AN EARTHLING'S GUIDE
Tip 1: Cold = Danger
The Coldest places on Gaea are also some of the most dangerous. Though standing still in the Northern Crater can kill you in seconds, moving isn't that much better. The North is filled with high-level monsters due to a lack of civilization to cull them. Then there's the Nibel Mountains, not only cold, but highly treacherous, if you aren't very strong, or very fast, you'll wind up a meal for a Dragon.
Pg. 5, "The Survivalist"
Right back here. I reached up and turned on the panel light dangling overhead and then crouched at the corner of the desk. Even with the additional lighting, it was still a little too dim in the corner; I pushed my chalkboard a few inches and grinned as I laid eyes on the barrel.
A good fifty years old, minimum, it was painted black, and I knew there was a floral pattern painted on one side. It was only maybe two feet tall, and I was pretty sure it had been used by my great-grandmother Mary for yarn. The lid was icy under my fingers, and came off easily, no longer a perfect fit.
I tipped it over, looking inside, and saw light reflecting off the golden lettering and seal of the paperback dictionary I'd place there the previous fall. My fingers ghosted over the paper edges, then touched cold, hard plastic.
I found it!
Releasing a low squeak of delight, I quickly pulled out the case to bring it under the light, my anticipation rising as my eyes fell on the image I expected. A SOLDIER standing before the walls of Midgar, Buster Sword in hand . . . my Original Copy of Crisis Core.
I remembered spending half my Christmas cash on it the year it came out. I didn't own a PSP, but I'd known I'd wanted it since I'd first caught a glimpse of a commercial the previous spring. Some might have considered it a dumb buy, as I could've waited and got it for cheaper once I actually got a PSP, but I hadn't wanted to spend the time hunting for it later.
It had sat, plastic-wrapped with the receipt, in a cooler I used for storage for eleven months. Then, on my 19th birthday, I unwrapped the Guidebook, and my next present was revealed to be the 1000 model PSP, fondly known as the Brick. Needless to say, my first act after thanking my parents was to go upstairs, find the game, and set the System to charge.
Only a few months ago, I'd accidentally left my second copy – purchased when the first had been misplaced in the move – at a friend's house and had yet to set up a rendezvous to get it back. Only the other night had it occurred to me that my original copy was possibly still in the barrel, where I'd placed it for safekeeping after it'd been found.
The plastic was icy under my fingers, chilled completely through from the March weather. I opened the case, and grinned further at the sight of the UMD resting inside. Yes! Finally! I can play it again.
Snapping it shut, I stood and turned off the secondary light, holding the game to my chest before turning to head upstairs. My bare feet were starting to chill from the cold cement beneath them . . .
Cold.
I shivered, a wash of cold running through me, for a moment, I could've sworn I felt a winter breeze. Shaking it off, I took a few brisk steps towards the far side of the basement. I needed to share the good news with Calli, then I'd try to write, and play the game before bed.
Cold.
I stilled almost immediately at the sensation of rough stone under my feet. I had to glance down to confirm I was still standing on the flat cement.
I could feel the hair on the back of my neck rise as I glanced about. Everything looked normal . . . my fingers tightened about Crisis Core. 'Looks can be deceiving.' the paranoid phrase rose to the surface of my mind.
Crisis Core was like ice under my touch.
Cold.
Crisis Core shattered in my fingers, shards of cold pain digging through fabric and into flesh.
I shrieked.
The world darkened and went . . .
Cold.
I'm usually pretty good with pain. I stopped throwing tantrums and other useless reactions when I was little. I cut open my finger with a pocket knife when I was seven. I didn't cry, though I think I yelped, because soon enough Mom had wrapped my hand in a dish towel and we were driving to the hospital. I remember watching in curiosity as the skin was stitched together.
I don't moan and groan when I'm sick with a nasty fever.
I don't speak up when I have a headache.
I don't cry when I cut myself with a knife.
I keep my head on straight and assess the damage, then treat it if necessary.
Nerve pain, though, that still gets me.
My tremors were half from the cold and half from the pain. I didn't doubt I was in some form of shock. It wasn't like I was a hardened warrior trained to react in shocking situations. And I was pretty sure that having a game case explode in my hands and my basement transform into a mountain top could be considered a shocking situation.
I could feel the bite of the rough stone in my knees through the thick denim of my jeans. I could feel the harsh night air on my face and neck. I could feel the pain of infinitesimal crystal shards imbedded in my flesh like a million shards of ice. I could feel blood trickling down my chin, down my chest, down my arms.
It hurt like hell.
I fought back the urge to vomit along with the urge to cry. Pressing my good hand to my mouth, I concentrated on the cold in order to steady myself. Breathe in. Breathe out. Still shaky, I lowered my hand and touched the pinpricks on the left side of my face. Oddly enough, I couldn't feel anything under my fingers, just the warm slickness of blood. Pulling my fingers away, I saw the red I expected, but far less than I thought. A glance down revealed that though the fabric was dark and damp with blood, it hadn't noticeably torn it.
Shakily, I got to my feet, glancing about my surroundings for my bearings. Reaching out to my side where there should have been a bookshelf, I met with no resistance. The terrain about me was dark with night. The glow of stars and a waxing crescent moon illuminated an alarming landscape of dark spires in every direction.
Listening, I couldn't hear the sounds of a city, or any civilization for that matter. Neither could I see that faint localized luminescence on the horizon that would speak of a city. The only sound that met my ears was the whispers and whistles of the wind.
I shivered.
Part of me wished I had finally cracked and was now hallucinating. A really damn detailed hallucination. I knew I wasn't though, hallucinations have the same quality as dreams right? My dreams were few and far between, but . . . not once in my memory had I mistaken a dream for reality.
This was real.
"Shit."
After a good string of swears in four different languages, I'd gathered myself together and done a more physical sweep of my surroundings. I'd found what seemed to be a footpath only a few meters from where I'd appeared, and set along it at a even pace; slow enough to maintain my energy, but fast enough to build up a bit of heat to fend off the chill in the air.
I was immensely glad of the lack of cloud cover, both for the night light it left me, and the fact that I really didn't want to deal with snow. It was bad enough that I was padding along the mountain path and risking frostbite or injury to my bare feet. Snow would just make the chance of frostbite rise exponentially.
Then I'd seen my first dragon.
Dragons are awesome, you know? The idea of a giant lizard that can fly and hoards treasure and breathes fire or acid or ice had always seemed purely magnificent. The idea of something holding that much power inside it . . .
Of course, dragons don't seem quite so awesome when you're running full tilt along a mountain path in the dark with one tearing down right behind you.
Then I ran off a cliff.
That was stupid.
In my defense, I didn't literally run off it, I slowed to a lope and twisted with the intent of climbing down, but misjudged my speed and traction. Needless to say, I slipped over the edge.
Scrambling for purchase as I fell through the air, my hands connected and grasped something protruding from the side of the cliff. My body jerked to a stop.
Crack.
"Shiiiit!" I hissed out as I was falling again.
And then I stopped again. This time it was a bit more painful, my body slamming into a ledge with a force that made my bones ache. Seeing a small opening, far too small for the dragon to enter, I rolled and scrambled inside. Deeper and deeper into the darkness I moved until I found the back of the alcove. Exhausted, and in pain twice over, I stilled as the sound of the dragon's roar reached my ears.
The air burned as the dragon threw fire into the darkness, and my world lit up, just for a moment. Red and orange and yellow filled my vision. Then they were replaced by blue and green and white . . .
. . . why am I still alive?
I was still cold, still in pain, my hand still clenched about the object that had slowed my fall with a death-tight grip. But the cold wall of the cavern alcove was no longer pressed against my back, instead I felt the familiar bite of tree bark. Casting about with both ears and eyes, I found I could see the stars overhead, and draconic snarls and growls of hunger and rage were replaced with the sounds of crickets and wind rustling tree branches.
I inched to my feet, making one last wary sweep with my eyes to make sure there wasn't another dragon or some other beast about to take off my head in a single bite. A weight in my hand reminded me of what I snatched, and I lifted it off the ground to get a better look under the light of the stars.
A sword. I gaped slightly, eyes running over the dark edge. There was something familiar about the shape, how it widened like a wedge into a broad rounded tip. It was lighter than I expected, and even more surprising, it seemed to be balanced properly to my novice's eye. At a guess, I would assume the core of the grip was made of a heavier material, and that the narrow pommel was made of the heaviest material of all to compensate for the weight of the blade.
Even though it was lighter than it appeared, it was still heavier than I knew I could manage in my current state. Shaking my head, I carefully swung it up onto my shoulder so that my body could take more of the weight. I turned my attention to the only notable landmark.
A great spire towered into the air, smooth and narrow, it seemed more like something made by human hands than the work of shifting tectonic plates and the sands of time. It was slow going, the burn of abused muscles slowing my normal brisk amble to a tired saunter. I counted the seconds, the minutes, listening warily to my surroundings.
Fifteen minutes, thirty-seven seconds, and two panic attacks later . . .
I stared at the wooden gate in a combination of relief and incredulity. Nearly twenty feet tall, the upper edge of both wall and gate was adorned by a line of wicked looking metal spikes. Too smooth to climb anyway. Before I could become too perturbed by the obvious closed state of the gate, I heard voices on the other side and it started to creak open.
"Hey! You alright there?"
People. Speaking English. I released a sigh of utter relief but couldn't quite bring myself to shout back, waving with my free hand at the lantern-bearing figure standing in the meter-wide opening. As I neared, I saw the man wasn't much older than I was, only in his mid-twenties, his pale eyes wide in disbelief as he looked over my body.
"Minerva, you've been through the ringer, lady." He shook his head and gestured me inside, pulling the gate shut and lowering a thick brace to lock it in place. "Oi! I'm walking her over to the Inn, be back as soon as she's settled in."
"I don't have any money on me." I protested quietly, fingers tightening around my new weapon as paranoia rose again. He seemed like a kind man . . .
He brushed off my words, "My cousin's the owner, and it's not like she has any paying customers tonight anyway. You can work out a deal with her in the morning."
I followed him in silence, concentrating on my footsteps and not dropping the sword that was becoming a growing weight on my shoulder. He led me across the dirt street through a sturdy set of doors, through a foyer, and into a kitchen. Hitting a switch on the wall, the room filled with light even as he shut off the lantern.
"Okay, I guess that wasn't dirt." I snapped my gaze back to his to find his blue eyes wide as they trailed from my face to my shirt. "Is that your blood."
"Yes." Glancing down self-consciously, I lowered the sword from my shoulder and rested it against the tiled floor. In the fresh light, it was blatantly apparent that my shirt was darkened, the blood now dry and crusty and turned the maroon fabric black. "I'm fine. Just tired."
"You sure you're okay? I mean . . ." he frowned, then shook his head. "I suppose if you're tough enough to cross the Nibel Range by yourself, you're tough enough to know your limits. I'll go find you a room key."
I didn't even notice him walk past me again, too lost in realization.
Nibel Range? Dragons? Inns?
I glanced down at the sword in my hand, lifting it once more into the air to examine it under the new light. It was a bit rusty, but I could make out the runes engraved down it's length, the four evenly spaced slots on the round hilt. It had been one of my favorite swords . . . Rune Blade.
Dear God, no, Dear Minerva, I'm . . . I'm on Gaea. Those were the Nibel Mountains! This is . . . that monolith, the ShinRa Rocket, Rocket Town . . . the Rocket's still here, it hasn't been launched yet. Meteorfall hasn't happened yet . . .
"I'm going to die."
Written to – "Do You See Me Now?" by Angtoria. "Lost" by Red
Written – April 8th, 2011
Posted - June 29, 2011
Word Count – 2,565