyrealiseitwasafilthyratwhohadbeatenherupsobadlylikeanotherburmeciandidwithherhusbandyearsbeforethewarwagedonbetweenusfornoreasonBrahneabsolutelyhadnoreasontolivefaintsbeforemewithastupidfaceaseveryonewitnessesthedeathoftwooncenoblefigures...
So tired... I couldn't get to the door.
I took a nap.
I had a nightmare, but nothing makes any difference.
I am already living one.
I'll get out of this place.
Yes... to the streets.
Hope they lead me nowhere, as much as this world lead me astray.
By: New Order
From: Ceremony 12'' (1981)
343Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ003uCHTe49
343Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4uvWCYCyRd
343Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqsj2ljqHAb
If you die on battle, with honor of your duty, with a duty to sustain anything else other than your dignity, then your soul shall deserve to live within the boundaries of Einherjar. If you die on a worthless death, by being stabbed in the heart by a butter knife, by lying over a bed frame because of any illness other than being beaten up on a fierceful battle, then your soul shall suffer for an eternity. These are old burmecian myths, for someone who only believes in a thing if its saw by both eyes. When it's given a name. I have a name, and how I used to be proud of it. Proud of being a Dragoon Knight. Of living on a land where the sun doesn't shine. Where clouds dark as chocolate bars floated in the sky, same for the many souls who have left this world. And how this world didn't missed any of them.
These alexandrians prefer the sun and its yellow hue. They don't like how the skies suddenly turn grey, it's ugly, cold, a sad day. It sure is, for someone who witnessed far more than drops of water falling from above these buildings. Throught a gutter, rain follows a path to pour down on the street, while my people didn't even had a chance to follow of any path, and only a few to run away, quickly as the stream coming down from these many pipes. The rain and it's water brought is clean, until it touches Gaia, or what came from this earth. The human hands already touched the sky with a same grey smoke. I grew with this same sky for over fifteen years of my life, and only my skin to shed of another color. The water that pours down is always transparent, unlike those who are able to shed tears once hidden. Wonder why you let your hair grow? Mom's hair, and dad used to comb it. Wrap ribbons on each strand.
The smell of rain, hitting each surface, paths of dirt and streets of cobblestone... I also like it, because the same brings back some old times. When these things didn't even mattered. And then you realise these are gone, are meant to, and you can't change it. All you were able to do until now was to slow down the same time of those days with a job, something important to be done. Was it really a waste of time? Think about the many lives you saved, the many ranks you have achieved... and the cost both had on you. When you arrived back to your homeland, your sight and feet only had been leading you towards the Royal Palace, standing still unlike many structures once deemed as home. They still were a kind of home for the many souls you ignored. Even if you stood in shock, after smelling the scent of blood not meant to be out of nobody else's skin, the same would be better justified. You stood in shock... only when you reached the Palace's doors, slightly cracked.
All along, instead of helping any hopeless burmecian other than yours, you were worried about your King, the one who fled to Cleyra. Was you Freya Crescent, a kid born on the outskirts of Burmecia, or just another Dragoon Knight loyal to it's ruler? Loyal like dad. To be a Dragoon Knight all the time would be enough to drive you crazy, and that's another reason you blame to answer the why of your personal journey had taken so long. Instead, Fratley found you, but didn't recognized your face, your coat, the orange ribbon still tied on this tail. Men do not wear ribbon. Reluctantly, you gave yours to Fratley, and in change, he gave you something more than a tie ammend. You used to despise his, to think that to be a Sir only meant for others to be lowered, for someone else to care be a nuisance to yours. Mom was gone, my siblings had their own lifes, and Fratley began to be part of my life.
He didn't even recognized these eyes hidden below your cold helmet, beneath the curtain of white falling from your face. Only a few strands were gone within the years, unlike mostly of what was Fratley. He was alive, by luck. He found you by luck. The man who came before didn't believed that things were arbitrary. No matter how much you struggle to deny this fact, everything is meant to change for once, alike how a lightning bolt hits a tree, and all that remains is a scorched trunk. The same happened to Fratley, and those who stood within Cleyra, once the tallest of the trunks, once a place flourished of life within the desert. Now, there is no need to distinguish both places, althought Vube now shares of far more life than Cleyra once had. Centuries of wars, and nobody learned anything. Only to sign papers, and it's all done. Then, it happens again, not only by the hands of an only person, or the people that agreed to pull each other's bones.
My left leg hurts. Broken, heavy like the spear my back once felt, so did these hands. Weren't for this coat hiding my wounds, I stink. Still, I carry on the wound left before I was even born. Conceived by a burmecian, born as same. The fact that I had a family ain't enough for these people shut up. Many of them do not know what happened, and some would be glad it happened. That wasn't a war, but with less of us, who to care when a disease is gone? I heard worse, but I had that spear on my side. What was left were these empty hands, for a mind that keeps accumulating the dirt. It's easy to wash these claws, to show them whenever you are angry. A Dragoon Knights fights with skill, not anger... Did I said that being a Dragoon Knight all the time would be bad for me, Reis? Well, I agreed with this. I have no regrets ever since the first day I lead this path. For each time the name 'Freya' is spoken, the word 'Dragoon' is mentioned.
Who is 'Freya'? Ain't the name of that desperate pariah, who led a search for the love of her life?
Fratley was far more than a love affair. I respected his. Learned to.
He didn't even cared about what I felt for his, and I didn't knew why.
As if we were secluded within a wall of glass, unable to convey each of these feelings.
Surely Fratley felt the same way. Yet, he seemed so cold, even when closer.
Then, he left. And you followed his, because there was something left to be told, instead of felt.
And I don't know what.
I was born out of many families, and one of them shared of the same name and blood of the Dragoons. Each time I look at the moon, and all I see is a 'Crescent'. My own Crescent, the name of my dad, the name mom agreed to live together with, the name of this moon. One of her many phases, states in which she can be found. On the clear, dim sky; above each puddle's surface, including the one within my eyes, about to get out once again... Some days the moon can be found on its full glory, others in a half, obscured by shadows. A smile, plain lips, or like Fratley used to say, why did you let your boat sink? Some say there are two moons, but only one to appear this month. It doesn't matter the hue it sheds, because the pieces that fall from the skies are grey. All of them were, exposed within a museum you visited once.
Burmecia on its entirety is already a museum, yet only a few visit there. At Lindblum, there is a room within the same museum I mentioned before that displays small miniatures of planets. We live on this one, the guard said, pointing to the blue Gaia, as if this planet is all blue. The sky changes of its colors as well, but that though didn't came across my mind. I wanted to relax, visit some parts of Lindblum, to take a break in regards to the search I had been leading. For sure, Fratley would like to visit that place, maybe he did, so that's why you came there as well. Not without paying on discount, as always. This station doesn't have any discount, and I do not have that same Zidane I stumbled across years ago. He was just a kid, and a thief from Tantalus... I don't want to steal your money, Ratchel. Because I already stole your heart... and a jerk as well.
Remember when the guard turned off all the lights, only liting of a single candle, while he explained how those same planets moved? How the moon moves in circles around our planet? But why the moon doesn't hit Gaia? A kid asked. It's because the moon is found on an infinite state of fall in regards to its speed and movement, therefore it doesn't fall, or so that's what I understood. Kids fall when they spin around th merry-go round for a while, said the young Zidane. The planets... they all turn, like the wheels belonging to these aircabs. Do planets make any sound when spinning around the sun? There is no sound in space, because the stars are perfect. The engine outside makes these sounds, but nobody care. Some even fall asleep. The space must be cold as well, since heat doesn't reside on shadows. Down the Summit Station lying above Aerbs hills, and now you shall go on your both feet, to somewhere where a warm hands holds onto mine.
How many times I ordered you to bless me, Reis? For you to listen each of mom's prayers... To give your strenght when dad and I needed it most. When Freya becomes weak, and all that remains is the Dragoon... Do I feel any more small? Do I feel like nothing? Can't stand in sunlight, Reis... Can't see home, can't see tomorrow, and I've already walked in this world enough to be discovered. But you know that the fear you feel comes back each time of this day. He holded far more than both of your hands. Now, the only one who holds you is only you, Freya. Of all the places, this one you choose stinks, my nose says. The same for my sight, who also reveals that people live here. I could have stood with a friend, but I don't have none. Show me someone who haven't betrayed, abandoned me. Leave me alone, you said for them, not before saying please. Be polite, mom and dad said. They cared for you, but you wasn't there to offer of convincing replies.
Once again, your knees are here to bring you a goodnight kiss, but they won't be gone in the morning. Your only blanket are these red walls, belonging to your coat, to this poorly illuminated alley. You have traveled this far from Alexandria to Lindblum, to rest on this dirt for no reason. I wanted to get out of that place, you pretend to convince yourself with a single excuse. Alligators in the sewers, how much you were afraid of them... They do not exist. Your teeth are gritting, only to say this night will be cold. They always are. All I want is for this to be over. Every single moment feels like everything is wrong. I was able to take for this long, and so you'll insist to resist. Everything around you says this ain't home. The shell is broken, but your soul hadn't been separated yet. There is something far stronger in you than the prayers given and the blesses received from Reis.
You are so stubborn, Freya. And selfish. The only thing you did was to grow up in size, like this building. Fetch me the water of Burmecia, fetch me the sand of Cleyra, and so I lose both of my homes. I only lived within one, and yet you despised that place. So much that it was one of the reasons you became a Dragoon. The criminals, the thieves, and the mirror... After a while, I don't hear anything. I can't see anything else but black. The nothing of all colors. Why am I seeing it? Why we gave the nothing a name? Usually, the nothing many people talk about refers to a waste. A waste of time, a waste of food, a waste of efforts... Unseen and unheard by many, almost nobody I came across could distinguish Fratley from same nothing. Burmecia is so dark when the night arrives, and that place used to be lively even on shadows, even without light.
The edge of the spear and the lightning were the only things that used to shine on that place, besides the fire of those lamps, broken as you do. Can you fix it again? Of course. Care to fix what shall remain broken? I don't care. They didn't cared about Fratley. Neither they saw his, and only later that I would know the Fratley I was searching for didn't even knew his own name. Now he won't, because the dead don't have to deal with doubts. The name of a person is carried on until the grave, or the mind. Both have the same purpose, and now you can see the amound of mold that grew within you. Maybe I'm already dead, given how surreal and sequential these sort of events seem to be happening. But that's a doubt, like many I share, unanswered by result. The dead don't carry on questions unanswered either, because if they do, they might come back as ghosts. Only in your mind, Freya.
I woke up in the middle of the night. My coat burns. Before my skin does, I take it out. I already had time to sweat yesterday, feeling the heat that brought cleyrans to ashes. It ain't a nightmare, given the monsters upon the sky, and those holes pulling the souls of people among their floating bodies, carcasses that don't even last enough in this world to stink. To be burnt by the sun instead of the fire stole by humans from the gods. Only when I heard an explosion, and people agonizing, that I was able to stand, and do something. To think that I could have reached this far... At Burmecia, the people and their homes already felt before I even had a chance to witness it. And to do something. A thing that I should had done once, but I almost did with the wrong person, the right symbol. But in this world, symbols mean anything but change. From yellow to blue, even the fire changes, so does what was once pieces of wood, carbonized.
Not only the wood... A beggar prays to god, before he is incinerated by a fire coming from the skies. His soul is gone, unlike the scent of its flesh. An entire building collapses, and then I heard bricks falling down from a waterfall stream of buildings near the hills. Like the people running on the ladders, they keep falling, injuring each other, but bricks do not feel any pain no matter how much they broke after the fall. They pour like the rain, but the path below ain't clean. It stinks, so do the way what once were people behave. At the market district, nobles who once denounced thieves to the authority are being arrested by the same. A man injures a soldier and takes its sword. Pretty much that he would do something stupid before I knocked him out without any weapons. Nothing but my claws, sharp like the teeth inside my jaw, but I don't have the need to use any of them. Only when necessary, but who to know when, if I only know how? He'll be alive, if lucky enough.
It's innevitable that I'll have to use some of my shear strenght not lying in my words alone. Anyone can speak, but with everyone screaming like the sirens heard from a distance, voices coming from the middle of the fog rising on the main avenue, no sign of the sun or the warmth of same children who used to play outside what where once homes... Don't listen to the children. Please don't. To listen to your own thoughts won't do anything good either. And the many statues belonging to the Regents that ruled this same kingdom falls, unlike that same palace which stands still. The enemy prefers to attack any people outside those walls, to see if he care for them. This kingdom was already put in ransom, but it became so easy to kill people and do not care for them. When I was here five years ago, nothing seemed to happen. Not even a thief had to stab someone in the chest to be able to steal.
The sound of an helix falling from atop is unheard. It crashes onto a ceiling, and Reis knows if there were lovers on their sleep. Plumes of smoke rise, wounds are opened and they don't even care for the airships, lead nowhere. They do not even laugh, mock, these things aren't human. Yet, I still call same things by 'they'. It's another one of the innevitable events my mind came across once again. Beatrix, the cold blooded Knight who knows no mercy... At least, she felt disgusted by what she did. I was wrong to consider her the vilest of the alexandrians. None of these dolls share of any mouth, yet they keep spelling the same world. Kill... it became so easy to say it as well. Fratley, Puck, Sharon, Learie, Kildea, Jack, Adam, Dan... It's impossible to remember a name belonging to a hundred individuals, all unique, all buried on an only graveyard. The Kings of Burmecia may share of the same name, only so they are able to be remembered by history.
The earth shakes, but this ain't a earthquake. An airship falls on the Industrial District, and an explosion can be heard. Only the explosion to be heard, and only I to have time to know that district was lively. Now it became a heart of steel who suffered of its last infarct. Look mom, there is a dove up in the sky... With it's blades cutting the air instead of any heads, another ship is heading to any of these buildings. It'll fall if you don't do anything other than running away to a shelter. There are people lying on their homes, they had no chance of getting out, and it sounds impossible to find one of them alive within the wreckage, but a man once said many things to you, and one of them... Believe in the unnexpected, Crescent. The way Fratley used to speak of your name, and you to mourn each time you remembered how he used to be. Now there is anything left of Fratley, or anyone who stood at Cleyra. I can spot some of my people, but they ran on the contrary direction you are rushing into.
Fratley...
You loved him.
Enough to follow of his footsteps throught this world, cold as the snow that covered of its trail.
He never seemed to express the same as you did for his, but silent is louder than any words.
It is tightened so fiercely on you, like the ribbon upon your tail. His ribbon.
A gift brought to you, one of the few that still remained after all these years.
You still have time to notice it, but to feel the same back on that day...
I heard someone who once said that your entire life passes throught your sight before it's time.
It' ain't time, for sure, because this already happened before. So many times.
When I was bitten by an Ironite, when a javelin was stabbed on my chest...
When I fought against a Zaghnol on that same avenue covered by ashes...
When I failed with Burmecia...
When Cleyra and it's trunk dissapeared of my sight and this world...
When dignity have lost its meaning for mortal beings.
— Let that airship land, scroundel! – and when you reached the highest of the buildings left, where a Black mage stands. It doesn't even turn to my direction, doesn't feel menaced, isn't afraid of dying. It'll be all over, and that's what it needs to be accomplished.
— And that ship shall land... exploding – suddenly, alike a nerve connected to another, I felt the big chill traveling throught my skin. Petrified. I do not feel any fear, not now. A silence disturbed by the few cracks made. Can't breathe. It's a hot day, alike the fire whose smell makes me dizzy. It's the gas, and when near the fire... My ears aren't hurt, despite being able to hear anything. Can't blink. My eyes are burning, so does this skin, and what's below. On Burmecia, there was nobody to put out the fire, other than the rain. There were no sirens, yet I heard them cry like children. No... Don't think, just act.
— Thanks for the ice bag. It brought relief to my pain – the prison that sealed me shatters beneath my feet. The cracks of an icy mirror felt beneath my toes are the least of my problems. This Black Mage and it's back doesn't bleed with the impact of these red and grey fists. I already knew it, since one of these things is my friend. He ain't here, the only doll that I ever called by 'he'. They had been created by the human hand, and only my spear to freed its minion soul. A soul, like any other.
Forgive me, Reis. For an instant, it all became arbitrary, but that isn't enough to justify such act to you, isn't it? I broke one of the first lessons you taught to us, once again... A Dragoon Knight would never resort to unprovoked violence, but these are other times. It was fair to enlisten children since the beginnings of Burmecia's foundation, and I wonder if you ever questioned it or not. Married with eleven years of age, the first son brought to this world when you where fourteen. A son by the name of Gizamaluke, once loyal to the same Burmecia you were raised within. So loyal that after he died on battle, another beast came to aid us. And we called the beast who raised from the same puddle of clear water the commander's body sunk by Gizamaluke, condemned to live within the grotto his burmecian self perished, and the image of its new body being reflected by the water below.
All I can see below is the fire, slowly being extinguished as soon as the alexandrian troops take over the city. It's useless for them to do it so. The blue of the morning arrives at the horizon, only saw by me, standing atop this building. Even if I reached the highest of the mountains, I was unable to see the sun back on the same Burmecia I was raised within. Your son was proud of you, Reis. The one I put an end to wasn't. It had no words to say, only grunts instead. We gave food to that beast, sacrifices paid in dragon flesh for centuries, and that thing decided to stay on our side, to do any favours to us. Then it came the time the same rewards weren't enough for Gizamaluke. Nobody is that clean, except the water that stood below Gizamaluke's body, before its liquid remains began to smell like squashed lemons.
The raging inferno that covered Lindblum ceased to exist. Only smoke rises from where fire had been gathering. Even the scarred looks, those wide eyes of before are gone, because the aftermath can't only be saw from a district to another. The child who still bares of both legs trembles, as he stands on what was once a house. His brother got stuck inside a chimney, but there is none. My sight gives him no hope, I don't know his, but the boy doesn't care. An arm grows out of another wreckage; another corpse, unfortunately. Tragedy isn't only witness inside the Threatre district. Nobody laughs, because all the faces look the same, even those covered by soot. Pale like ghosts, some workers won't be back home, if there is one left. Where you had been? I only heard this inside my head. I don't belong here. I was here when my homeland began to be invaded, when they needed me the most. Fratley was here too, but I never saw his.
Have I done something new back then, and now? I took care of these black mages as I did when below the rain, and atop the sandstorm. The only help I offered to these souls was a crude entertainment days ago, when I attended the Festival of Hunt. I won the major prize, and these people won slices of crops and smiles, before weeks like these happened later on. This kingdom is currently under siege, but I pass unnoticed for these alexandrian soldiers. Me and my coat, the escutcheon above my chest, my helmet, the buckles, but no sign of a spear. Yet, I still am a Dragoon Knight, maybe the last one that remained, or was able to fled from its home. Fleeding of a trouble to another; that's all you had been doing lately. They aren't interested on me, so be it. Must be orders of Beatrix, maybe she retired from this job. Stubborn as she is, unable to take a backseat to anyone, I doubt Beatrix would ever give up.
I try to scream, but all that I am able to hear is a raspy voice. Getting older as this hair, here with me ever since the birth. The spear, and these clothes, this ribbon on my tail came later. A day can't be spent only at the pub, the only place left on this kingdom for people enjoy of something. A bad aftertaste had been left, wonder why? The scent of ashes not only belonging to wooden tables, but people that were sit at them. To think that, on this same pub, found at what was once a district from Lindblum, I met Zidane, yet again. A week ago, before all of this happened. Yet... again. things were worse back then, Crescent. It was easy to bring a sort of relief to the torment of your soul, by feeding your stomach, the only thing within you that ain't empty. Did Zidane recognized me? Of course. He was one of the few who did it so. Ratchel; how much I hated this name. How much that kid cared for me...
To where am I going, if everything on this Kingdom became a pile of trash? Worse than. After a war that lasted half a day, Lindblum came to reveal its true shape. A place once filled in of scientists and printing presses, letters written by machines broken as the bones, but which one to be fixed in time? As a major nation, Lindblum used to dict the future of others. By intervening between Alexandria's conflict with my homeland, by creating the first engine fueled by Mist, and its pattent by result. The Mist... who to care about it? The unseen, unknown is still feared, below or upon same Mist. So many conflicts happened there, now they happen here, on these streets. Smoke fills in, so does the Mist who had been hiding many of us. We are gray like clouds, filled in of rain. It pours down on Lindblum, so do many of my people. Those burmecians who were able do fled, at least.
— Sluurp... It's cold.
— This dish is meant to be served cold, my dear.
— No, it ain't the dish – and then she kept staring at me – something bothering you, Lady Freya?
— The end of a century, and nothing changed at all... – though there are some things that we don't want to change. Kal and Wei; I have found this couple whom I helped back when Burmecia had been put on a siege. To be saved by a Black Mage, reason why they had been hiding beneath a god who threatened to collapse above their heads, and far more than a will of living to get out... Kal's leg is healing, same for his wife, and her kids, less than infants. A pile of pinkish worms that squirms when near the light, or when in need of a food.
— Even when it rains, it's still hot there – Wei have spent most of her life away from the sun, but she learned to complain about it. So did I, walking upon the roofs of tin, bearing of the heat on my feet. The clouds cover the skies, like a greenhouse, but there's only a few lifes to flourish down on earth – and the rain burns, sometimes.
— I know. Yet, many move to these lands, in search of job opportunities.
— All we wanted was to live. Right, Kal?
— Two millions of us – her husband replied, sitting on my right. Remember when you tried to manuever a spear, but you were better at using your left hand? Same for this spoon. These folks still have a home, and a ceiling only covered by a few holes. There's an only window, found at the kitchen we're sat into, where most of the light can be received into this place. On darker corners, candles are lit just like home. It doesn't feel any sweet, but any piece of shelter to live into became valuable these days.
Kal bought some sausages from the market. I don't like meat. No, it ain't because I despise it, or because I grew in a home with a mom who prepared each day a warm syrup of vegetables floating above and called it by soup, or because that's the only way I have found to feel any clean, no. I just don't like meat, that much. But seeing how these people share of few food, a ceiling burnt, and money that's good reserved to life insurance, I ate it. This ain't even meat, but scraps of meat of all kinds. Ears, legs, tails... all wrapped in an empty gut. So why complain? Because part of you doesn't feel empty as your whole. Things were already bad to burmecian side. I heard that the crops coming from Alexandria to my homeland were cut, althought Lindblum stood at our side, and paid the price with lives as well.
Not all my bones were shattered. But my wit... disturbed as usual. Gone for a while, and when it comes back on this time of night, all I had been left to ask is a why. The 'why' nobody hears, besides your aching heart. The why of your being, your existence as a being. When Freya becomes just a name, when you pretend to give up of living, not only a name or a title to be left behind. Then, from outside this cold window, you hear oglops coach in a marsh. Crickets sing among with their legs, going with the flow that do not exist, or even needs to. Nothing matters for these beings, who just live because. Oglops despised due their taste, annoying due their appearance, cute for kids, and plagues for adults. I know how they feel. How insignificant, yet at this time, when everything seems to have lost its meaning, many battles fought to put out the fire of a burning that never gets out, same for your feelings, or the need you have to carry them on.
At morning, as days have passed, been living with same outfits, taking baths with a mug, someone knocks the door. Tiny knocks. I get in there, to check if it ain't another prank done by these kids, who have nothing to do, but find a way to feel joy. It won't be easy to find it when you grow up, as you see how this world look alike. By luck and misfortune, things are brought to you. How unnexpected for a visit to... it can't be. Puck. A kid who shares of a same voice, and more rags on those clothes. An invisible crown, unlike the scabs left on his face. He should had been gone. It must be a ghost, since it was only me who heard it, or cared to open the door. But after seeing this Puck appear in front of a house, at this time, in daylight, a shadow standing beneath his, and to feel of its hug, coming from somebody.
— Ouch! Ouch ouch ouch!... – and to hear Puck complain about how fierce were these arms, of all tears soaking his shoulders... – hey Freya, I know ya miss me, but try to be a bit careful, will ya?
— Where had you been, Puck? How... how did you came to this place? – those bandages wrapped on his right arm didn't gave me enough clue to deduce where he had been taken to. Kind enough to tolerate this kid's attitude, unseen by now. How he used to be mischievous, angry... just a bit, to this day. I would also complain if someone holded me alike a child, or treated me alike one. I do not want to share of complains, for what he have done. Reason why Puck is alive. Reason why I am able to feel of its heart beating faster than mine.
Our Highness have told me that Airships coming from this place went to Burmecia and Cleyra's aid. The survivors from Cleyra are being taken care on the church. They were found within what was once a cathedral, a place where the dance who strenghtened the sandstorm took place. Not even the strongest of the magics can heal the deepest of the wounds. Many of them are unseen, that's why. No matter the power you hold, someone will get harmed, even if you claim your family's safe. Spears are heavier, can't be manuevered by a child, so they fall, not without letting them get cut, or with a foot hurt. What sustained Cleyra, the strenght coming from a sharp crystal, piece of an once shattered crystal, a shattered power brought to the nations. Alexandria went here to take the other piece of crystal, so this Kingdom and its people where sparred, but my people fought. Only Burmecia fought, as if it wasn't silly enough for a tiny piece of a gem be the reason of many deaths, as if this world had been left no poorer of them.
There are some things that I do believe, others that I don't. I know what Eidolons are, and what they are capable for. I had been taught to become a Dragoon Knight, and I am aware of the power I do have. I have learned to control this power, but to give it to a person, who changes with time, it's another thing. Legends told, creatures born out of them... these are Eidolons. When it comes to Fate and Luck, both get tied on another, and unwind as well. Eidolons do not know any of them, do not care to even exist, just be summoned. Like, if I have told that I saw a werewolf, but a bandersnatch instead, here on these streets... who would believe in me? Who would care to, other than a child? I used to go to church with mom, althought I saw her pray to deities other than Reis on her own home. Others pray as well, and mom cared for others. Dad, my siblings, me... the first ones I had contact with.
— I'm sorry – within the church, out of the many laying upon the wooden chairs, I saw a kid, with an only arm. He was one of the refugees who went from Burmecia to Cleyra. Kids like treehouses.
— For what, Miss? – Jack... yes, that's the name of the boy. He wasn't alone on that day. Didn't shared of this face. Instead of hatred towards the Black Mages who had taken our home, he only felt sad. Same for me.
— Your arm... – he used to share of both, before that day. Do I even care to use both my arms? Only when it came to hold of my javelin, to have fists for brains, as it seems. Dust ain't allowed to fill in the air of this place, full of grief. And a scent of smoke, pure and clean. Ashes who don't belong to any of us.
— It's okay. One less hand to wash, Miss – Jack smiled. For him, it was nothing else, althought – to be fair, I miss it a bit. When my eyes get itchy, I used to scratch both with my fingers. Now I can't. My eyes had been covered by bandages since they burned. I was stupid enough to look at the bright.
— Had you been hidden in the cathedral?
— Yeah, I stood there. Couldn't move. The tree shaked, I looked at the window, and I thought it was the last thing I would ever see, and I didn't wanted to see anymore, until... I had been given a chance to – I also had been given a chance to fled, while Jack, all he could do was to hide. How many of them did the same, and are feeling well? – you know, there are many things I want to see, a plenty of them. You're beautiful as mom. A beautiful smudge, I mean.
— And how's Learie doing? – somehow, I am able to remember their names. Appearing right throught me. Which one is which, other than victim... don't know.
— She's fine. Same for my brother. As for daddy...
— Dan – we were friends since childhood. I have forgotten about Dan, how he and his family refused to believe a Black Mage became our ally – in the end, he was a good soldier.
— Yeah, daddy was the best. I wanted to see him again. I can't await to look again, but to see the same everyday... it sucks.
— I know – I saw many things, some that horrified me, some that will never do. Needles sewing a skin tore by a dragon's claw, a teeth huger and sharper than my toes on my back, hands who cared to offer me treatment, and with time, a personal treatment – but you proved to me that there are other things to be saw, and some not meant to.
— What do you mean?
— The fact that I saw you this well, after all that happened... it brought a kind of relief to my heart. And I am only able to feel it.
— What is that thing you felt in your heart?
— It ain't a thing, boy. But like all things, it has a name. It's called faith – the boy follows me, hearing my steps. When a sense is gone, another comes on its place by need. When my legs were numb, the spirit guided me, and I didn't knew to where. I had a reason to leave Burmecia. Part of me, at least. A leap of faith, necessary when it came to land onto another building, instead of a body lying on the streets below. Or in a chair. Not only a body, because it breathes. Not only it, because he's alive.
— And how do you know there's faith on your heart?
— I don't. Faith can't be found, or even understood. Only felt.
Fratley Irontail... Guess we are stuck with each other.
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