Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of placenames depicted herein: they belong to Square-Enix and I am taking to financial gain from publishing this story.
"The meyvn insists that none be turned away, so the occasional bad seed does slip through.... Unfortunately." - Commander Lucil, FFX-2
The Youth League was an organisation built on a dream of a better future, a future where children would never have to lift a sword again. It was a dream spun by the meyvn Nooj, and built by the careful hands of many former Crusaders and those tired of Yevon and its hypocrite ways. Over the two years since the defeat of Sin, it had grown from a dream to an organised reality, and it was the combined effort of all of them that had brought it to life.
Each day, more people would rally to their cause, and each day their organisation grew and thrived. Chapter houses were opening all over Spira, where the Crusaders' way-stations had lain before, and their Headquarters at Mushroom Rock Road were but the heart of it. Where the ruins of Operation Mi'hien still stood, the Youth League's banner now flew in the wind. Though Operation Mi´hien marked one of the Crusaders' greatest failures, something about the place was still important to meyvn Nooj, and no one suggested a removal of the base – the aged Deathseeker was much too respected.
It was with pride and determination that she had shouldered the title of Commander when it had been offered to her, and did her best to be responsible as the task of taking charge of their base of operations was put upon her. In a place where the meyvn was often absent and new recruits arrived every day, her task as a complicated and time-consuming one, but she did her level best to stay ahead of matters.
Of course, it was not always that easy.
"Commander Lucil!"
She turned her head from the faded maps of their base, which she had been trying to update somewhat, to face the speaker. In the heat of noon, even the dreary and almost deserted surroundings of Mushroom Rock seemed habitable, and many of the members of the League were lounging about in the shadows, waiting for a moment cool enough to practice their skills. Not even the children, so energetic usually, had enough energy for more than quiet games in the shade. Elma, her second in command, however, was in full uniform patrolling around the lifts as assigned.
Ripping off a textbook-salute, the young woman was now standing in front of her with a group of rag-tag warriors behind her, who were looking hopeful. They were a motley bunch – down-on-their-luck bandits, an Al Bhed or two, some ex-Crusaders and what looked to be a Blitzer. Out of all of them, only the Crusaders and the Al Bhed looked as if they were capable of handling anything above a bar-brawl.
"At ease, Captain," she said calmly, looking the potential recruits over. "Report."
"New recruits, ma'am," Elma said, saluting once more. "Sergeant Yaibal brought them in."
"Thank you, Captain. You may return to your duties," she said as she stood up from her seat and faced the group of newcomers. "Welcome to the Youth League, gentlemen. I hope you will find yourselves at home and be good fighters for our cause."
...and the sun lit fires in her eyes as she spoke....
The Youth League did not have New Yevon's base to build on – all their apparent rivals did was redefine an already existing religion, while the League had to rebuild their whole organisation from the ground up. There had been nothing left of the Crusaders when they had begun, and Yevon's Crimson Squad had been blighted before it began. With nothing but the ruins of a failed operation, the Deathseeker Nooj had accomplished great things, but the Youth League was not yet the efficient machinery it would one day become.
Even the Headquarters were not completely finished, and the fiend-infestation around it, in the crevices of the rocky landscape, was extreme. Elma and the people under her command patrolled the perimeter, but they could not handle all the fiends on their own, and so occasionally special troops would be sent out from the Headquarters to dispatch the most threatening fiends that roamed the area.
Today, like every other day, it was her duty to assign the team to be sent out. Someday, she would perhaps delegate the duty to someone trustworthy, but she had no one of that description yet, and sending them out to these special dispatch-missions was a way of weeding out the good from the bad – not that there was much risk of dying on the missions; neither the meyvn nor she were that cruel, but if someone failed to carry out a mission, it was well within her rights to take away their rank or even expel them from the League.
"There is a distress call from one of the patrols," she said after clearing her throat. The group in front of her was made up of both League veterans and new recruits deemed good enough to respond to such a situation. "They need aid in defeating the fiends – any volunteers for this mission? It will be under my command."
Afterwards, they all said it was her fault, and it was.
This was not how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be a routine mission, a simple task. The fiends were nothing more than they could handle. Ten League members was supposed to be enough for this, but they were fighting just to stay alive now. Kerrac, her mentor, her teacher, her friend, was on his knees with blood blinding him and only his sword keeping him upright. Someone she didn't recognise was knocked out behind him, sword and shield long since lost in the dust beneath the monstrous fiend's feet. They were fighting a losing battle, and she was choking on blood and dust.
If she took her eyes off the fiend for but one second, it would crush her as well, and she could do nothing but stand helplessly by as her comrades were decimated. The potions in her belt could revive them, but what use were they when she would be killed before she could use them? If only there was someone else, someone still standing....
There! Up on the ledge, the Blitzer – unscathed and with three potions in his belt. If she could only distract the fiend, he could revive ther damaged comrades and the mission would be successful. Drawing on her last strength, she lifted her sword up once more and attacked, yelling a command to the Blitzer as she watched her sword descend in a deadly arc towards the fiend's neck. The blade slid on the tough scales, and her blow was deflected slightly – what should have been a killing strike became a cut the size of her arm in the monster's neck, and an angry roar rent the air above her.
The fiend's claws hit her breastplate with a screeching sound, knocking the breath out of her and the sword out of her hand. It landed in the dust with an echoing clang, and she was choking on the dust now, on her back on the ground with the monster towering over her. Time slowed down to a lethargic crawl, and she saw the fiend's claws descending once more, aimed at her ribcage.
Rolling out of the way, she narrowly avoided being crushed to death, and through the dust filling the air and her lungs, she called out once more to the nameless Blitzer. There was no answer, but over the roaring of the fiend, she could hear the sound of running steps, before she had to roll once more to avoid death.
Voices could be heard outside the cloud of dust around her, but she was fighting for her life. The last roll had brought her closer to her sword, and with one last, desperate move, she grabbed it, struggled to her feet and squared her shoulders as the fiend reared up on its hindquarters and came down again with its full weight on its forelegs. Her blade pierced its stomach and acid black blood washed over her neck and shoulders. Covered in the malodorous liquid, she stood swaying on weak knees as the dust settled.
Their faces were bleak and pale, and accusation shone like lights in their eyes.
The fiend's blood was poisonous – it left her delirious and bed-ridden for days in the Headquarters' infirmary. She had her own room, as she was a Commander, and Elma would come and visit her and throw a pity-party in the bedside chair. She did not need the pity, but did not have it in her heart to tell the younger woman to cease and desist, and so she suffered the pity and the little gifts she got. The days dragged on until they felt as if they would never end, and she spent the time counting cracks in the ceiling.
They had reached three hundred and thirty-two, and a realisation that she needed to put some money into repairing the ceiling, when there was a swift knock on her door. Since Elma was not there, having just left, she pulled the blanket tighter around her before clearing her throat.
"Come in."
The door creaked open, and in came the Blitzer – who else? - looking much to smug for her liking. Without further invitation, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him silently.
"Yes?"
"I would like to congratulate you on your victory, Commander," he said, smiling, "and offer my condolences on your injuries. You were truly spectacular out there, Commander – like a lioness."
With the ghost-memory of acid blood blackening her vision, she scowled at him. There had been nothing spectacular about her fight – it had been sheer desperation with a sword in hand, a will to survive stronger than any other instinct in her body. Delirium made her irrational, and it was only with years of forced self-discipline instilled in her mind that she stopped herself from shouting at him.
"Thank you. However, it was a routine mission – should have been – which went horribly wrong." she declared, adopting a more down-the-nose tone than she had intended. "There were lives on the line where there shouldn't have been."
"We all came out alright, didn't we?" the Blitzer grinned a crooked grin, doing his best to charm and failing. "If not for the help I ran for, the casualties would be worse."
She opened her mouth to scream senselessly at him, the delirium no longer clouding her judgment as she heard of his deserting, but choked on her own words as he seemed to read her mind, and stepped back half-way out the door and shrugged.
"I know that you are going to berate me, Commander," he said simply, "but remember: who is responsible – the deserter or the woman who brought him to the battlefield?"
The door closed softly behind him and left her alone with the cracks in the ceiling, the poison in her veins and the echoing questions in her mind.
They told her afterwards that one of the League veterans had died from his injuries, and that Kerrac would be blind for the rest of his life. They told her that the men that had been on the mission were all, with only one exception, suffering lasting damage. They told her this and silently accused her, blamed her for it
They won't be alright, but that one man over there is fine, pat, pat on the head. Degrading and condescending, but she was powerless to stop them. They were right, after all, and she was ultimately responsible.
With the meyvn's rules, the occasional bad seed did slip through, but this time she was not sure whether it was she or the Blitzer.