Rikku was three.

The scorching sun, dry wind and hot sand of Bikanel desert were her surrogate parents, her second family. She was free to roam everywhere she wanted, to run everywhere she liked as long as it wasn't too far away from the guards' hovers, and she loved the freedom. She watched her people digging up strange, funny pieces of metal glistening under the sun with wide-eyed curiosity and soon wanted to try digging herself. Her world was small and hot and sandy but she loved it just as much as she loved her Cactuar plushie from Daddy.

Rikku was four.

Daddy and Brother and practically everybody else loved her, called her the little Chocobo princess, but…..When she saw other kids who played with her in the sand and looked at the beaming faces of their mothers, she gave her Daddy a difficult question.
" Frana'c so sysy? E caa so vneahtc ymfyoc pnehk draen sysyc ajanofrana. Tu E ryja hu sysy?" (Where's my mama? I see my friends always bring their mamas everywhere. Do I have no mama?)

Her Daddy looked so sad all of a sudden, that she feared she'd questioned a question so terribly wrong.

"Ed fyc vydat, so tyikrdan. Vyda duug ran yfyo vnus ic" (It was fated, my daughter. Fate took her away from us.)

He held her gently, but Rikku didn't understand. What is fate? Why did it take her Mommy away?