A/N: Hello, all! :D Welcome to my first real Golden Sun two-shot! *feels proud*
I have a sister poem that goes with this, titled, "Living Legends- Poem" within my poem collection, "Golden Sun Poems". If you're interested, please check it out and tell me your opinions on the differences between the two, or whatever it is that you feel like sharing.
This is my first Golden Sun two-shot (as it is now officially such) that is not a crack-fic or a multi-chap (though, technically, with more than one chapter, it might be considered that…). You may read either this or the poem first, if you were wondering; it doesn't matter which. However, whichever you read first will spoil the ending for the other, so if you prefer reading prose, you may want to read this first.
Anyway, please enjoy! (After disclaimer… sigh.)
Disclaimer: I disclaim Golden Sun! I do not own the awesome game! This fanfiction is being written for entertainment purposes only and no money is being made off of it.
EDIT (6/13/13): Revisions were made to the story. It is inherently the same. (Although this means that I have reposted this twice now. Yay for you!) I have simply edited the text for grammar and flow. Many thanks to all my reviewers, especially ThorHammer17 and Rozzlynn. I believe I have fixed this completely this time.
Living Legends
The firelight flickers and dances among the members of the caravan that huddle around it, seeking its warmth and security. These parts of the world are filled with bandits and robbers, the bane of merchants. They hope the light of Mars will drive away those that seek to do them harm, although they can defend themselves if need be. They may not be as powerful as the military-trained adepts, but they can utilize the more basic techniques of their element, or element mixture, as sometimes the case is. The once scarce mental power is now so commonplace that no one remembers the rise of the Golden Sun and the subsequent return of psynergy, except through the tales of their forefathers.
One of the members of the caravan is about to tell such a tale. Several such stories have been passed of ghastly monsters and the relighting of the lighthouses, and it is now the leader of the caravan's turn to add his own in the chilling darkness.
He edges closer to the fire, the light pushing away the shadows from the rough contours lining his face while blackening the remainder of his body and those of his companions. He raises his mug to his lips, takes a deep swig for nerve, and lowers it. He carefully lets all traces of mirth drip away, and his countenance reveals nothing but the solemnity of the dying legend he is about to resurrect.
"The lighthouses were extinguished several thousand years ago," he begins. "We all know about how several brave youths relight them to rekindle the Golden Sun. These are the stories we were spoon-fed when we were children, and they were our guides as we learned to walk. But," he pauses, allowing the full affect of suspense to fall, before saying, "there is one tale that is refrained from being spoken of. One myth, that to speak of it, to breathe the cursed name, is as powerful as a curse upon your ancestors and progeny.
"This is the legend of the demon. This is the legend of the one whom the gods themselves feared, whom the Sun itself once bowed to, before the courageous youth that lit and guarded the Golden Sun slew him and stained the snow of Mt. Aleph with his accursed blood."
He glances around at the captivated faces, which are inching ever so slightly closer, not wanting to miss a word. He takes another drag of beer, and continues:
"The demon was the bastard child of Nereid and Boreas. He was abandoned in the woods of Imil after he was born and left to die, lest their adultery be revealed for the eyes of all the Elysian Realm (1) to see. Unknown to the villagers of the then humble town, he had been cursed by Poseidon, Nereid's father, to reap destruction upon all he met—even the ground he walked upon withered beneath his steps. Plagues and famine swept the village, each season harsher than the next; the healers that had adopted him did not know he was the one that caused it. Imil's inhabitants began falling one by one, and the healers of the village were no exception. Eventually, all that remained of the renowned healers were the sister of the accursed and their grandparents, but even they were fading away. Through her grief and the grieving of the village, they learned the truth, and they banished the cursed incarnate of ice, bading him never to return.
"Abandoned once again by the ones who were his family, he cursed the village and its inhabitants. He vowed to gain the power to rekindle the lighthouses, that he may become the ruler of the world and force them to face him. He vowed to become a god himself—
"He swore that he would capture the Golden Sun."
Murmured gasps ring out among the listeners. The speaker smirks, enjoying the effect of his tale.
The mood is disturbed when a hooded-and-cloaked stranger enters the outer fringes of the camp. Knowing that a lone traveler is an easy target for robbers, the leader beckons for the stranger to join them. The leaders knows that allowing strangers into his camp is dangerous, but he since he does not feel ill intent from the man, he invites him in. The merchant leader has strains of Jupiter within himself; he trusts the heightened awareness that the wind gives him.
One of his traveling companions offers the new man a mug of beer, but the visitor declines. He situates himself on the cold ground, draws his cloak around himself, and looks to the head merchant. When another merchant asks him for his name, the stranger merely shakes his head and gestures to their leader, bidding him silently to continue his story that he had interrupted. The head merchant decides to allow the stranger his privacy until his story is completed.
"As I was saying," the leader of the caravan continues, his voice once again dropping into a mysterious and captivating tone. "A scourge of the village, the man who would become a demon set out for the power to steal the Golden Sun, the heart of Weyard herself. He descended into the dark depths of the underworld, the very pit and castle of Hades, and coerced the King of the Dead to grant him demon-hood and the powers of hell and darkness.
"Transfigured thus bodily into the demon he was, he left Hades, challenged the gods by stealing the lights of the Elements—the Elemental Stars. He dared to trespass on holy ground, and he further tricked the legendary youths into lighting each of the lighthouses for him. Finally, after the ignition of the final beacon, the Mars Lighthouse, the evil incarnate of Mercury raced to the peak of Mt. Aleph, where the Golden Sun would ignite and shine her light upon Weyard once more.
"The one who bathed themself in the igniting light could coerce her might, the might of the Sun, to their will."
Gasps ring out again. The speaker does not pause, pressing onward with increasing force:
"He climbed and he climbed. In the end, he reached the top, just as the lights of all the beacons gathered at the highest pinnacle. He stretched his arms out towards the heavens, calling the might of the Golden Sun to himself—but he was too late."
The speaker falls silent at his concluding words, and the stranger, surprisingly, queries, "Why was he too late?" His voice is smooth and even, and the leader is taken aback for a moment.
The leader leans in, however, slipping back into the tale as he answered, "The Guardian of Weyard stole a portion of the Golden Sun to prevent this very act from occurring. Upon learning of this, the demon howled in anguish at having his immortality stolen. He rampaged, destroying half of Weyard, including Imil, the place of his banishment. He would have killed his adopted sister, too, if not for the youth, whom the Guardian had given a portion of the Golden Sun for this moment. Taking up his mighty Gaia Blade, the youth rammed it through the demon's heart.
"But the demon had become so evil, his heart so filled with the atrocities of darkness, Death itself could not bear to touch him. It, too, abandoned him, left him to an immortality of a half-living body, an undead corpse, rotted but unable to relinquish the tarnished soul it contained. The gods cursed and spited him from their villas in the Elysian Realm, while secretly fearing that he may resurrect himself to his former darkened glory and reap his revenge upon them."
As he says these words, the stranger decides abruptly to leave, despite his apparent entrancement with the story. He rises, and the final words of the legend fade behind him as he walks away.
"They say that the demon still wanders Weyard, searching for the youth who shares the final portion of his power. The demon, Alex…"
The stranger walks away, mulling the legend over in his head. He fingers at the faintly glowing sword hidden in the sheath strapped on his back, chuckling to himself, "The demon, Alex. Who would have guessed…?"
He pulls the hood from his head and allows his cerulean hair to bathe in the moonlight. After holding himself back, he gives himself over to the peals of laughter that have been building in his chest. "Demon, indeed!" he laughs.
His laughter subsides. Alex cannot believe how his history has given him a demonic nature over time, how warped the story was from the truth. While he had hoped initially that his memory would be immortalized along with his intended reign over Weyard, this outcome is not what he had intended. Instead, history calls him a demon, and he has been twice-defeated at the hands of Isaac. The memory still causes his heart to twist hatefully in his chest at the truth of the events.
The fact that the true memory of the deeds—his real history—has been twisted into something beyond recognizable is what confounds him. Should he attempt to fix the twisted fallacies back into truths…?
Alex sighs, turns around, and walks away. He cannot change the turnout of his legend. However, he wonders how they would react, if the "demon" they were sharing the legend of had revealed himself, breathing and living among them.
It is a humorous scenario for him.
Although, Alex considers, a funnier revelation would be if the generations of this era ever discover the current whereabouts of their idolized hero, the true fate of the Earth warrior they so revere, what his face truly looks like behind the golden mask they paint over his side of the story…
Compared the apparent tragedy of his history, the golden tale of his enemy is the true adulteration of fact.
That is the real irony to Alex, and he laughs as disappears into the darkness.
Perhaps it is finally time to twist his history in a direction to his liking…
A/N: (1) Elysian Realm: the realm/dimension in which the gods/goddesses/summons reside. The latter is more in tune with my Golden Sun X Naruto crossover, "A Guardian's Light".
Yep, Alex survived and the Golden Sun granted him such immortality that he's listening to his own legend thousands of years later. Sufficiently wondering what happened to Isaac…? Check out the next chapter, please!
Also, that was not implied Mudshipping toward the end of the legend. He was the only one who could've saved Mia in the tale, and therefore he had to be there if she was going to be saved. Don't kill me, Valeshippers and forum buddies! *dodges shoes* The truth is revealed in the next chapter!
Please R&R and share your thoughts!