Author's Note: Hello one and hello all! Welcome to the first installment of Unwarranted Meddling, my second fan-fiction story ever! Do I hear cheers? Yes? No? Maybe? Well, I guess I'll hear your cheers (or boos, but please, none of those, unless you're specific as to why) when you review.

Oh yeah, and I don't own any game/story/creation of Final Fantasy. I just like messing around with them.

Warning: Quite a few game/storyline spoilers; read at your own risk.

In-game events and times are to the best of my knowledge and the knowledge of my sources. If I'm wrong on any details, kindly let me know, and I'll change it. Oh, yeah, and this story is practically filled with original characters. But enough of that; on with the story!

It Begins With Loyalty

Not a game, but a reality

Not yet reality, but a prophecy

Will it come true, as foretold?

That, my child, is for you to decide…

Year: 704 O.V.

Location: The Nalbina Fortress

Other important details: There seems to be a battle going on here. Hmm, not too sure what that's all about. Uh-oh, was that an explosion?! I'd better get out of here. And these people should KNOW not to ride chocobos on castle battlements, especially with swords and archery equipment! Someone could fall, or worse, get an arrow in their shoulder….

Tiyrin really didn't know what he was doing. Scratch that – he knew exactly what he was doing; being stupid, that's what! At only 13 ½ years old, there was no way that he'd be allowed to join the Dalmascan armed forces, or even volunteer. No; he had to just sit at home with his family and pray (but who'd be listening?) that everything would be alright, that Arcadia couldn't take the fortress. That Dalmasca would stand its ground.

Yeah…no. He wasn't taking that chance – was not going to just sit around watching how things played out. Not to mention, Nabradia's own Prince Rasler was there.

After the destruction of Nabudis (and practically the rest of the country), Tiyrin and his family had found themselves to be part of the few survivors that had been miraculously spared. Miraculous because, at the time, Tiyrin's family hadn't been more than a few miles from the capital city. Maybe believing in gods did have some credit after all…

But there were plenty who had not survived. His uncle, his cousins…many of his best friends who he could never play with again. In less than an instant, so many people just…gone. And then there was that girl he'd been starting to…. Tiyrin shook his head. No, he mustn't think about that, must not let himself start crying; no, not now, not here. Tiyrin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the image of the aftermath, of the horror he'd felt after his parents had explained to him what had happened. Even then, though, he wasn't sure he wanted to understand.

Tiyrin and his family, along with some other survivors, had left the country as quickly as they could. They'd settled down just inside the Dalmascan border. Others, however, had gone to Rozzaria, for whatever reason. But that was beside the point, as far as Tiyrin was concerned.

The point was that, right now, what had become to be known to him as a safe haven, despite not having lived there for very long, has now being threatened. This couldn't go on; the Empire could not be allowed to continue its rampage. He was not going to stand for that! Especially not when his prince was risking his life out here for their sake. Speaking of risking one's life….

A nearby explosion snapped Tiyrin out of his reverie. The boy's eyes flew open as shouts filled the air. The wall beside him and the bridge he was crouching under rumbled and vibrated. The battle was getting closer to him, and soon he'd have to make a choice: fight or run.

No, not "run". He'd made that decision long before he snuck out of the house. He was determined to hold his ground…whatever ground he had over an army of full-grown men, anyway.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! The rational side of his brain yelled at him. What do you think you're doing, coming out here in the middle of all this? You've got no armor, no battle training –

Hey, that's not true! The other side of him protested.

Okay, fine, you have some battle training: the two weeks of fencing lessons you had with your uncle the summer that you were twelve – like THAT counts for anything. And on top of that, you don't even have a weapon! Just how do you think you're gonna fight without a weapon, huh?

It was true. Tiyrin had planned to sneak off with his late grandfather's sword, or at least his 15-year-old brother's – that one he could actually lift with too much trouble – but he'd been worried about making noise and getting caught ( he would have taken his sister's weapon, a bow with about a million arrows, since it was kept outside the house, but the boy was atrocious when came to archery skills), so he'd left the house without taking so much as a sling-shot.

It was two MONTHS, not two weeks. Besides, I've wrestled before. And I am pretty good, if I do say so myself!

Riiiiiight…because rough-housing with your friends counts as soldier-level fighting. Besides, it's not like you can go hand-to-hand combat with a full-grown trained soldier, who is three times your size, I might add, with both armor and a sword. You'd be dead in zero-minutes flat, even if you did have a sword. Do you want your family to lose someone else?

Tiyrin shook his head again, telling the rational side of his brain to shut up. He was starting to lose his resolve. Maybe he should just go home….

A cry came from overhead, and a sword was thrown from the battlements of the fortress. Tiyrin jumped up and scrambled backwards as the weapon whistled in its flight through the air. Its descent abruptly ended, the sword clattering on the ground not far from Tiyrin.

If he had been in the wrong spot, that sword could have seriously injured him, and that would've been that. But, approaching the weapon and looking down at it, Tiyrin didn't see it as a threat. To him, it was more like…an invitation.

Tiyrin examined the sword. It wasn't as large as his brother's, but it looked plenty sharp. He gripped its hilt and picked it up, experimentally moving it around in the air in front of him. He found, much to his amazement, that he could lift and maneuver it easily.

He twirled the sword around, performing a couple of mock slices and jabs – not that he was hoping to actually have to kill anyone – just to get the feel of it. He looked up at the fortress looming above him. Judging by the increasing volume of fighting noise, the battle was being pressed closer and closer. In a few seconds, it would be right on top of him.

An explosion, larger and nearer than the last, shook Tiyrin's hiding place. He looked in the direction the sound came from. If he went straight ahead and turned the corner, he would be in front of the fortress. Turning to the side, he saw that there was a staircase in the stone wall beside him, probably leading up to the battlements.

The 13 ½ year-old boy gripped his sword and made a decision.

Tiyrin began to run.

Note: Tiyrin is pronounced TYE - rinn