Disclaimer – Copyright of SquareEnix
Setup Note: In case you are slow to catch on, the 'boy' is Squall, also, because I know this may confuse some, Squall is the same age as he is in the game, seventeen… when I refer to him as a 'boy', it is because as a soldier in a war he is like a child doing the work that grown men should do. Although… nobody should be forced to go to war. Anyways, hope it helps, on to the story.
China Roses
- Prologue -
The stench of the rotting ligaments, the itch of the blood on his skin, and the way the moon carved its light onto the blade, freshly cleansed and rubbed down with a woolen cloth. They were things the boy recognized all too well.
Nights like these seemed infinite.
He shivered as the breath of the oncoming winter stung his already calloused hands and the unprotected flesh of his face. Such a young face, and yet, the face of a soldier caught in the middle of an elaborate war.
Through his leather boots he felt the restricting grip of the frost, the biting of the cold, not satisfied in having already claimed countless lives of other young soldiers of whom he had fought alongside only days before.
It was now after him.
Moonlight, starvation, constantly fearful for his life, and the never-ending fight with the cold winters that Trabia had seen for the past two months now. Why did he have to be sent to such a desolate place, so far away from home? Foreign, unfamiliar, abandoned, and yet between the tranquil mountainsides and the vast expanse of stars overhead, it was extraordinary.
For the first time in months the boy felt a sense of inner calm, despite the fact that he had just mercilessly murdered another man mere moments beforehand. Or perhaps that was it, he was feeling more protected and able, adrenaline surging through him in vibrant pulses of life, verifying his existence.
He was still alive and could find peace before the grave, even in a situation like this. Hope always was a welcomed mistress after all, sometimes neglected but always covertly beloved.
He had survived this long, with little to no provisions and nothing but the clothes on his back…… and of course, Lionheart.
The quiet youth glanced down at the blade which sharply contrasted with the darkness around him, glinting in the reflecting moonlight. He realized that it was just a tool, that it in fact was not the prominent aspect, only an instrument used to kill, to make him feel safe and protected, and now, to emphasize the beauty of the pale August moon suspended majestically above him.
'Divine…… attached, are you?'
The boys head lifted slowly, the voice did not seem threatening but he still feared that any sudden moves would earn him a swift death.
'Divine?' he repeated, his hesitance and uneasiness reverberating in his tone.
'The weapon,' he could hear in the persons voice that whomever it was had presently made a gesture towards it, 'Very well crafted, undoubtedly a mechanism of graceful slaughter……'
He had nothing to say to this, but the conversation went on, one-sided.
'Graceful…… delicate, deliberately crafted for one use and one use only. Almost human,'
'It's a sword,' the boy spat back, beginning to become frustrated with the pointless chatter of the stranger standing behind him.
Carefully and in unhurried, calculated movements, the boy managed to lift the sword slightly as to feel more prepared for any un-apprehended attacks.
'That it is,' the boy jumped, hearing the persons voice coming right up behind him.
He had heard no footsteps, surely he should have, the grounds were covered in deep snow. Always one of abnormal patience, however, the boy stayed firmly planted to his spot, waiting for the perfect moment to strike his unseen opponent.
'Why do you fear for your life when you are stuck in a hell like this?'
Whenever this person spoke it was as if he became numb to the fact that he was standing just before a corpse, up to his heels in snow, that he could turn to find something that may be much more menacing then the composed voice now echoing in his ears.
And yet, the words resounded profoundly throughout the innermost workings of the young mans mind.
Why do you fear for life? A hell like this? Fear for life? Hell ……
He turned with a grunt, lifting the blade above his head, a devilish gleam in his eyes as he swung down on… nothing. He flinched, cool, gray-blue eyes darting around his surroundings frantically, all inner peace evaporating, feeding into the madness, his urge to kill, to protect.
Yes, because he had become insensitive to that, too.
Death. A foreboding word, taboo, unlucky. No, simply the end to every story, one written out for us all.
The boy understood this, understood the role he held in all the mens lives he had taken, understood that he wasn't ready for his story to end, just as they were not.
And his feelings of invincibility waned. He shook beneath the weight of the sword, becoming weak, unstable, a person he would not have recognized when he had been home.
When he had been away from this madness, an eventual downfall.
Snap
He ran.
-
The moonlight still fed into the trees, fed the overwhelming feeling of doom that he had become so accustomed to. He ran. Whatever had been harassing him moments before was sure to meet it's end as soon as he caught it. Moments after having taken a swing at whomever or whatever he had been speaking with he had caught a glimpse of something moving through the trees.
Unlike the openings he had been sticking to before, the forest was sneaky, clever, a force all on its own. Not to mention that enemy soldiers could be lurking behind every subsequent corner. For all he knew, this could be a trap. He was certain that some of the enemy would enjoy torturing a kid just like him, they would bathe in the brilliant thought of flaunting his dead corpse before his friends and family.
Ravenous, blood-thirsty, and only human.
He felt the same about them.
Heavy breathing, the rushed stomping and kicking of feet through the crisp, freshly-fallen snow, he heard it. He heard it and it was coming towards him.
The only thing he could do was prepare, and that he did. Lionheart stood strong before him, like a being, having jumped out of it's sheath of it's own accord. It did hold an existence, in that piece of the boys mind that had made it habit to reach for it, to draw it out when ever he felt danger near. That was it's life, its purpose.
To give him hope for protection, of prolonging his currently miserable life.
'Please,' came the whimper from in the shadows before him. The boy was startled to think that it had come from an upward angle.
He looked into the trees ahead of him, waiting for his vision to lock onto the figure sitting demurely on a thick branch of one of the naked trees.
'Who are you?' the boy shot, the words leaving his mouth without a thought.
'A …… Goddess, Goddess of the moon, the stars,' the individual, still half enshrouded in the shadows, made large movements with their arms and the boy caught glimpses of material hanging off them, white linen, sparkling in the gaze of the dimming light of the moon that still managed to creep in through the cracks of the trees overhead.
'I am substance, I realize the essence of a mans soul, I can read you in the blink of an eye, a can become what you want to see, believe in, and yet, I can make you believe whatever I want'.
The harsh, Trabia winds whipped past the two, forewarning them of oncoming blizzards. They both ignored it, the sense of an approaching storm that they each knew they had the strength to endure only becoming a slight concern.
The boy could not think of anything to say to this… perhaps this person had been without food for too long. Would he end up the same? Or conceivably, whoever this person was might be suffering from some sort of illness. Although, he could think of nothing that he himself might be able to do for this person, or want to do.
After the prolonged silence, the hovering figure leapt down from the branch and stepped into a clearing where the moonlight shone like a spotlight in the middle of the deserted woodland.
'I am Goddess of quintessence,'
And that face, that pale flesh, those dark, chocolate brown orbs that held him more and more to their gaze after each passing second- he could not believe.
'Call me Rinoa, Rinoa Heartilly'.
He stumbled backwards.
In a foreign land, in the middle of a war that she had been the cause of, he could not believe what he was seeing……
His deceased lover was now standing before his very eyes.
-
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