~Defying Gravity~

Prologue

"Many years I have waited for a gift like yours to appear." Wicked, "The Wizard and I"

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy XIII. None of its characters belong to me. I make no profit off this work of fiction. The lyrics from "Wicked" belong to its respective artists and the creators of the musical. This story is only to amuse me in my spare time and to hopefully be enjoyed by those who choose to read it.

The ballroom is crowded with hundreds of men and women, all of their faces hidden behind masks. Dresses of all colors flash in the reflecting light above me, laughter and the clinking of glasses the only sounds that can be heard over the hushed conversation. All the prestigious in Cocoon are here, waiting for something. I look down at myself, seeing fine white silk with the faintest strands of color shot throughout the bodice. I am the only one here that isn't wearing a mask, but somehow no one else notices. Passing men smile at me, their masks hiding their eyes.

"Rayne! Come here, child."

The world becomes blurred. It is very cold here, but somehow the gun in my hands is even colder. Voices shouting at me fill my ears. Some are filled with shock, others are encouraging, but I don't know what they want from me.

"Rayne." I blink and the ballroom is back in view. Mother's face is merely inches from my own, her mask hiding her impatience. Only her tone tells me that I've messed up again. "We can't keep him waiting." She grips my wrist, pulling me through the throngs that somehow melt away, avoiding us. When I look back they're all in the same position, as if we hadn't passed them at all. Can't keep who waiting? I want to ask, but when I open my mouth my voice doesn't obey me. Every person in the room flows from their position and shifts back like water, slowly revealing the person standing at the highest point in the room.

I'm back in that cold place. There are people standing a few feet away from me, their bodies blurred and strange. I see blonde hair on one, pinkish-red on another, and the rest of them are shapeless and smeared, as though someone's taken their hand across a painting and swept it away. The gun in my hand is surprisingly light; it's like lifting a feather as I raise it, pointing it at the blonde.

Music jars me out of that place, bringing me back to the ballroom so fast that dizziness swamps me. Violins and flutes create a simple but elegant waltz, and almost instantly everyone is dancing. All of the masks whirl together in a mix of butterflies, foxes, wolves, and other creatures. The eye holes of each mask are completely black, as though there aren't any faces behind them.

"He asked for you personally," Mother mutters, her grip like iron around my wrist. "Why, I can't imagine, but it's a great honor. Remember that." The remark stings, but I can't respond. My chest feels too tight, my heart hammering against my ribs. I want to go home, I think, but my feet won't obey me. I can't stop myself from following my mother's footsteps, right until we reach a large stairway. "Go on. I'll see you later." With that she vanishes into the crowd, completely out of sight.

I take the first step, then another. As I near the top my palms start to sweat, my mouth as dry as sand. I want to run as fast as I can in the opposite direction. Instead, my feet continue to move, as though I am a mere puppet being led along, forced to obey my invisible puppeteer's demands. When I reach the top of the stairs I see him. I curtsy quickly, nearly shocked to stillness.

"Primarch," I say, managing to spit the word out. Galenth Dysley, the leader of Sanctum. I've never seen him face to face before. He is considerably older than most citizens of Cocoon, yet holds himself with the grace of a man more than half his age. The robes covering him are rich in color and design, no doubt sparking the envy of everyone in the room. He rarely comes out in public, especially such an insignificant gathering like this. Why does he want to see me?

"Rayne K'adaell." His voice is surprisingly strong for such an old man. "I've long awaited your presence, dear child." He doesn't give me an opportunity to speak, turning his back to me. "Come. We must talk, you and I." What I failed to notice before is a door, which opens smoothly at the primarch's approach. The moment I pass through it I am thrust into the other world. The figures around me are becoming more prominent, some becoming people I recognize.

"Rayne, you can't do this! Even if he is the fal'Cie who marked you, you're still in charge of your destiny!"

The room the primarch leads me into is fairly small. Near the back is a straight-backed chair, made for seeing and not for comfort. Despite this he sits down, movement coming from the top of it. A greyish-white owl cocks it head at me before fluttering down to the primarch's shoulder. Menrva, I remember faintly. The primarch's familiar is beautiful, yet there is a cold, clinical detachment about the creature. Distracted by the glassy surface of its eyes, I glance about the room again. I don't see any of Galenth's escort or the guards that are usually at his side.

"Do you know why I've called you here, child?"

"Rayne, why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't know," I hear myself whisper in my mind in response to this silent question. I shake my head slightly, bringing my attention back to the primarch. "No, sir."

"I thought not." He smiles, but there's something dark in that smile. Something sinister and not unlike scorn. "Despite your beginnings, you've made quite a name for yourself. Assistant to the director of Homeguard is no easy feat to accomplish. Your colleagues praise you quite highly." They wouldn't if they knew how much backing Father's putting into my placement there, I thought sourly. "But despite this I see you are not satisfied. You intrigued me. That was when I knew."

"Sir?"

"Do you think I cannot see into your heart, Rayne?" He rises, smirking as I take a step back in response. "You think I cannot predict your every thought, every move you make?"

"I think I'm going to go now, sir," I say, disturbed. My head suddenly erupts into pain, throwing me back into that other place. My hands are shaking so hard, but somehow the hand that holds the gun is steady. The primarch's voice is behind me, urging me to pull the trigger. You are my slayer, his voice booms in my head. Back in reality I turn around, gasping, unable to comprehend how he could be standing there when he had been across the room from me a second before.

"I think not," he says, haughty amusement filling his voice. "I have waited far too long for this moment. You won't run away now, little Rayne." I backed up, yelping as pain stabs into my back, throwing me forward at his feet. I crane my head over my shoulder, seeing the owl's talons piercing through my dress and into my flesh. The bird is three times its normal size, its wingspan twice the length of my body. It screeches at me, digging its claws in further. The agony flares, and I can't quite bite back a scream. I feel Galenth's hands touch my back, exactly where my shoulder blades are.

"Let go!" I wrench myself back. The owl launches into the air, shrieking at me as I drag myself back. "Whatever joke you're playing, it's not funny!"

"A joke?" He questions, all amusement gone. "You think to be chosen for this a joke?" He's gone in the blink of an eye. "You are the beginning." I whirl around at the sound of his voice, but he isn't at my back either. I sprint towards the door. I don't care what Mother or Father say, I'm getting the hell out. A shield jumps up, barring my path. I slam into it, feeling as though all my organs have lurched forward. Shaking off the dizziness, I slammed my fists against the shield, wanting out. A part of me knows it's pointless, only the most powerful of weapons can break through shields, but panic has a way of trying to make the impossible happen. "You are a true seed of destruction."

My body freezes as my mind shows me the other place, the vision so hazy and confusing that I can barely see anything. Only the outlines of people, and their voices have become mere noise, nothing comprehendible. I know they're screaming at me, begging, but for what I can't tell.

"It will be you who vanquishes my enemies." Galenth's voice is directly at my ear, his hands again on my shoulders. His thumbs are touching my shoulder blades, his nails gouging into the wounds his owl made. I grit my teeth, screaming as loud as I can. Surely someone could hear me, even through the thick door and over the music? "My will becomes yours." He laughs, the pain along my back growing. Spots form in front of my eyes, and the sound of a gunshot momentarily drowns out all other sound.

Then I see the first figure fall. Another shot, and another collapses, their hands at their chest. More shots, more figures dying. I'm the one killing them. I don't know these people, but the truth's horrifying enough on its own.

"My little pawn," the primarch says, a macabre gentleness in his voice as unbearable pain spikes through my skin, feeling as though my heart has been punctured. "It is you who will bring the opening of the door. The Maker shall rise again!"

Just before the pain takes over completely, I see the last standing figure in full. Her face, her hair, is almost exactly the same of another girl I know. My finger clenches, the gun bangs out one last shot, and her body convulses. She chokes out a breath, a thin trickle of blood sliding down the corner of her mouth. Red stains her hands as she presses them to her heart. She opens her mouth, her lips forming a word. She has no breath, but I know what she tries to say as she falls.

Why?

The last thing I always see, just before I wake up with a scream in my throat, is me, bleeding black tears yet smiling the entire time as my body becomes surrounded by crystal.