PROLOGUE: Crumbling Hope
THE FIRELIGHT WAS BEGINNING TO DIE OUT and fade with the bright yellow sunset on the collapsing horizon. The setting sun promised the end of the day's harsh journey, but it also marked the beginning of tomorrow's fierce trials. Their mixed gazes locked onto the glorious painting on the ether, all seven of them unable to express in words the sorrow all their heavy hearts carried.
In one forlorn pile were their highly valued weapons that had inflicted the greatest damage on the worst of their enemies: the Brotherhood—the finest sword of them all, carved out of pure blue crystal—the Hunter's Spear—a powerful spear with both physical and magical properties—the Shimmering Blade—a heavy, but wondrous blade capable of formidable attacks—the Echo Staff—a gold flat sphere on the top that had the supremacy to summon upon magnificent entities to aid them in times of desperate need—and the blitzball—the tiniest of all items with plastic bubbles and bright blue stripes and jagged waves, it had done its worth of destruction with darkness and silence.
The desolation of their surroundings only added to the abandonment felt throughout all the members of the group. The only thing worse than the barrenness of their crumbling and ruined environment was the bleakness of their future.
They all huddled solemnly around a dying fire. Insignificant sparks of light burst from the cooling embers, but nothing lighted their darkened hopes. Finally, the silence becoming too much to bear, he gathered up his strength and stood before his comrades—his constant companions, his fellow guardians, his only family left, his beloved friends. He thought he had something to say, and he did, but not to them.
Slightly hesitant, the once-smiling, still-optimistic, sun-bleached lad walked little by little until he approached the young woman he had come to love in their never-ending quest for the Calm. She was young, naïve somewhat still, only seventeen years under her belt, and yet she had to assume the responsibilities of a wiser, more mature adult and quickly. For the weight of the world rested on her thin shoulders, even more so than they did on his or on anyone else's.
How often had he closed his eyes at night, praying to some godlike being or force, to take the immeasurable burden resting on her soul upon his own? —Too often had he prayed and too little had he received answers to his prayers.
She was still sitting down, like the rest of them were, when he approached her. He stood at her side and even though he did not look directly at her, he could feel her intense eyes looking up at him.
She had vibrant gemstones for eyes; one the color of the emerald grass that once produced life in the form of blossoms and the other the stunning hue of the sky on the clearest, brightest day of summer.
He knew that she would find no solace in words, so he simply placed his hand on her shoulder. It was a gentle touch meant to promise her an eternal bond and nothing less than that. She felt it in her own lively heart what needed to be done, so she nodded her head, closed her sparkling eyes, and reopened them.
He removed his hand and walked away from the group and found a spot on a hill overlooking the ruins of some destroyed city. Unbelievable, he gasped.
Minute light spheres of violet, indigo, and ruby drifted aimlessly above the ruined city, illuminating the small pockets of darkness. Be that as it was, no matter how many spheres of light there were, it would never fully illuminate the shadows that had taken their stronghold over the devastated city he now gawked at.
They were the only light left in the world and it was up to them to eradicate the shadows cloaking the cracked stones and rusted machina.
He stared at this breathtaking sight, somewhat in awe, and somewhat in dread. His heart sunk to the pit of his stomach, knowing what this all meant.
Listen to my story, he beseeched. This . . . may be our last chance.