The last gust of warm air blew in from desert, its current interrupted by a great fan blade twisting lazily as it blew minute grains of sand from an air supply duct. The young man stared out into the seemingly endless expanse of sand. Out there was true freedom. Oh, certainly not freedom from want, but freedom from choices, from responsibilties, from... duties.
Their father was dead, poisoned by political rivals. He had been at his deathbed, heard the last words grated out by a thin, reedy voice that was - only days before - firm and strong. A small, silver coin pressed into the palm of his hand, it was to be the first of thousands, but now lived on only as a father's dying wish. No royal seal behind a king's profile. No, instead there were the faces of the would-be Kings.
He gave a small laugh at the idea. Two kings. His brother would never have agreed to it; the sheer impropriety of the idea would have repelled him. Still, his father hoped, and so long as hope remained, life had meaning.
The would-be king looked at his hands. In one, a two headed dream of a better world, in the other, the silver face of their father, staring resolutely into the future. Fists closing tight against the silver, he hurled one into the shifting sands, knowing that his actions were sealing the fate of not only his life and his brothers, but those of the entire kingdom.
A scrape of leather on stone and the heavy oaken door lifted open as his brother climbed onto the parapet, his breath quickly becoming steam in the rapidly cooling air.
A nod was shared between the two of them and he sighed.
"Alright, remember, if it's heads, you get to go. If it's tails, I go. The other one has to make sure that the kingdom stays together... Are you sure you want to do this?"
His brother simply nodded and stared at the hand that held the coin.
"Well, here goes, then. No regrets."
The silver piece seemed to hang in the air, a man-made star amongst the heavens, its rotation reflecting moonlight onto the parapet stones. It began its descent, and a long-fingered hand snatched it from mid-air. The sound of metal slapping against skin, and - after a moment - feet resounding on stone stairs.
He looked back out over the parapet and nodded to himself. He had made the choice for himself. He knew his brother. If they never again saw each other, at least he would have given true freedom to the one person who cared for him. He sighed as he watched his brother's Chocobo race across the sand. By morning, those tracks would be obliterated and he would be king.
One last glance at the freedom he had given up, and the new king of Figaro made his way downstairs. There was work to be done this night.