BETRAYAL
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This is arelatively short fanfic about Celes' betrayal of the Empire, just prior to the capture of South Figaro. Please note that since Square has not really gone into detail about the circumstances revolving about Celes' betrayal, this piece of work might disturb some who have already speculated and run roughshod over the idea of Celes' change of ideals. Furthermore, while I may have read quite a bit about FF3, I must declare that I am not very well read. If somehow, the story has already been written, I apologize for the monotony and similarity. I thank you for your kind understanding, and enjoy!
DISCLAIMER:
I do not own any content of which I have written below; characters, names of places, items/character design and storyline all property of SquareSoft and related associates. The only original parts from me are simply the writing style.
CHAPTER 1: PROLOGUE
For a moment, the night seemed blissful. The plains of Figaro were renowned for its serenity at night. Unlike the Veldt, the plains of Figaro held lush grasslands, copses of peaceful trees gathered around sparkling, crystal clear rivers. Lakes looked like something out of a fairy tale, undisturbed sanctuaries for those who yearn for harmony out of doors. In the sky, brilliant constellations stared down at the world, their amused twinkling as though mocking the humans at their folly of love and war.
Of love and war.
It was ironic that the phrase seemed to apply directly to Hans. The leather jerkin chafing uncomfortably against his tunic, Hans shifted his scabbard to ease the pressure on his hips. His scout's helmet, a light leather headgear, perched on his head at an angle that would see him whipped if his commanding sergeant was anywhere nearby. Wiping sweat off from his brow, Hans crouched lower still in the small bush he was hiding in. For three days he had been fleeing south, back towards the town, bringing news of a terrible invasion from the direction of Mountain Kolts. His scouting party had been whittled down, one member by member, until he was the only one left. It was he, who had to bring the news back to South Figaro, to rouse the civilian militia for preparations. It was up to him to save his family and his love from becoming subjects of the dread Empire.
For years now, South Figaro had been quietly preparing for war with the biggest nation in the world. News and instructions from Figaro Castle past Mt. Kolts had brought rumors of the Empire's growing ambition to reign supreme over the world. The Empire's might was legendary, its reputation, infamous. Over the past decades of colonial rule, factions of resistance still raged a guerilla war against the oppressive Empire. It was a pity, that the world's biggest tyranny held the best of technology, and the most number of arms. As more and more neutral towns fell to 'persuasion' to join the Empire, Figaro saw its own colonialism looming ahead. And ever since, Figaro, ruled by the young King Edgar, had begun to prepare for the day when it would have to fight for its own independence.
And now, now that the day has come, South Figaro's defenses were arrayed in the wrong direction.
Frigates and cruisers patrolled the coastal town's seas, with militia fighting positions built into individual houses for preparation of an airdrop attack. Lighthouses dotted the coast for miles both north and south, and each acted as a sentry against a sea landing. King Edgar's ingenious blueprints of war tools had manufactured thousands of auto-crossbows, ranged weapons capable of devastating damage, especially in defense, and almost every militia member had one with a stash of bolts in their homes. Houses built from since ten years ago had fortified walls facing the south, ready for house-to-house battle where defenders can hole up in the buildings in a line against enemies. A network of tunnels and underpasses linked important town houses to each other.
All of these defenses were in plain sight, but camouflaged at the same time, the brainchild of King Edgar's committee in Figaro Castle.
And all these defenses were facing the wrong direction.
Of all the possibilities, no one had even considered a land attack from the north. To the north was the immensely majestic Mountain Kolts Range, an almost impassable division of the northern continent. Except for narrow trails and wooden rope bridges, Mt. Kolts had no roads upon which to traverse. But now, an army was calmly climbing down the face of the almost vertical range, resting at niches and corners, making their way inevitably, inexorably towards South Figaro.
Hans blotched his drenched face on his sleeve, his thoughts straying to Amelia. Would he ever see her again? Would he survive the coming war? Would she be safe if South Figaro falls?
NO! South Figaro cannot fall! If he could just make it back, the commander could rally the militia and make arrangements. They would have a backup plan! He must believe...
A shout told him he had been discovered. With an almighty jump, his heart leapt into overdrive mode, pumping adrenalin into his system. The chemical dulled the edge of pain and exhaustion, and Hans jumped, coming down running. He ran as he never had in his life, instinctively running away from the source of the shout... straight into an unsheathed sword. He didn't even feel it slide into his body until the tip grazed, then broke his spinal cord, severing the nerves. Oddly, Hans felt no pain. He didn't feel his body sliding off the blade, didn't feel the jarring impact his limp body made as it crumpled to the ground, didn't feel his life sipping out of his broken body. The only thing he saw was the blonde haired woman standing over him, staring into his eyes.
"Amelia..."