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Chapter One: The Hounds of War

Sorrow and despair are two parts of a whole. They form the shadow which clouds the sky and renders all men, akin to Humes or otherwise, terrorized, immobilized by fear. The shadow spreads fear, it spreads dark gloomy clouds which mask the sun and obscure all manners of light which radiates from the heavens. It makes the land bleak and forlorn. The shadows make all men, akin to Humes or otherwise, forget hope and abandon all thoughts of valor; the shadow imprisons men in their own imagined cages; the shadow rids them of their freedom.

The shadows hide all manners of ill creatures. They conceal and they conspire with malign beings, they hide vipers which could, or would, strike anyone, akin to Humes or otherwise. The inability to see, or to understand what threatens life is what scares those who live.

The shadows are evil. They spread chaos and malice like a terrible plague, unstoppable and relentless. Shadows allow hatred and anger fester within their dark folds, and that in turn gives birth to evil.

Shadows spread death.

Having acquired the Sorrow and the Despair, Scipio sought to spread the shadows across all Ivalice and even to the stars above. He was in a position wherein he could extinguish every star, decimate every heavenly body and turn the entire universe, along with the pitiful Ivalice, into one lifeless void. He sought to destroy all light that exists and he was willing to journey far and wide to cover all that existed in one endless shadow.

xoxoxox

War sears and scorches the land with a great ravaging fire. There is nothing and no one who is safe from the hellish immolation of conflict, nothing, no one, but there is a somewhere which war cannot corrupt. Dreams and the proverbial place where the solace of sleep takes the soul are untouchable.

Penelo knew it was a dream. There just something about dreams that made you know that it was a dream. For one the day was very beautiful. The Dalmascan sky was clear and bright and the breeze gentle. And that was another thing; she was in Dalmasca Flocks of birds were alight, plying through the sky.

Second, Penelo felt anxious, which was a very peculiar thing in a dream, there were rarely feelings. She looked about. She was in a chamber, a very beautiful chamber with elegant furniture. The wide windows allowed the breeze and sunlight into the room.

Third, she was wearing a beautiful dress. And she rarely had anything as beautiful as the dress she was wearing now. She was, in short, gaping at her reflection in the beautiful ornate mirror that dominated one wall of the beautiful room. Penelo just stared at her reflection for a few moments, trying to tell herself that what she was seeing was indeed her.

The dress was a beautiful creation of white sheer fabric that floated around Penelo's form like sea-foam. Penelo couldn't help twirling around to see herself at all sides, quite surprised that the dress left her back bare, save for the intercrossing silver links that formed an intricate pattern up to her neck which held the bodice of the gown, also made of thin and very intricately carved silver. Penelo couldn't help the smile to come up her face as she held the fabric gingerly in her hands, as if afraid that the dress will fall apart at the mere touch. On top of her head, nestled amidst the elaborate weavings of her hair, was a silver circlet. She could just make out the etchings of a very familiar coat of arms on it when there was a knock on the door, and then a familiar voice said: "Penelo? The lord waits".

She could never mistake the gruff voice for another, 'I'm coming Basch!' Wrenching her gaze from the ornate mirror, Penelo went towards the door in a flurry of white fabric. Her eyes widened in surprise as she opened the door. Oddly, the door led directly to the Cathedral aisle. Basch was standing in front of her, clad in handsome ceremonial armor. He smiled and put a heavy veil over her head. That in itself was weird. Basch never smiled that brightly. Penelo could not help give him a bewildered look from underneath the sheer fabric of the veil, but that was all she could do before she was ushered to walk down the aisle.

Music floated inside the Cathedral, and Penelo had to wonder how such music could fill such a large space as the Cathedral. Clutching a bouquet of what seemed to be Galbana lilies in her hands, Penelo stared at the flowers with surprise. It didn't at all compliment her dress nor the rest of the decorations of the Cathedral and she wondered, at the back of her head, who planned her wedding for to have Galbana Lilies as a bouquet. Maybe it was Vaan? Speaking of which, Penelo looked up from her appraisal of the flowers to look about the pews as she walked down the aisle. It was a long way yet to the altar but she could faintly see the silhouettes of her friends: Queen Ashe, Vaan, Fran and Balthier, Yvelle, Mont Blanc…they were all looking at her. All of them were smiling the same kind of happy smile that Basch bestowed upon her and Penelo felt the doubts in her disappear filled with the warmth glow of happiness that wrapped itself around her entire being. So this was what it felt to get married.

Penelo no longer doubted who was at the end of the aisle. She knew that when she was younger, she often had dreams of her own wedding, but the man was always unknown, always a blur of shapes and colors, but now, seeing her friends happy faces, she could not doubt who it was.

Sure enough as she came to the altar, Larsa was there by the right side of the priest. Penelo couldn't help but blink at the Emperor's appearance. Was he really that tall now? His hair, always longer than average length fell in ebony waves that obscured most of his pale, Solidor features. Dressed in the same white and silver, his stance was too stiff, and rather intimidating; Penelo actually felt her hear skip a beat. Still, she was going to marry Larsa, and for some strange reason, she was feeling elated about it despite the fact that she could not see if he was smiling. He offered a gloved hand and with a small pause, Penelo placed her hand in his. His touch was different, somewhat strong, yet reassuring. However, he let her hand go as they soon as they were before the priest.

He turned her by the shoulders to face him; she bowed her head, smiling happily. The music seemed to express the feeling of happiness too for the tunes became merrier as she saw Larsa through the shrouds of the cloth, reached for the hem of her veil and lifted it.

"Penelo," whispered the man that was now her husband and Penelo felt a stab of doubt. Something was wrong; his voice was too smooth, too silky. There was a hint of malevolence in the way her name was spoken. Something so hauntingly familiar that Penelo felt her insides turn cold.

She lifted her head and felt her heart stop. Scipio was smiling at her; it was a small foreboding smile.

Penelo could only stand there as Scipio's gauntleted hand stretched and she felt the cold fingers wrap around the warm flesh of her throat. Her entire body felt frozen though her mind was screaming for her to run; Penelo could only stay there and gasp, her eyes widening as Scipio's hand cut off her airway. She tried to breathe but Scipio tightened his grip. His right hand clamped around her face and she felt an awful crushing feeling, as if Scipio's fingers were sinking in to her skull…

Penelo woke up, violently wrenched from her slumber, gasping. Her forehead was wet; she was sweating even though the night breeze was cold. Her heart hammered in her chest, her whole body trembled. She felt her skin was slick with sweat, the sheets drenched from her tossing and turning in that small bed that was not her own. The dream had been so real, from that beautiful dress, to Larsa..to…

Penelo gulped shaking her head rapidly to get rid of the mental image in her head. Dreams were not supposed to be touched be war. Running her hands through her now damp blonde hair, Penelo took a few shuddering breaths, trying to calm herself.

There is a somewhere that war cannot touch. It was a mistake. War can touch dreams. There is a somewhere that war cannot touch, that somewhere is nowhere.

xoxoxox

Yfae, Reena and Pyriah were lost again. In their insufferable avarice (they did not want to use the teleport stone) they decided to walk. So they did. They trekked past the Feywood, barely making it alive. They had many encounters with all ill manners of fiends and hell hounds, each encounter almost costing their lives. And then at last, after surviving the chilblained wilderness they found the path that led into Golmore.

Reena urged them on, saying that she knew a way to get to the Viera village where they might ask for food and shelter, or at least direction. She failed to remember and so led her companions into another inescapable labyrinth.

They had been walking for days, the supplies running low and the gil they carried feeling heavier, but no, they did not want to give it up.

The silence which hung over them remained unbroken for many days, no one wanted to talk due to a lack of energy.

Reena slumped to the ground and brought out her flask which was running dry of water. She squeezed the last drops into her parched throat.

'I think we should rest.' Pyriah said as she sat down beside Reena.

'Yes.' Yfae agreed; her voice weary and weak.

They sat in a defensive circle, their backs together. They've had enough encounters of being caught unaware, they were slowly becoming paranoid.

'Whenever we're in a fix Scipio would save us.' Reena said in a weak voice. Her voice had lost all the cheer and energy it once had, her tone was weary and droning.

'We've been in fixes for the past eighteen years of our lives and we've only met Scipio.' Pyriah said, her sarcasm surfacing even though her voice was tired.

'Yeah, well…' Reena leaned her head on Pyriah's, 'Say, do you like him?'

'Shut up.' Pyriah said.

They all laughed, but the laugh was very short-lived. And then the silence hung over them again. All their lives, they always thought they'd die together. After all their close calls and daring adventures, who would have thought that it would end this way?

'Guys, I…' Yfae said, her voice very faint, 'I-I don't think I can go on.'

'Yfae, don't say that.' Reena said, trying to encourage her companion. 'We don't give up, right Pyriah?'

Silence, and then, 'I don't think I'll make it either.' Pyriah said. Her voice was also weak and she spoke as if she was having difficulty to breathe. She sounded very tired, and she sounded like someone who wanted to give up.

'We should have used the teleport crystal, while we still could.' Reena began to cry, she tried to stifle it but she broke out into loud sobs. She felt an arm curl around her neck, then another. Yfae and Pyriah tried to comfort her, Yfae was also crying and Pyriah, having given up, indulged her eyes to become glassy.

They cried and sobbed and hugged each other until their vision blurred, and they could no longer see, and finally, they fell asleep.

They were succumbing to a pitiful and pathetic death. Compared to other thief or assassin guilds or groups, they were not totally pathetic and they commanded some respect. They were the Valiant Feathers: the best thieves in all Ivalice the sleight of their hands and the fleet of their feet were often hard to match. They had the skills and the athleticism to be efficient assassins and infiltrators. They had the necessary abilities and expertise to attempt numerous guises and to gather intelligence. They were the Valiant Feathers, adventurers extraordinaire and they were dying because they were far too exhausted to go on. The only solace they had was that they were dying together.

xoxxoxo

Basch stared out the cottage window, the fires on Bhujerba created a little orange star in the dark night. So much has passed in so little time. They failed to free Zargabath and the ten thousand bureaucratic soldiers which would have helped them fight for the throne of Archades. They found Balthier, and even now, Basch was unsure as to whether or not he should trust him, again. Balthier did not hesitate to save them, but did he have a choice? He would have left them, there were no Imperials on their way up and the thing was dispatched, but they had needed Balthier to do so. What if it was a ruse? Was he in league with Scipio? Basch shook his head; he would deal with Balthier later.

Bhujerba was under attack, extremely heavy attack. Within a few months Scipio had increased the ranks of the Imperial armed forces. He now had 1,800,000 personnel at his disposal, and with such a massive army he probably had 500,000 or more surplus pieces.

Basch turned to Larsa who sat by a table, studying a map. The young Emperor did not appear tired or anxious. He ran his index finger across the map, tracing routes. He did not wear that fiercely determined face he wore whenever he was confronted with a problem, his expression was almost blank and impassive.

'If I asked you to enlist, train and arm some 600,000 men and I allot you a few months to accomplish such, what would you do, Basch?' Larsa asked, suddenly, without looking up form his map.

'I would say that it is folly, it would take years, decades even, my Lord.' Basch answered quickly, secretly relieved that it was the young Emperor who chose to break the silence first.

'Yet Scipio has done so, I wonder, how was he able to raise such an army?' Larsa spoke in an even voice, as if engaging in some friendly debate. His azure eyes did not leave the spot of the map he was studying.

'We can deduce that the personnel are not Archadian," Basch ventured, gazing back outside the window from where he stood. "However," Basch added his voice speaking of his concern. "His financial activities could mean the worst for us. We cannot run a country without currency.'

'If there's a country left, you mean to say, Basch." Larsa intoned seriously before looking up now and shaking his head, his ebony locks flicking here and there. "His expenditures for the army are nothing,' Larsa said with much emphasis, "the Empire has enough funds to raise an army twice the size of Scipio's force,"

Ignoring Basch's look of disbelief, Larsa continued to add with a grave voice, his eyes dimming as he spoke: 'I fear too many of our country men have been persecuted.'

'My lord, to my knowledge, the Empire does not have that much revenue.' Basch chose that opportunity to speak off his doubts but Larsa it seemed chose not to add anything further and the older man took that as a sign that there were still some things that a Judge Majister did not know about the Archadian Empire. Emperor's silence though was enough to provide Basch an outline of things.. This meant…

It was a not a heartening conclusion. Basch glimpsed Larsa's soul through those sapphire eyes and the older man had an inkling that at this point in time, the young Emperor was losing hope. With Scipio being revealed as their opponent, there was something that bothered Basch about the man. It seemed that whatever solution the young Emperor could come up with, Scipio had a plan to counter it. It was most intriguing since it gave the impression that Scipio knew much more than they knew and it was not an encouraging prospect.

To discover that Lord Larsa was losing hope bothered Basch. He knew that his leigelord was resilient and wise beyond his years, and being burdened with a problem as weighty as this was bound to take a toll on him. Basch himself knew how difficult it was to carry the weight of duty, and though he felt that Larsa knew that his friends were there to assist him in this burden, the young Emperor was much too noble and cared too much about his friends to ever use them in that way. He was not a selfish man, as Scipio was and in that respect it was turning out to be a difficult fight for Larsa.

'I pray Lady Ashe will reach us safely, so too with the Marquis.' Larsa said, without looking at Basch, attempting to change the subject. He had become increasingly grave as the days passed. Archadia was on a warpath and he feared for his country, he feared that he did not have the time and the capability to set things right again for Archadia. Not for the first time did Larsa ponder if leaving Archadia at the start of this conflict was the right thing to do. If he had let himself be captured by Scipio, maybe not so many of his countrymen would have died. No, Larsa told himself, straightening up and following Basch's gaze out towards that orange star in the horizon. Scipio was evil incarnate and he would still done what he was doing now even if Larsa was in his custody.

Still Larsa could not help feel the overwhelming guilt that threatened to crush him every time news of Archadia and of Scipio's deeds reached his ears. He had been trying so hard to obtain peace for Ivalice and to create a new image of Archadia for the rest of its denizens, but…

'My lord, what of Balthier?' Basch asked turning away from the window and snapping Larsa away from his melancholic thoughts. Larsa turned his blue eyes to Basch and the older man detected some unfathomable expression in them before it was hidden underneath icy blue. Bhujerba was glowing brighter in the distance to which Larsa looked at after giving a glance.

A silence fell between the two before the young Emperor whispered, 'Indeed, what of Balthier?'

XOXXO

Nuube looked at the map in the war room intensley. He did not expect that the Imperial aggression would be so soon, and without the queen at that. But, he simply set that thought aside, the queen was an able warrior but he would not trust her with strategy. Furthermore, he was well aware that the threat posed by the Empire was not as provincial as total dominance of their nation and the total subservience of all other states; he knew that something else was afoot. Moreover, he was the highest ranked general, and given the circumstance of invasion, he could do whatever it was that he deemed necessary to defend the government and the state; the legislative and judiciary politicians had no business here.

The door opened and Cypher entered hurriedly with Yellie and Venitol. Yellie did not have the usual cheer about her face. She wore an anxious expression; a blend between apprehension and eagerness for battle. Venitol always had a neutral expression and Cypher would always have that cocky sneer. Nuube was a hardened Veteran, looking into the faces of his soldiers always made him certain about who he could trust with certain tasks. He was able to take a glance at each of his men and he knew that they were ready; he could see it in them. Nuube looked at Cypher and spoke without Preamble.

'Cypher, Nalbina's under attack. Take what ships you need, engage them.'

'How many do I face?' Cypher asked; his voice clipped and quick.

'Three Leviathans and twenty Ifirt. The paling still stands, but not for long.'

'Right. I'll take the Dreadnought fleet given to us by the Empire and the Garland.' He nodded and took leave.

After Cypher left Venitol spoke, 'He takes twenty ships against three Dreadnought fleets?'

Nuube raised an eyebrow, this was not the first time Venitol had questioned another commanders actions. He knew Venitol detested daredevil maneuvers. Venitol was often cautious and thought his tactics through before each battle. As conventional a soldier as Venitol may be, he was not afraid to resort to suicidal acts.

'We'll need those forty Xeszat Surgate if Rabanastre is under attack. He knows what he's doing; they can't down the Garland that easily.' Nuube replied, still looking at the map.

Nuube turned to Yellie. 'Scipio will probably strike Rabanstre soon. Get your knights ready.'

Yellie nodded, 'Yes sir!' She turned to Venitol, patted him on the shoulder and said, 'Bhujerban Madhu's on me if we make it.' She flashed him a smile and hugged him. 'You take care.' She gave him one last pat and left.

As soon as Yellie left Nuube said, 'Yellie has eight hundred men at most. Scipio will strike and he will strike hard. Assemble all the Dalmascan Knights. You will defend Rabanstre. I will support you with the Dalmascan Ranged Corps. Faram.' Venitol bowed and left.

Nuube closed the map, and proceeded to sit behind his desk. He took out a parchment and dipped his quill in ink. He began to write his last will and a letter to his family. He was only half done when he suddenly stopped writing. He put his quill and ink away and tore the parchment to shreds.

"I am getting old if I am giving up so soon."

Xoxoxoxoxo

The unstoppable war machine of the Archadian Empire also laid siege to the south. The Imperial martial might relentlessly tested the mettle of the Rozzarian soldiers. Rozzaria was the only real adversary of the Empire during the time of Gramis Solidor. It was the Rozzarian Empire which posed the only threat that the Judge Majisters themselves feared. That was the main reason as to why the Archadian soldiers marched towards Rozzarrian soil.

Behold them now, their towers ablaze and their forces dispersed and battered.

The Rozzarians took up the art of breeding and training Sleipinirs and Mesminirs after the Nabradians, they were able to create an extremely formidable cavalry. They were able to train their troops to horrifying extremes and were able to equip them with cutting edge weaponry; they were able to create an extremely formidable army. Their airships were superbly engineered and were designed to withstand tremendous gunfire and to deliver quick and precise attacks; they were able to create an extremely formidable air force. As formidable as they come, the Imperial soldiers were, strangely, hard to kill.

The battle was intense and hard fought. The Rozzarians fought fiercely to repel the overwhelming forces of the Empire on several battlefronts.

The first front, the first encounter, was in the southwestern border of Rozzaria; a very unusual place to strike with 400,000 troops. The strike was a surgical blitz. What befuddled the Rozzarian army was how a force of three hundred thousand was able to assemble so quickly and deploy so suddenly, against the defensive lines farthest from Archadia nonetheless. The defensive lines farthest from the enemy are always the weakest.

The Rozzarians arranged their defenses with the thought of their rear flank, the rear given to be the weakest, being taken advantage of. The vastness of the Rozzarian territory would make it impossible for a force so large to traverse their northern border undetected; therefore, it would be easy to marshal defenses in the south. The only way to transport hundreds of thousands as quickly as the Empire had would be to insert them by Airships.

Their intelligence unit, any intelligence unit, would have noticed 400,000 troops and airships leaving Archades. There wasn't a single intelligence report of deployment, there was only a controversial account that an extremely massive Imperial force was massing within the city of Archades itself.

That report came in not a few days past. And now, they have 400,000 battering away at their southern walls and not a single airship in sight.

The second front, the second encounter, was on their north eastern border, the flank facing Archades. 150,000 stormed the Rozzarian front. Here the hammer fell hardest. Despite a lower troop count, only here did the Empire deploy its fleets of Airships and a majority of their new Armor division. All troops which attacked the north eastern flank were Hoplites accompanied by packs of Mastiffs.

The third and fourth battlefront was a simultaneous encounter, a pincer. The Imperials attacked the northwest and the southeast simultaneously. They deployed 100,000 at each front, their pinching force was comprised of regular Imperial troopers accompanied by specialist soldiers and supported by Ifirts and Shivas.

As Imperial forces fought against Rozzarians on the ground, the fifth battlefront was above Rozzaria itself. When all four fronts were attacked, four Dreadnought fleets along with three Alexander plied through the skies and hovered directly overhead. The Rozzarian air force scrambled to engage. The Empire caught some of their ships exactly after launch; many were sunk before they could even set sail.

750,000 Rozzarian men and women, pilots and soldiers, could have defended the Rozzarian walls well enough against the Imperial blitzes, they would have stood well against 825,000 Imperials…had they not come one after the other, widely apart, in a matter of minutes. The most crushing blow the Empire dealt, that Scipio dealt, was the insurgency he had planted. Scipio had convinced some colony heads within Rozzaria to side with the Empire, which they did. 75,000 betrayed the Rozzarians. The last battlefront and the one which threw the whole defensive setup into turmoil was the battlefront within Rozzaria.

In and out, the Empire moved to destroy Rozzaria.

The sky was still blanketed with shadows when the Imperials assailed the Rozzarian walls. They came like wolves upon the fold, howling as they marched thunderously against the Rozzarians. The sun cleaved the shadow and crimson bled across the sky and seeped upward. The wolves kept howling as they penetrated the defenses and frenzied battle cries and clashing steel filled the air as battles ensued in the city streets.

xoxoxox

Marquis Ondore hurried to the underground hangar, escorted by the Vanguard Elite and his beloved niece, Ashe.

Her dire wounds were miraculously mended quickly by Rozzarian medicine; as soon as the pain no longer surfaced, she immediately proceeded to Bhujerba to discuss matters with her Uncle. Within a few days she received news that Nalbina was under heavy attack. Upon receiving such grim tidings, she immediately made for Dalmasca. She had all her belongings accounted for and was on her way to the hangar when Purvama suffered a blitz.

Tens of thousand s of Remora and Velfarre swarmed Purvama. Their massive numbers blocked out most of the sunlight.

'My niece, follow me. Be quick!' Ondore shouted to Ashe. The attack was so sudden and so strong that the Vanguards were unable to intercept the Imperials; the fighters got too close to the hangars, 'It is not safe here Lady Ashe! Come!' Ondore beckoned on. Ashe was quick to obey and ran to her uncle as an explosion tore away the hangar roof and rocked the floor. Ashe staggered but was quickly caught by a Vanguard Elite.

Ondore led the way through a maze of corridors deep within Bhujerba. They did not enter the mines but an underground hangar of some sort.

'Ashelia, escape to Balfonheim where Basch and your friends can protect you.' Ondore told Ashe, whilst clasping her shoulders. They were deep within Bhujerba; the Vanguard Elites which accompanied them were already busy preparing a small craft.

Ashe looked at Ondore steadily in the eyes, 'I will not leave without you, Uncle.'

'Defiant and steadfast like your father,' Ondore sighed, 'I admire these traits my niece, but I beg you to use your reason. I have arranged that if ever I am to die Bhujerba will become province of Dalmasca and you will rule over it. Lady Ashe, a kingdom still awaits you; I fear my time as Marquis has been long enough.' Ondore forced a smile. The explosions were still audible, though somewhat muffled from where they were, and strong enough to shake dust of the ceiling.

'But Uncle…' Ashe was about to talk, the usual stubbornness in her voice. The Marquis cut her off, 'I am in good hands with the Vanguards. They will not allow me to fall so easily,' he gave Ashe a grin, 'Go my niece. Go now!'

'Uncle!' Ashe tried to struggle free but two Vanguard Elites were forcing her into the cockpit of the small airship. She finally gave in when it dawned to her that hesitation and disobedience often begot the death of those around her.

'We have programmed the autopilot to take you into Balfonheim airspace,' one of the Elites said as the other strapped the safety harnesses over Ashe, 'once there, request permission to land from any of the ports. They will give you landing vectors, encode here,' the Elite pointed at a panel with several buttons below it, 'or if there are no available ports, switch the autopilot to manual,' he pointed at a switch, 'and then set the engines to hover,' he pointed at another instrument, 'and hoist anchor once you are above land.' he finally pointed to a small button beside the compass. 'Good luck my lady.'

'Take care of my Uncle.' Ashe said to the Elite as the canopy closed over her. Ondore disappeared further down the hangar where a huge cruiser ship was berthed.

The wall in front of Ashe parted and revealed the brilliant blue of the Bhujerban sky. The Twin Glossair engines at the rear of the fuselage started to rotate rapidly and the wings unfolded from underneath the fuselage. The craft was very small and could fit only one man. It was not fitted with any weapons.

The craft hovered above the ground for a few seconds before it shot out the hangar at a blinding speed.

'I will, your Majesty.' the Elite said as he watched the small ship vanish into the horizon, far and well away from the destructive clutches of the Empire.

xoxoxxox

'You have a post, I suggest you assume it.' Nuube told Venitol patiently.

'Sir, please, let me go to the Southern gate.' Venitol pleaded once more. He was beginning to annoy Nuube, fortunately, Nuube understood how Venitol felt. Young men are all too rash.

'No.' Nuube said with finality. He turned to a blood-covered Yellie who stood beside Venitol. Her armor was chipped and some of her clothing was ripped.

'You're a mess,' Yellie fidgeted to fix frayed locks of hair, 'report?'

'The eastern gate is still under control. We believe that there are 3,000 attacking the eastern gate.' Yellie's voice was stern and her tone was steadfast.

'Very well. More reinforcements are coming from the Mosphoran Highwaste. They will attempt to enter through the East gate. You will need to mount a sortie when they arrive. Understood?' Nuube gazed at her intensely. He was convinced that she could fight, however he was rather doubtful of her tactics.

'Yessir!' Yellie said in a determined voice. She knew Nuube was counting on her, she had failed him before and now that that their home was being invaded, she had to give it more than her all. She must not fail, she couldn't, Rabanastre couldn't, afford her to fail here.

Yellie bowed and left.

'Not another word Tevaan.' Nuube said as Venitol was about to open his mouth, 'I know what you want. Now, before I dispatch you to the southern gate,' Venitol's eyes lit up, 'make sure that Supinelu is positioned in your stead before you leave. Understood?'

Venitol was grinning ear to ear, 'Yes sir!'

Nuube nodded his approval, 'Good.' He gave Venitol one scrutinizing glance and prayed to the heavens that Venitol would hold against the Imperial forces at the southern gate. He was able to place absolute trust in his generals, Venitol and Yellie included when the battle was outside Dalmasca. Whenever the situation was much too precarious, Nuube would have rather been in the battle himself alongside his men despite his apparently incapacitated body.

Venitol bowed and took his leave.

The situation was transcendent of precarious. He of all people knew that high ranking officers were not expected to engage the enemy directly. He never believed in this. He took the Judges for example, at times they were even the ones who led the charge (then again he realized that Judge Majisters skulked behind their ranks and few were so bold as to actually be in the front line.) and the Rozzarians also had Generals diving headfirst into the fray. What drove Nuube never to believe this was Prince Rassler. He fought at Nalbina mounted on a Chocobo against seemingly insurmountable odds. He was a prince.

Nuube waited for the sound of the door shutting before he shuffled to the cache in his office. He had surveyed the spectrum before briefing Yellie and Venitol again.

The eastern and western fronts were under attack but the Imperials were being kept at bay. The battle was going well enough that either front could afford the absence of their commander, for now. The southern front was not as fortunate though. 25,000 Imperial Hoplites and soldiers battered the walls defended by 10,000 Dalmascans.

The Dalmascan army was widely spread. 7,000 fought against 13,000 in Nalbina. 2,000 fought against 900 Imperial Desert troopers in the Mosphoran, the 2,000 having won was now pulling back to Dalmasca. 200 patrolled the Northern walls in case the Imperials planned a strike there. 350 aircraft inclusive of the forty Xezat Surgate scrambled to repel the Imperial fleets which besieged Rabanastre airspace. 1,600 on the eastern gate keeping 3,000 at bay but they could not hold for long, and Nuube cannot pull their commanders out again for a situational report. 1,200 squared off against 4,500 on the western gate; Venitol and his Dalmascan Knights, the royal guard included, managed to stop the Imperials from breaching the gate.

23,000 Dalmascans, the line drawn in the sand for them, fought with all their might against some 46,000 Imperials whose numbers grew by the hour.

Despite such odds, Nuube was still calm. The paling still stood, here and in Nalbina. The men were better trained and better equipped now, their morale was still high…

He'd seen battles like these and he knew the best way to fight them: with all that you had. He opened the cache and carefully brought out a rifle. It was a Fomalhaut, the deadliest known gun in Ivalice. He attached a scope along the Gun's spine and screwed on a long barrel at the tip of the Fomalhaut muzzle. He opened the chamber and placed a bullet; pure iron projectiles. He folded the chamber shut and collected the belts of ammunition from the cache. He had already placed some of the iron rounds on his person, some 100 rounds. He then attached a box-like mechanism to the side of the Fomalhaut; with a click the box was secure

"General Nuube?" A soft voice interrupted his preparations and Nuube glanced over his shoulder to see the maiden Zirenne garbed in very familiar battle armor. Though there had been no need for it, Queen Ashelia had commissioned for this white and gold battle armor to be made, there had been no need for her to don it on seeing as how she had been working for peace for Dalmasca. It was strange to see Zirenne, who bore the look and startling resemblance between her and the Queen more than ever in the armor she was wearing. Zirenne's hand was resting on the pommel of a Durandal and her eyes were grim as she gazed at Nuube. Her intention was very clear and the General for once, hesitated to answer, though he covered this up looking away to fix up the Fomalhaut.

"I wish to.." Zirenne started but she was cut off by Nuube who stood facing his back to her.

"No."

Zirenne could only gape at him. "Dalmascans are dying out there, and they need their Queen to show them that she has not abandoned Rabanastre!" Her voice rose heatedly. "The Lady Ashe…"

"Is not here." Again she was cut off but the general finally turned to face her, his eyes grim behind the spectacles he wore.

"I agree with you that the Lady Ashe would be the first desiring to lead her support to her army, and she would try her best to be in the front lines. Undoubtedly she would have held her own for she fought in the Great War. But you forget," Nuube spoke in a clear voice eyeing Zirenne steadily.

"You are not the Lady Ashe." With those words, Zirenne's expression crumpled and she hung her head. Nuube made to leave the office but Zirenne's voice stopped her.

"When I took up this favor from the Queen, she asked me to do what I can to help protect Dalmasca." Zirenne whispered, the hand on the pommel of the sword tightening. "Let me do what I can to keep that promise." Zirenne looked up towards Nuube now her eyes glinting. Gesturing out the window she continued passionately, "The Dalmascans are out there and they need their queen, and at this point, I'm the best one there is. Let the enemy see that we Dalmascans will not stand idly by when enemies are upon us. Let them…"

And once more Nuube cut her off, this time, with a palm up. "Do what you will. But you will listen to my orders out there. I do not need heroes, especially if that person happens to look like the Queen." With that Nuube turned around oblivious to the triumphant expression on Zirenne's face as she quickly ran out the door.

Fomalhaut slung over his shoulder, Nuube sauntered out of his office and told himself that he, too, could be like prince Rassler who fought alongside the men he commanded.

xoxoxoxo

Smoke billowed upwards in thick curls as tongues of fire licked the night sky; Purvama was as good as destroyed. While the smog hung over the region, enveloping it totally like a mist, one could hear the occasional muzzle cracks coming from what was left of the intricate web of defense turrets, trying in vain to defend whatever it is that was left. The fire ignited by the 30,000 Imperial aircraft had consumed all of what was on the surface of the once beautiful sky region; there was nothing to see now but a thick cloying smoke and a raging fire. The Remoras and the Velfarres circled the region in vast swarms while the cruisers sailed aimlessly across the skies whilst continuously hailing cannon fire down onto the already bombarded cities. Far away, on the ground, one would think Purvama an orange star; the fire cast the sky around it aglow.

Marquis Ondore sat anxiously at the captain's chair, waiting for his Generals to rendezvous with him for their latest report. Most of the civilians of Purvama, Bhujerba included, were, fortunately, able to evacuate. There were some shuttles which were sunk almost immediately upon flight but many made it past the Imperial swarm.

He was a sentimental man and he was very fond of reminiscing whenever the odds stacked heavily against him. He had seen several conflicts and he almost lost his life in some. Never did he imagine that the entire sky region would fall to the Imperials. The pilots of Purvama were far better than any Imperial pilot, he even knew pilots who could easily match the prowess of Balthier. Every single fighter pilot was a full0time professional who was trained daily, they were highly experienced men and Marquis Ondore saw them get shot down, one after the other, some of them having failed to even put up a fight.

He began to think of Ashe, he asked himself if it was safe that he let her go. The ship she was in was a prototype and had been flown very few times. He could not set his heart knowing full well that his Niece could still be in grave danger.

I should have to her to stay; she would be much safer with me.

His hand drifted to the arm of the captain's chair. 'The Wreath,' he said to himself in a whisper, 'impenetrable and powerful.' Ah, yes, the Wreath: the newly built flagship of the Bhujerban Vanguards. The ship spanned the length of four Leviathans on end and was as wide as two side by side. It resembled the Garland, only it was significantly larger and was designed more intricately. The armor hull was very thick and was designed to withstand any form of attack for extended periods of time. The only problem was: it has never flown.

Ondore remembered how Raminas always cautioned him of Airships. He could still hear him telling him to be wary of the difficulties which inherently came with any ship due to the staggering integrity of its machinery. But Ondore always had a penchant for thrills, though he did not show it too blatantly. The main cannon of the Garland had never been fired and he was very anxious to see it blow the Alexander to bits, unfortunately his Niece stopped him. He once led Ghis through Lhusu, knowing fully well that even the Judge could not stand up to the Nidhoggs or the Mantises which lurked in the deepest depths. And now, he had a ship of epic proportions which had never alighted from its mooring.

The bridge door slid opened and the crew flooded in. Several pilots immediately rushed to be seated on their posts; all of them fumbled through switches and began talking to each other monotonously, always keeping each other in check. Ondore watched them with some interest as he knew a little bit of aeronautics himself.

A tall man in a purple jumpsuit with black stripe and a woman in black leather clothing entered last. They saluted before Ondore.

Ondore stood and addressed the two, nodding to each of them as he said their names. 'Admiral Gabryel,' he said to the man, the man had spiky yellow hair and an eye-patch over his right eye, 'General Tesla,' he said to the woman who had fair skin and soft, long, brown hair and beautiful red eyes. They were clad it seemed to be opposites. Gabryel was dressed in dominant colors of purple and red, while Tesla wore black. 'I trust we are ready to leave.'

Gabryel nodded and then spoke in a confident and boyish tone, 'Yes Marquis. The remaining Vanguards have boarded their craft. The infantry have boarded the carriers and three battalions are in the cargo hold of the Wreath. The other generals and admirals are also aboard the Wreath'

'What of the Elite Vanguards?" there was a tone in the Marquis's voice that suggested he knew what exactly the Elites were up to.

Tesla and Gabryel exchanged looks before they said in unison, 'We're staying behind.'

'I thought so.' Ondore said with a stab of exasperation in his voice, 'and you two will stay behind won't you?'

'We'll make it, sir!' Tesla said confidently.

'I need not remind you that I need both of you to lead the troops,' both of the officials nodded their agreement, 'which tends to work best when you are both alive.' the Marquis finished, a brow raised.

'Marquis, sir, we're the best there ever was and the…'

'…the best there ever will be. Yes, Gabryel, you have made that abundantly clear already. I must say your intentions are noble, to sacrifice yourselves for my sake, and I must say it is very rash.' Ondore said, sitting down on the captain's chair smartly.

He gazed at them, shifting his gaze from Gabryel to Telsa then back again. The expression s they wore told him their minds were made up and should he ask why there was no other way they would answer in the same way as they had hours ago when they conferred about the escape of the Marquis.

Sensing defeat, and sensing that time was running out (he could already feel the hangar shaking form the endless bombardment), he let out a sigh and said, 'Pray be careful.'

Both their faces lit up and they let loose a flurry of reassurances.

'We'll make it!'

'There are still gunners manning the turrets, they'll help us!'

'We'll get away in time!'

'They can't match us, not even in their vast numbers!'

'We're the best there is and the best there ever was!'

Ondore wished them the best of luck and continued hoping that they would be able to carry out what they planned without losing their lives in the process as the cockpit shuddered from the increased rotation of the lift Glossairs. The vibrations intensified as the massive ship slowly alighted and set sail. The airship stayed in hover for s few minutes, waiting for the gigantic hangar gates to open so as to be allowed to sail into the night sky,

The crew waited for another few minutes, with the gates now opened, for a signal from the Elites. They received an all clear and the Wreath set its prow towards Phon Coast as it set sail, undisturbed, across the night sky.

And as they sailed, Ondore wondered why he the young were so rash and why the young got hold of high positions in the Vanguard Corps in the first place.

XOXOXO

There was blood trickling down Venitol's face. There was blood trickling down his chest, down his arms and his legs. The battle at the southern gate started to careen out of control.

'Sir!' a knight yelled to Venitol, 'Sir! We have to pull back!'

'No! Reform the lines! Get the men back in ranks!' The Imperials had nearly reached the gates when Venitol had arrived. Supinelu reluctantly transferred to the eastern gate, he was loathe to back away from a battle but he was now under the sovereign of Dalmasca and understood perfectly that any order from those of higher rank were to be followed without question. But before he left, he helped Venitol and the Dalmascan soldiers to push the Imperials out of the gate walkway and into the plains of Giza. The battle raged on the barren lands of Giza, but the Imperials were slowly pushing the Dlamscans to their walls, the Imperials were gaining a foothold.

'Form ranks! Form ran…!' Venitol grunted in pain as a haft of a spear hit him across the face, exploding white lights in his brain.

An armor clad hand gripped his neck; another gripped his arm, and then several ironclad bodies weighed down on him. There had to be at least five or six Imperial soldiers, their eyes eerily aglow behind their masks, pounding and thrashing at him. He could feel a warm wetness, blood running in rivers, all over him and the harsh cold of the Imperial armor. His sight began to ebb as he flailed desperately against his assailants.

A foot stomped on his wrist and his weapon skittered away.

Shafts of pain shot up all over his body. He began to slip out of consciousness, hearing the frantic cries and clanging of weapons and thinking whether or not this was his end.

XOXOXXO

Tesla heaved the last wounded Elite out of the sunken gunship. She did not know here Gabryel was and she began to worry for his safety.

'I think I can make it on my own, Admiral.' Tesla nodded and let the Elite stagger towards the others who were huddled over a cache of weapons taken form the Gunship. If there was one thing Elites hated it was being pathetic; no matter what the situation an Elite had to stand.

Tesla boarded the downed Gunship and made for the cockpit, she had hoped that the communications array was still functional.

She sat behind the pilot's seat and flicked on the radio switch. She fumbled around for the receiver which had fallen out of its bracket and was suspended by a wire which connected it to the dashboard. There was a faint static coming from it.

'It works.' She said to herself, smiling.

She adjusted the frequency and matched it to the frequency of Gabryel's gunship. She did not see Gabryel get shot down when her gunship took several shells into its hull. She was very certain that Gabryel was still sailing, probably circling around and evading the Imperials.

'Gabryel come in, this is Tesla. Come in Gabryel.' She spoke into the receiver repeatedly to no avail. The only response she received was the eerie rustle of static. She tried to get a response several times but still, there was no reply at all. Tesla slumped down on the chair, her head hung in despair.

'Be realistic,' she began to talk to herself, she often did this, 'you were swamped by at least a 300 ships, what are the odds that he made it out?'

'Tesla?' the receiver said in a fuzzy, static, voice.

Tesla's hand shot up and grasped the receiver automatically, 'Gabryel! Are you all right?' she asked worriedly.

'Uh, yeah,' Gabryel said, his voice faint against the static but audible enough.

'What's your position?'

'We crashed into the Marquis's palace.'

'Got it. Stay put, I have a small squadron with me, and we're on our way.'

'Right.' his voice was consumed by static.

Tesla got out of the wrecked hull excitedly. The survivors were checking their weapons and some were stripping external weapons from the gunship's hardpoints.

'Everyone, we make for the Marrquis' palace. Gabryel has survived and is waiting for us there. We get there, we get out of here.'

The Elites punched the air and shouted as one. Their hope had been rekindled.

They gathered all their weaponry and left the wreck. They moved in a single line, with Tesla at the head, moving cautiously through the bombarded city streets cautiously. Each member trained his or her weapon at windows, doors and shadows. The Bhujerban wing groups which engaged the Imperials first were doubtlessly already sunk. The handful of airships that Gabryel and Tesla took to distract the swarms of Imperials was also, doubtlessly, sunk. Now that there was only the turrets, Tesla not knowing how many were still functional, blatantly resisting the Imperials, they would most likely send in their infantry to clean house; there could be roving Hoplite squadrons anywhere.

As Tesla trained her weapon across the destroyed edifices she thought about the strange behavior of the Imperial pilots. They flew so close together but maneuvered so elegantly across the sky. They flew as if they were one great serpent, and when they came into encounter with enemy units they broke apart and became a swarm of hornets, buzzing angrily as they fired at their targets.

She also noticed how the Imperial fighters only attacked their enemies when they are facing them. Should they come from behind a target, they would maneuver, patiently, around their target, even if they are being gunned down, and assault the enemy head on. It was very odd, almost unnatural. The Imperials flew with an unnatural grace, as if they were Avions who had unparalleled flight abilities. They were also quite sadistic; they would employ the serpent-then-hornet-swarm tactic on anything as little as one Bhujerban fighter.

The Imperials came too many and too suddenly, but more importantly, there was something too unnatural about how they flew and how they fought.

'Something's off, I've fought Imperials for as long as I can remember in my entire career.'

She led the squadron, weaving through the city streets, hoping that they could get out of this hellhole.

A/N: Hello once again! It has been a year since the last installment of Ivalice Storm, and after countless rehashing and conceptualization, We present the first chapter for Ivalice Storm 2: Shroud of Eternity. Comments and suggestions are very welcome! First of all our deepest apologies in keeping you all waiting. It has been a year, and I have to admit that the reason why IS2 took some time to come out was because I lost faith in the story. But after searching for countless sources of inspiration, we are back! (Playing the Game will do that to you..hahaha) Hopefully we are able to post chapters up a lot quicker than before. Who's that Character is still on and for those who want cameos, check out Chapter 26 of Ivalice Storm, you'll find details there! We are back and hopefully better than ever!

Faram!