Final Fantasy II: Thorn's Edge

By Chronic Guardian

Prologue: Fall of the Dragoon

Esker Senfire looked up into the gray night sky, starless due to the thick cloud covering but lit by a full moon. It was the sort of night he hated. Esker loved open skies and clear sunrises experienced on the back of a Wyvern. In moments like that, he felt certain of his course and ready for whatever lay ahead. With the current weather conditions he could not help but feel a sense of foreboding.

He silently thanked God for making him a dragoon that he would only have to pace the ramparts of a castle rather than a whole town like that of Fynn. The defense of Deist would be difficult enough in a fully military adapted environment. Not that Palamecia would be attacking anytime soon, if scouts were to be believed. Yet the Dragoons still were wary, wary enough to send Ricard out to find the Ultima tome at any rate. Dark matters were afoot and it was only a matter of time before the storm broke. It was only a rumor, but whispers were reaching Deist in large quantities that the kingdom of Palamecia was soon to become an empire. It was also thought that the soon to be emperor possessed power that was not of the world. Something of the divine...

Esker halted a moment and rested his eyes on the horizon. Deist, once blessed with grace, was not the great power it had once been. The people had grown proud and distant from the world, even though they shared the same faults. Such would bring about ruin if they did not act to change it. Danious, leader of the Dragoons, refused to bring Fynn or Kashuan into the matter, claiming there was not yet enough proof. Esker felt such to be empty talk meant only to allow the Dragoons the glory of defeating the growing threat. They felt like a chosen people, gifted with the holy sword Excalibur and the ability to command Wyverns. Who could overcome them? But in their prosperity, the Dragoons were forgetting the source of these blessings. Esker sighed and rested his hand on the spear slung across his back. If only Ricard would return.

The forest of conifers surrounding Deist castle was quiet tonight, an occurrence that would have been normal if the Wyverns were in flight. But they were not. All the Wyverns were perched upon the castle walls, looking out upon the expanse of trees with a baited breath that chilled Ekser's heart. "What are they watching for?" he whispered to his Wyvern, Reiswim, as he approached him; talking openly did not seem permissible given the grim mood. "What news does the wind bring?"

"The Enemy moves closer," Reiswim rumbled in his low voice, his words only decipherable due to the Dragoon pendant that Esker wore, "But they wait, and this troubles us most of all. They have mustered all their forces and yet they wait on the shore. The night is ripe for their attack and yet they wait."

Esker put his hand on Reiswim's left flank, just above the wing. "With their current numbers a defense should be possible," he attempted to assure the Wyvern. Most Dragoons would simply take the word of the Wyvern but Esker treated Reiswim as a friend rather than a superior. "Perhaps they would rather wait for dawn as well. After all, even in the dark we still have an advantage so why risk it? They aren't as brash as they... seem." Esker trailed off as his mount's breathing became irregular, "What is it, Reiswim?"

It seemed as if the whole Wyvern populace had begun to heave and sway, fighting to stay erect. "Their scent has vanished,"Reiswim rasped, his voice becoming hoarse. "It is most peculiar that..." he shuddered under Esker's hand as a wave of convulsions ran through his body. "I... understand now," he groaned, "The water..."

"The water?" Esker asked, his voice rising above the whisper he had previously maintained, "what about the water? Has it been...?"

"Poisoned," Reiswim was almost snarling, clearly attempting to regain control of his limbs, "Were it for humans we would have been able to detect it. We did not know a poison existed that could fell a Wyvern."

"They chose something our mages would not be able to warn us about nor counter act," Esker hissed, feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach not unlike the first cracks formed on thin ice. "And without Wyverns we will be..."

"Doomed." Reiswim finished in a harsh gasp. He had now given up on mastering his trembling wings and legs, allowing himself to sink into a spasmodic heap.

Esker felt his mind racing for a way to stop what was happening. Deist was falling and the Empire had barely raised a finger. "The Lifespring Grotto," he stated, trying to keep a calm head, "if we can get you to that, you should be alright."

Reiswim looked up at Esker and nodded weakly as the Dragoon carefully mounted him. With a second effort, the Wyvern demanded enough control over himself to take to the skies. Others tried to follow his lead but most were simply falling into the forest below. Still, at least seven other Dragoons had been able to execute the same idea; although it remained to be seen whether or not they could make it to their destination.

Esker's thoughts centered on his mount, not daring to leave for a moment. Once they reached the Lifespring Grotto they would have to fly in through the opening used by the hatchlings, taking the conventional route would take too long. Once inside the Lifespring, the Wyverns would go into a short hibernation to focus their energies on healing; if the Dragoons followed they would likely drown. Dragoon armor was lighter than most, but still too burdensome to effectively swim in. Thus, Esker would be taking the long way down and hope that Reiswim lived long enough to make it to the source of life in Wyverns.

As the mountain that housed the grotto came into view, Esker followed through on his plan, giving Reiswim one last touch, he let himself fall from the saddle towards the meadow below. A normal man would probably die from the descent, or at least be severely injured. A Dragoon still had to employ years of training but it was possible and that was what mattered at the moment. Ordinarily, a large portion of the impact would be absorbed by whatever creature was unfortunate enough to be on the wrong end of the spear, but in this case Esker would have to improvise.

Turning his back towards the target location, he tipped his spear towards the mountain. As the polearm came in contact with the ground at a slight angle, Esker used the downwards momentum to bring himself full circle in a slingshot maneuver, dissipating the fatal kinetic energy into horizontal motion. A spear of common workmanship would have snapped under the stress of the action but the time invested into the creation of a Dragoon's spear ensured it only bent slightly before lifting out of the ground after him. Not letting that speed go to waste, he landed with his legs running as he took off for the entrance to the cavern that held the blessed water. The Dragoons whose Wyverns had also made the distance were dismounting in similar fashion, joining him in his mad dash.

The only sounds between the group of warriors were their soft footfalls and a fierce chorus of staggered breath. Esker cursed the labyrinth of stairways and rock hewn hallway that prolonged their reunion with their winged companions. It could be worse though, they could have enemies in the grotto.

Such a statement should have been saved for after the last corner had been turned. The cavern surrounding the Lifespring was filled with Chimeras, fiends that more resembled a mass of creatures stitched together into a nightmarish mound of fangs than anything else. Creatures that had disappeared from the face of the earth for nearly two hundred years after being hunted into extinction by the dragoons. The natural enemy and predator of the Wyvern.

Esker fell to his knees, his strength vanishing just as the blessing on the dragoons had. His heart still wanted to believe that Reiswim had turned around and escaped but his logical side realized that without his sense of smell his friend would have flown right into the trap. It truly was over, the Wyverns that had stayed at the castle stood a better chance of survival than the ones here... without air power and their numbers halved, the kingdom of Deist could no longer repel the full on assault of the Empire, not without a miracle.

He wanted to scream with fury at the whole blasted situation but the breath would not come. And slowly but surely, every one of the monstrous Chimeras' eyes were settling upon him. Would this be his end? He was in no shape mentally to fight alone. But perhaps his anger would be enough...

No, it was reliance on such things that had driven the Dragoons away from God. They had relied upon the fruit of the blessings rather than the tree and now they had wandered too far from the source. Was this then retribution? Was there no way to escape the divine wrath they had awakened?

"Esker, get up."
The other dragoons had arrived. Phillip Stillbren, one of the King's lieutenants stood at their head, looking onwards to the hive of Chimeras. "We can at least avenge them."

Esker slowly nodded, using his spear as support to drag himself to his feet. They would fight, if for nothing else then for their fallen mounts. The Chimeras were prowling closer, studying the new threat with curious, if hungry, eyes. Esker stared right back and lifted his weapon with his brethren; he had often wondered where and why he would meet his end. Here seemed as good a place as any.

"The skies are clearing," Prince Scott Kashuan called to his brother from the balcony. The storm was moving on northward at last. It felt as if a dark shadow had passed them over, an unspoken evil that had loomed above before being driven away by the bright full moon. And yet, Scott still felt apprehensive, he would have to pay Count Borghen a visit soon and ensure that the Bafsk province was secure. Reports of old fiends reappearing had tensions ripening all around and the royal family of Kashuan had never sat idly by when danger approached.

"You don't suppose they'll stay clear for long, do you?" Prince Gordon asked as he came out to join his brother. Gordon was of a melancholic demeanor and seemed to fear the worst in everything, even more so than Scott.

"It will stay clear long enough, brother," Scott assured him, "We must meet with our allies though, something is going on in Palamecia. Something dark..."

"Is it imminent?"

Scott looked his brother in the eye and smiled, "No, we'll have time. Palamecia may have a large military but they cannot match that of Kashuan. Or even Deist for that matter. They won't dare anything for some time yet. No, for now there is still peace in the world and the Sunfire of Kashuan burns bright, as it always has."

"And always will," Gordon sighed, leaning on the balcony, "You are right of course... Though it would not hurt to marshal the cavalry, would it?"

Scott laughed, "You worry too much, Gordon. All will smooth with time; soon our kingdom and that of Fynn shall be united and then Palamecia won't dare anything."
"So you've proposed to her then?" Gordon straightened up as he made the query.

"Well... no," Scott admitted. Something was wrong, he did not often make assumptions like this and now was no time to start, "but I think Princess Hilda will have me. Don't you?"

"Yes, she is quite taken with you," Gordon murmured, slumping back into his former position.

Scott smiled again, following his gaze westward towards Fynn. Yes, with time all things would resolve. Darkness loomed on the horizon, but life was yet here to be had. When war approached, they would be ready. For now though, they would trust in the peace that their parents had inherited, the peace that had existed for years.

A peace that they hoped would last forever.

Chapter 1: Defense of the Wild Rose

About one year prior...

"We will need it eventually," Imross Conlat said firmly, "No matter how permanent this peace seems we must remember that true peace can never actually exist until the return of the Savior."

The King of Fynn's patience was wearing thin, that much was evident in his stare. What Imross could not tell was whether or not the man would relent or simply have him branded a traitor to the throne and be done with it.

The King was usually a fair man, but in these times one could never be too sure of anything. Dark shadows were lurking about the borders and nobody was being open enough with each other to make an effort to stop it. Imross was not a man blessed with patience for such matters; although he loved his country, he saw little enough need for the delicate political maneuverings everyone was insisting upon. He liked things to be plain and simple, problems solved outright rather than endlessly manipulated from the shadows. Of course, a small, specialized, and covert team had its place in a conflict; but even that was more forthright than all the treaties and parleys that everyone was carefully observing and Palamecia seemed determined to circumvent.

"So, you suggest that we resurrect the order of the White Knights as a counter measure to possible offensives from our neighboring Kingdoms?" The King asked, putting into plain terms what Imross had carefully tried to make elaborate and formal as seemed most acceptable to royal taste. Not that it offended him to have it reduced, he preferred it in solid form. "A measure which could be taken as a threat to the other countries and thus provoke a war."

"War will come one way or another, we might as well be prepared for it."

The King sighed, "But it seems a self-fulfilling prophesy, Sir Conlat. In preparing for war, we would be inviting it."

Imross could have pointed out that if all the countries were not so closed to each other, such suspicions could be easily dispelled, but pressing that point would only weary the King's good favor further. "It will be done in secret then," Imross said, attempting to put more pleading into his voice in order to cover the exasperation, "A group smaller than the White Knights but just as highly trained. An elite detachment made up of members no one would suspect. With such a force we could conduct an investigation into what Palamecia is doing as well as monitor Deist. With Kashuan's aid, we could likely provide them with Chocobos for quick response and enhanced mobility."

"Do you think Kashuan would approve?"

"Prince Scott would, he seems to have a good head on his shoulders," or so Imross hoped, "with such close proximity to Palamecia I would think that they would understand our worries best of all."

"Let us suppose that this strategy succeeds," the King stated, "do such people exist that could carry it out? Your expectations seem somewhat difficult to meet."

Imross smiled, finally some headway, "I've made a list of candidates, your majesty; constructed after a few weeks of observing citizens throughout our kingdom. I have it right here, if it should please you to look over my selections."

The King reluctantly received the offered roster and began scanning the information collected. Almost immediately his dark brows lowered in bafflement, "This boy you are suggesting is only seventeen, Sir Conlat."

"Younger have served in matters less dire, your majesty."

The King fixed him with a distrustful stare and continued on down the list grumbling his sentiments occasionally. "This man Paul, he could be the reason for conflict in and of himself."

"He may be an international thief, but it is such skill that will serve us best when turned to our cause."

"And it is such questionability of character that I so fervently disagree with," the King pointed out, "can you imagine what our own people would think to find out that the most sensitive matters in their country are being handled by a burglar? Not to mention what the other kingdoms would do were they to find out?"

"To be quite frank, your majesty, I do not believe the other kingdoms to be aware enough of what goes on outside their borders as it is, it is because we bear such loose ties that we need this measure in the first place," Imross would probably regret that one later but it somewhat needed to be said, "beside the point is that he already has been in and out of nearly every place we would be sending him. For all they know, he is still on personal exploits; so long as he carries no incriminating evidence linking him to the crown."

Apparently, this was answer enough for the King, who moved on to another subject, "You have twelve names listed, hardly enough for even a small vanguard. The White Knights had an order nearly three times this amount on its wane. Do you truly believe them to be enough?"

"Your majesty, I have noted each of these names due to large amounts of talent. Not only will they be avoiding direct conflicts with enemy armies by the very nature of their work, but I estimate each one will be able to dispatch six to eight fiends in a pack with proper training. I simply require your blessing to carry out this plan and protect our kingdom."

The King chuckled dryly, though perhaps it was more to cover his weariness,"you are already working in the dark, Sir Conlat, why should my blessing make any difference?"

"Because you are the authority I have chosen to answer to, your majesty. The authority of the Wild Rose," Imross answered without hesitance. In his view, this is what set him apart; while others went to any length to protect what they held dear, Imross saw that there could be a price for going too far. If one overstepped their own authority they had not only broken down important mental barriers but also had created a greater burden for those responsible. He did not want anyone to have to clean up after his mistakes, that was why he played within the ruleset; but exploiting the loopholes was not beyond his grasp. To protect the Wild Rose, the banner of Fynn, he would go to great pains, but never insubordination and treason.

"Well said, Sir Conlat," the King replied, once again locking his stare on Imross' eyes,"I see your concerns clearly, roses often do require thorns to protect them. But we still must not agitate the situation unnecessarily. I shall require weekly examinations to ensure the purity of this project. If I feel things are getting out of hand, you must stop immediately. These are dangerous lines you play along."

Imross gave a grim smile, he had succeeded, "Not as dangerous as a future without them, sire. I shall not disappoint you."

"I dare hope you shan't, Sir Conlat. Dismissed."

Imross bowed and turned to leave the chamber, his eyes set on the door emblazoned with a rose. A rose soon to gain thorns...

The symbol of Fynn broke in two as the doors parted to permit entrance to Mindu, white mage of the King's court. Imross had little enough love for mystic beliefs and the fact that the King relied upon Mindu's predictions so heavily irritated him to no end. Were it up to him, Mysidian belief would be banned from the kingdom on charges of misleading the people and perpetrating the arcane arts that were best left out of the hands of man. No one seemed to recall the tales of Duemion and Phrykos any more.

"Good day, Sir Conlat," Mindu addressed him cooly as he passed by. Always polite, yet ever disapproving; Mindu held little regard of Imross' policies, particularly on foreign matters.

"Good day, Mindu," Imross said briskly, moving out of the room at an increased pace. He had work to do and not even the infuriating mannerisms of the Mysidian mage were going to get to him now. Finally a means not only to protect Fynn, but to break the silence from the Palamecian border.

Imross was aware that he was getting ahead of himself, but the potential he had seen in the prospective recruits would have no trouble catching up. Closing the door to the throne room behind him, he proceeded down the castle towards the royal stables. Roth Senfire, his first lieutenant, was waiting in the saddle, flanked by two other knights.

"So you got approved now, did you?" Roth grinned, good natured as ever.

"Yes," Imross confirmed, a faint smile of his own forming on the word he had fought so hard to be able to utter, "we have permission to recruit and train. You already have the letters of notification?"

Roth nodded, patting his satchel, "As do my men."

"Then ride out. Be ready to buy extra chocobos for the recruits, and be back within a fortnight. We've no time to waste, and neither does the rest of the world."

Firion of Fynn was a boy born to poor parents in the winter months in the town of Salamand. Early in his life, they had moved to Fynn and set up shop as hunters and lived well for a time. They acted together, giving the boy an appreciation for teamwork. But then the reports came in, reports of monsters no man of their generation had fought before: fiends of the Jade Passage. Firion's parents had been commissioned then to scout the coming storm, thus they left Firion in the hands of some family friends and set out on their most dire mission. The only thing seen of them ever again was their twin blades, sunk into the carcass of a large beast near Mysidia.

From that day forth, Firion had practiced tirelessly with weapons; finding the strengths and advantages to each in hopes that someday he would avenge the deaths of his parents and destroy the monsters of the Jade Passage that haunted the land.

The family that raised him had two children that acted as his companions and kept his heart from growing cold to the world. Both were intrigued by his family trade, though the elder child, Leon, was innately more adept as a sparring partner.

Leon was a specialist from the start. He did not do an extensive number of tasks, but what he did he did well. While Firion experimented and fine-tuned the workings of every weapon type, Leon grew ever more proficient with the long reach of a spear and the versatility of a sword. "You've only got two hands with which to wield," he had told Firion once, trying to make a point of practicality.

Maria, Leon's younger sister, was best described as well rooted. She preferred things that did not escape her understanding or control and tended toward the use of a bow due to the distance that it provided, and thus time to think.

When Firion was nine, another boy came into the household. While hunting for food in the forest outside Fynn, Firion and Leon had discovered an odd and silent child about their age all alone in the woods. Leon's parents took the boy in and named him Guy, mostly in that it was simple to pronounce. Apparently, he was also orphaned and had survived being raised by beasts. Although Firion doubted this story, he was still quick friends with Guy, whose muscular physique allowed him much superiority with either his bare hands or an axe, which relied on brute force rather than expertise of movement. Together, they formed a friendship based on mutual trust and respect rather than words.

Thus, for the past eight and a half years had Firion grown and trained in the company of his friends. Gradually, his desire to slay the beast out of vengeance faded into a desire to protect others and cultivate a future in which his trade was unnecessary. He yearned for a true peace. That was why he still fought. And it was due to this nature, in part, that he was able to take on the task given to him now.

"I've been summoned." He repeated again to his adoptive father, showing him the letter, "Leon and Guy too. They say that we are to replace the order of the White Knights and protect Fynn."

"Do you really want this, Firion? Are you really ready to do whatever they ask you to?" his adoptive father would not give up suspicions about the true intent of the order. Firion could somewhat understand the man's reluctance but over all it seemed only logical to answer the call. If danger was out there, he wanted to take it down; just as his true parents had...

"It is my duty to the crown and to the people," Firion said. Although his adoptive parents had always been avid supporters of independent thought and action, he hoped that this social appeal would hit home somewhere. If he told them he was just out to have a chance testing his combat skill they would never allow it. "If danger is to threaten our borders, I want to be able to protect what is important to me." That part was entirely true, and hopefully would not dissuade their support.

"I'm with Firion on that note," Leon said, entering the room with a pack on his back, "anything worse than the local trolls makes me think professional backing may not be such a bad idea."

"But have you considered that this isn't going to be just some romp through the back woods funded by the crown?" their father was quite exasperated at this point, Firion feared they may have pushed too far, "you don't know if you'll be ordered to kill, steal, or completely annihilate an entire country all because the crown deems it to be correct!"

"I'll make you a promise then," Leon said calmly, "the moment I find one thing wrong with this, I will take Firion and Guy and desert the whole business."

"By then you'll be too far in. There'll be no going back."

"What if another Kingdom attacks, or the fiends return?" Firion sighed, tiring of the argument as well, "we won't be able to undo the past then either. At least this way we will be equipped with the skills necessary to stop the advance of evil whether it is abroad or within our own borders."

"Well go then," his adoptive father said, though his tone sounded more begrudging than anything else, "go and follow the legacy left by your true parents. But pray do not meet the same fate as they did."

"Are Guy and I allowed to join as well then?" Leon pressed further. Although Firion did not like the more aggressive approach of his adoptive brother, he had come to expect it; Leon sought his goals with single-minded determination.

"Are you willing to risk everything for this venture?"

Leon smirked, "someone's got to look after Firion, and I'll wager it'll take the both of us to get him out of whatever trouble he sticks his nose into."

"Do you really think that was wise?" Firion asked swinging his pack over his shoulder as they left the Fynn sundries shop. It was a light load as the castle was only a short trip from the town.

"Well it worked, didn't it?" Leon said, his tone fairly neutral as he stuffed a spare tent into the back of his knapsack.

Guy grunted as he followed his brothers out onto the empty streets. He was content to let them lead most of the time but this matter was a little confusing. It was not that he had not dealt with them quarreling before, it was more that he had not dealt with any tension between them and the rest of the family. Guy wasn't sure if leaving now meant they were leaving forever or if the bonds would heal. He could only be certain that their adoptive father was not happy with their decision. If only he knew what the decision was in its entirety...

Guy could not read, so the presentation of the letter from the knight had little impact on him. Firion and Leon had been quick to convey the contents, however, but only to the extent that they were wanted at the castle. It had only been downhill from there.

"Why father angry?" Guy asked, his speech somewhat limited despite his years in human society. He only spoke around his family most of the time, not ever in the mood to be ridiculed for his perceived lack of intelligence.

"We'll tell you later," Leon assured him, taking the lead and setting a pace that would soon leave the town behind. "He won't be that way forever. He's just, well..."

"He doesn't like things that are difficult to discern, he feels that we aren't being told the whole story," Firion attempted to explain.

"Guy sympathize." It was difficult not to put it pointedly...

"... I see."

Hopefully Firion had not taken that too hard. He was a sincere person and tended to take a lot of things to heart. To a degree that was perfect for Guy, who needed to be able to communicate at the base level most of the time, not adept enough in conversation to successfully hint and veil as most did.

"Hello my dear fellows! Off to the castle are you?" a sandy haired man with a blue cape interrupted Guy's musings as he caught Firion and Guy by the shoulders, assuming their pace, "I've a bit of business there myself, mind if we travel together?"

"And who might you be?" Leon asked, not breaking stride. Perhaps he would tell the man they were not interested. Guy somewhat hoped so, though he had a terrible feeling that regardless they would end up spending much time with this stranger.

"Me? Why I'm Paul! The world's greatest thief! They've not invented a safe or vault yet that I can't crack into!"

A thief? Firion and Guy exchanged a look. Guy cocked his head to the side, a gesture which had long meant "shall we take it together?" Firion replied with a meaningful nod and shrugged off Paul's grip before spinning around and grabbing the thief's right forearm and shoulder. Guy mirrored the movement before pushing the unlucky burglar off his feet and onto the ground, pinning him down.

"Hey now! What's all this about?" Paul wheezed, trying to get air back into his lungs as he feebly struggled in their grip.

"We don't have dealings with thieves," Firion informed him. Guy nodded grimly, fixing Paul with his squint, "such would not be proper conduct for those about to enter the service of his majesty."

Paul suppressed a chuckle, Guy helped that along with a little pressure to his forearm. "Is that so, huh? Agents under the command of his majesty? You look a little young for the army."

Guy followed Firions shifting gaze back to Leon, wondering if they should reveal their whole mission. Leon smiled and turned to face the man, "We aren't going for the army, we're going for another order being formed to protect Fynn from all forms of malice. We're going to become the thorns that protect the Wild Rose."

"Ah! The Thorn's Edge?" Paul exclaimed, regaining a smile, "well then, if you'd kindly let me up I'll see you when you get there. After all, that is my reason for paying a visit to the castle as well!"

Firion must have lost his grip because Paul then utilized the mobility of his right side to fling himself against Guy, giving him a split second's worth of relief that allowed him to wriggle free and tackle Leon. However, Firion was back on his feet by then and got a hold of the thief by his cape. Subsequently, Paul abandoned his cape and the three were left glaring at his tracks.

"You think that's what father didn't like about this whole thing?" Firion asked Leon, picking up his fallen pack.

Leon sighed, "well, we can't exactly take him at his word. Maybe he really isn't a part of all of this."

True... his occupation alone did not speak of honesty. Guy silently hoped that either Leon was right, or that he would get to impose some sense upon him when it turned out otherwise. Sadly, he acknowledged that there was small chance of either scenario.

"We might as well keep moving," Leon stated, "let's find out what this whole business is about."

Reluctantly, Guy and Firion followed.