This is a preview to the soon-to-be-remastered version. I don't own anything you recognize. See end notes for more info.
"Everything, disintegrated. Every mighty tree turned, every blade of grass burned, every inch of its rich, fertile soil soaked with the blood of both our enemies and our People. The sustained magical outpouring from the Netherworldian portal sucked all the glory of the Enchanted Forest, leaving only a vast, unforgiving desert in its stead. It is believed that the interdimensional disturbance caused by the portal was behind the massive earthquakes that littered the land during the latter part of the war.
"It was only through the power of the Arcanum, a powerful artefact created by Sino of El Iskandria, that the portal was forever sealed, imprisoning the demon Bloodwolf within it.
"Sino had been advised by the Good King Borvald's Council to destroy the Arcanum after his deed was done. It is unknown whether he even heeded the advice. With the Great Mage's sudden disappearance after the Bloodwolf's defeat, it became impossible to pursue him and confirm; one can only fear when the Arcanum falls into the wrong hands. Perhaps a century, or a thousand years from now. One can only fear.
"A team of psychological analysts led by Larius the Younger suspect that Sino would never willingly destroy the most powerful device he himself had created, even under the Good King's command. They speculate that perhaps Sino merely hid the Arcanum, unwilling to give up unlimited power. It is suspected that he had hidden it somewhere within the mystic city of orphans that some Spanish locales have recently lauded him for building. For better or for worse, this city they call 'San Lorenzo' does not exist, confirmed after years of thorough search from the LEPRecon (Lower Elements Police Reconnaissance) Unit. Our psychological analysts have come to the conclusion that the rumours of a perfect utopian town were most likely just the deluded fantasies of children tragically orphaned by the war."
- Major Rigil Kent, "Aftermath of the Arcane Wars," excerpt.
Cross-references: The spawn of the Arcane Wars by M. Eldritch, The hermetic and alchemical writings of Alaric, vol. I as compiled by Andreus of Villanova, Manual of the Order of the Bloodwolf (author unknown), The hidden city of San Lorenzo: rumours of a land of treasure as gathered from Andalusian tales and its surrounding locales by Felipe de la Rosa, archived reports from the LEPRecon, archived reports from the Council, …
Interlude (I)
Thousands of years ago, fairies lived in perfect harmony with the humans.
Until the day they didn't.
The Fairy People held a strong prejudice against them, and not only because of the barbaric manner they manhandled magic or their lack of magical aptitude in general. The People were a people of a complex civilization, centuries ahead of humanity. They had great magical capabilities, far more powerful than the humans will ever dream to be. To the innocent outsider, there should be no reason for the People to be averse to such powerless creatures, especially if they could just as easily be squashed under a spell. Unbeknownst to our outsider's perspective, however, there was one thing the humans were better at than the People.
Greed.
It was that particular human evil that frightened them. Thus the Fairy People often looked down at the human race with a mixture of disgust and fear in their eyes, as if wary that they would one day somehow find out to forever rob them of their magic, greedy creatures that they were. Humans were magicless, yes, but they were also intelligent.
And pouring intelligence into a bottle of evil often yielded the most explosive results.
Once upon a time, both races lived in perfect harmony together, sharing magic, sowing magic, and teaching magical theory to who would eventually become mages, but that peaceful unity stopped centuries ago. With constant wars going on among the humans, a great population of the People have been driven to live underground. Innocent fairies were caught in the crossfire, and, much worse, they have been used by the human military as canon fodder.
The People were then led to believe that their kindness and their magic had been abused by human greed, and it would be for the best to live separately from the liars and the killers, to finally live in peace amongst only themselves. Obviously, there remained some fairies who believed in the good of mankind, such as fairy godmothers; or those fairies who didn't mind living with the evil, such as witches. Some chose to live above the surface fulfilling the wishes of weeping princesses, some to cast curses for nothing but gratuitous fun.
Unfortunately, fairies who chose to live on the surface were only the minority. The majority had less than accepting opinions about living on the surface, of living with humans, and such was why Sino, great mage and alchemist, top student of the late Mage Master Alaric, and second human to ever sit in the Fairy King's Council, felt the hostility sharp in the air, like electricity setting all his nerves alive.
Several armoured megamicres walked alongside Sino, flanking his every side. The Megamicre Queen herself led her little company to his destination, and moles stood on guard as they hurried along the corridor. Sino strode straight-backed, aging features wearing a cool, confident, impassive countenance. They walked down the main hall of the Fairy People's underground castle without a word, the jostling of metal and leather the only noise in the too still, too tense air.
Under his cool facade, his emotions raged. He couldn't stop fidgeting, couldn't be focused enough to conjure a working to mask the sweat beading on his brow.
He could feel everyone's eyes boring on him, hear their thoughts so loudly in his ears he wanted to scream and hide.
Human. Magicless. Disgusting. Barbaric.
Elves, goblins, dwarves, gnomes, sprites and witches, pixies and sheevras, and centaurs and satyrs. All seven families of the Fairy People, looking at the only human in their midst in complete and utter disdain. For centuries, the Fairy King's Council never had a human minister. It had all changed since the Arcane Wars began thirty years ago, so named because of the emergence of creatures humanity thought were arcane before now. Fairies and humans alike needed to unite to defend their world from evil spouted forth from the Netherworld, and the Fairy People were left with no choice but to include at least a human's intelligence in the Good King's Council if they wanted a chance to win this war.
The Megamicre Queen stopped in front of a pair of gilded doors, signalling the rest of them to stop. Sino peered over her shoulder and frowned. The location wasn't as fancy as he expected it to be, as his Master Alaric lauded it to be. In fact, by the meagre size of the doors, he judged that the chamber inside would be more cramped than he liked. Considering they were underground though, he supposed he could let it slide. There were intricate carvings decorating the door's edges, with weird shapes that looked strangely like the letters of a language he doesn't know. Maybe it was some kind of a protection spell. Perhaps he'd ask the Good King about it later.
He waited as the Megamicre Queen talked to the the mole guarding it. Sino could only assume that he was the Mole King himself, judging by how the Queen planted a kiss on his cheek before turning to face him with a carefully schooled face and saying, "The Good King's Council awaits you, Great Mage."
For a moment, he thought of backing out. I'm not a great mage, he wanted to say. I'm only Artephius, humble alchemist of a remote human town, I can't do this, you can't make me do this—
But then he remembered what Maldonna had said before he departed for this blasted Council meeting.
"I have faith that you will end this war," she said, and though the burden of responsibility fell heavy on his shoulders, fire surged in his blood, knowing that he had her to return to, that he had her as a reason to see this war through, to end it once and for all. He smiled as she held up a fist before him, letting a chain necklace dangle from it, swinging gently before his eyes. A golden heart-shaped trinket hung from the chain, glinting with the gentle silver moonlight that snuck in through the curtains. It was one of his first successful attempts at transmuting base metals into gold, and he had given it to her as a gift. Maldonna had flicked her wand, and the golden heart was divided into two, one for each of them to keep.
"Take this, Arty," she'd said, taking his hand and putting the half of her heart in his palm. "Always remember I'm with you."
Now, as he stood before the Council Chambers, he reached up to his neck where his half of the heart rested, hidden beneath the layers of his silken blue robes. He drew in a breath, released it. His resolved renewed, he sent a sharp nod in the Megamicre Queen and the Mole King's direction, prompting them to finally open the doors and let him in. Once they did, he strode in with perfect confidence and, once inside, he boldly announced:
"Good King Borvald." He made certain his voice was grand and sure, amplifying it with a touch of magic so it carried across what was unexpectedly a vast chamber indeed. He really would have to ask the Good King what protection spell he used that made the Chamber look…unimposing on the outside.
The startled Council committee struggled to gather their bearings from their rudely interrupted meeting, but he was satisfied that all their eyes were now pinned on him, their silence bidding him to speak.
"It is my honour," he said, slowly, "to take the place of the late Master Alaric as your new Minister of Alchemy. Good King, Lord Chancellor, and my fellow Lord Ministers…" He sent a nod to the Elfin king, to his right hand the Lord Chancellor, and then to the rest of the Lord Ministers seated at the long table.
"I'm nearly finished with the Arcanum." He was not Artephius—no, no longer. No longer that innocent alchemist of a humble town. He was power, he was wisdom, he was Sino. A name that meant fate, a name he'd picked for himself as weaver of destiny, and when he decides the world's destiny is peace, then peace it shall be.
He was Sino of El Iskandriya. Sino, the Good King Borvald's Minister of Alchemy.
Sino, Great Mage.
"Given just a little bit more time…" He levelled his eyes with the King Borvald's startled ones as he twirled his hand in space, summoning a crystal with power so immense none would have dared conceive it—brightly, steadily, blindingly burning like a small white sun.
"I believe my creation will finally end our war against the Netherworld."
Interlude 2 (I)
Puss awoke to a massive headache searing through his brain. The pain only spiked harshly when he tried to get up. Cursing savagely, he let his head drop onto the hard pillow situated at his back—which might as well have been a block of wood for all the tender loving comfort this pillow provided his dearly sore head. He suppressed a groan by biting at his lip, draping one arm over his head and pressing it onto his closed eyes. He felt all his insides curling, and…
Felina. His head.
He lay there, aching and eyes closed, sharply, painfully awake. Judging by the quietude and the lack of lighting, it was the middle of the night. Why would his stupid body decide to randomly wake him up given the hellish state he was in, when he clearly needed rest? To make him experience this migraine in all its shattering vividity?
He found, after what might have been hours, that he's too restless to sleep, and there was too much energy raging beneath his skin for him to remain contained in this cot for too long. The headache was still sharply pulsing from the very core of his brain, but lying here hoping it would go away would not actually get anything accomplished. So he got up, endured the new wave of pain that came with it, and numbly called out a name in the dark.
"Humpty," he said, expecting his brother to shift from his bed located just next to his, expecting his brother to wake up and give him some sort of relief for the headache while pretending to listen to his convoluted explanation how this herb or that root worked its magic, and—
And halted. A moment. Then—
Then the fresh and raw memory of betrayal and disappointment crashed upon him in waves upon waves, and it did not help him with his headache in the least.
He remembered it all, the painful memory of it flashing madly behind his eyes. His brother, his best friend—traitor. His brother, standing before him indignantly, saying "We've got everything we need; let's go. Now," while horror descended upon his own green eyes, torn between trying to understand and refusing to understand. That determined, wrong sense of righteousness, simmering hotly from Humpty's eyes, screaming rage that could only be vaguely translated into Oh Puss, don't LOOK at me like that, why do you keep defending THEM as if they're so innocent, I never belonged here, WE never belonged here, you're right, these people have done NOTHING for us, SO WHAT if we take a little coin, after all they've done to cast us out, this is the least of what they FULLY deserve, they deserve so much WORSE than just being robbed, because you know what they did, you know what ELSE they did, they STOLE
YOU
FROM
ME!
"Humpty…" He found himself whispering his name through his rough dry throat as he crumpled further into himself, not as much from this blasted headache as it was from the fresh surge of…that. He's angry at his best friend, he's been hurt by his best friend, he's been thoroughly betrayed and he's been led to disappoint his mother again—and, right now, he's torn between 1) throttling the utter foolishess out of who was supposedly the more intelligent between the two of them and 2) swallowing him in a massive hug for all his measly arms would allow around his very round friend.
Brother.
Images of a warmer past fluttered at the surface of his thoughts, images of eating lunch together, of watching the clouds drift together, of drawing dreams together, of laughter and smiles and twinkling mischief. Humpty had not always been like this. Yes, his brother had the occasional fantasy of leaving the place, but he was never so…spiteful. Puss wondered what had changed, at exactly what point in their friendship things had begun rolling downhill, how the insatiably curious and complicatedly inventive brother of his early childhood had transmogrified into this, this, this vindictive, seething ball of hate, for him, for their Mama Imelda, for all the innocent people who gave them their home.
("Our home? Okay, yeah. I GET it now! You get some fancy boots, and now you're TOO GOOD for me!")
"Ay! You're awake!" He looked up to see who had spoken. An old woman who had just arrived at the door quickly deposited her basket of goods to a nearby table and immediately hurried—hobbled—after him to check for his state.
"Lie down, pequeño, you look to be in pain. There there, slowly…I will fetch you some healing herbs in a moment, hold on, mijo."
After fussing over him and making him lie down on his cot again (he didn't have the energy to fight against her fierce motherly treatment of him,) the old woman hobbled her way as fast as she could back over to her table where she'd placed her goods. Her cane tapped dully onto the wet soil that was her floor with her every step. She reached inside her basket, pulled out a couple of leaves, and worked somewhere in her kitchen to concoct what he assumed would be his medicine.
She returned to him with a saucer filled with some sort of dark green liquid. She grabbed a chair from her dining table to sit by his bedside, placing her cane on the tabletop first before settling before him. She brought her elixir before him and he nearly gagged at the scent. He grimaced, not wanting any of that thing in his mouth. It probably tasted just as bitterly as it smelled.
His displeased reaction was not lost on her though. She simply fondly rolled her eyes.
"I know, mijo. But it would help with your fever—and what must be a huge headache, apparently. Down it quickly, and you won't even—see, see here, I've got a cup of water for you to wash the taste off your mouth immediately. Now take it." Her voice was old, kind of shaky, and definitely worn with what must be years of use, but it was firm in its motherly force, powerful and formidable and it reminded him, too much, of Imelda—
(Her shock, flashing into horror, then a crippling expression of defeat as the realization slammed into her like ice cold water, then what must be sheer, utter disappointment, as she held her heart, her heart that he shattered—
"...pequeño.")
He took the saucer, downed the bitter thing, then snatched the cup of water the old woman had graciously offered him and downed it as well to immediately wash away the foul taste that remained in his mouth. It tasted too much like the crushed herbs Humpty would often bring him when he was afflicted with a headache.
"Very good," said the old woman, and suddenly he felt very much like a child in her ancient presence. She took back her now emptied wooden cup and saucer from her ill visitor, reached behind her to put them back on her table, and looked at him intently. "Now, then. Rest."
He stuttered out a laugh. "Believe me, I want to do nothing more." He sobered. "But I cannot. My mind is…" He looked away.
"Plagued."
She was silent for a moment then. "Perhaps," she began, soothingly, tentatively, "perhaps you want to…speak, about what happened to you. I found you washed out from the riverbed down the stream, mijo, and you were burning from underneath your cold, wet fur. I wasn't certain you'd awaken; you were so ill with sickness, I knew not what to do."
He blinked. River…?
Oh. Right. He'd…jumped down the bridge and left Humpty to the mercy of San Ricardo's guardsmen. He'd been washed away by the streaming gush of the murky riverwater, led farther and farther away from his home, shame and hurt and bitter dishonour shadowing him, possibly from now on till the end of his life.
("Puss, save me!"
"...Save yourself."
It tore his heart to say what he said, but he'd already jumped down the bridge to leave the pieces behind.)
He averted his gaze.
"I do not want to talk about it."
She settled for nodding sagely. "If that's what you prefer, Señor Puss in Boots."
Puss was startled. She knew who he was? Unless his name has spread to other towns—which he doubted—it…simply wasn't possible. She moved to get her cane and get up, but then Puss suddenly blurted out the question in his mind.
"I do not think we have been introduced?"
This time, it was her who had to blink in surprise. She stared at him for several long moments, the wrinkles around her eyes tightening as she did so, but then eventually she coughed out a laugh. "I don't think you need introducing, my boy," she said. "Especially to anyone in San Ricardo."
His green eyes widened a fraction. "You…" He couldn't quite keep the shock from his voice. Then his hackles suddenly rose as he realized with a jolt what this implied. He got up and ignored the sharp throbbing behind his eyes as his mouth ran with questions—
"Where am I? Where am I in San Ricardo?"
How do you not yet know of the crime I—
"Why, yes." She looked perturbed at his sudden affright. "I live at the edge of the city—I much prefer it down here. Is something the matter?"
He clenched and unclenched his fists. If she lives at the edge of San Ricardo, then maybe…maybe he could…? No. He savagely struck the thought down. No. Sooner or later, this kind woman who had taken him in would still find out what he'd been caught doing with Hu—with that egg, and… and she'd hate him. Another person who he'd disappointed. He'd be such a baffling failure that she'd throw him from her home and scream her regret in ever taking him in, in ever caring for him, because he's unworthy of the boots—
("You," growled the Comandante, "disgrace those boots.")
He must leave immediately; he cannot stay. That thought startled himself—because did he intend to stay? Here, in this woman's shack? He certainly wasn't planning on going back there, to his mother, to the Comandante, to San Ricardo, his home—not so soon, not with what had just happened, but…but maybe he did want to stay. There was this something inside him that hoped this old woman would let him stay indefinitely, give him a place to be while he tried to gather his scattered bearings, a place to—maybe hide, (as a coward would) as a kitten would from an ear-splitting, sky-splintering clap of thunder.
This storm was half his fault, half his responsibility, and he knew the noble action was to face it, but…
The Comandante himself had seen him ride that cart filled with San Ricardo's bags of gold; he'd chased him down the town's cobblestone streets himself. If he gave himself up now, he may tell San Ricardo's court the truth: that he had been tricked into doing what he did. But even that fell like a flimsy excuse in his own ears. He would be chained, he would be forced to walk his way towards the cell where he'd spend the rest of his life, stripped of his honour and the symbols he wore, and everyone would be watching him, including his mother—
No…no. Being imprisoned, he could take, being lashed upon his back a thousand times, he could take, but the disappointment in his mama's eyes…that, he could not. Not…yet.
Maybe never.
It wouldn't be too long until the Comandante thought to send some of his troops down here, and—and he had to go.
His voice was quiet as he dragged the words out of his suddenly too narrow throat. "How…long have I been here?"
"A mere couple of hours, dear." She let several seconds pass before gently repeating her question. "Is something wrong, pequeño?"
His heart clenched. Stop that, he wanted to say, only Imelda gets to call me that. Seeing little point in saying it, he said something else instead.
"I need to go." The words sounded worn even to his own ears. He suddenly felt very, very tired. The sharp pain in his head had numbed down somewhat, and sweet exhaustion has finally taken reign of his body as that strong herbal medicine he'd downed drained the pain out of his system. But no…he can't, he can't stay here. But he also obviously can't get himself anywhere in this…state. Unfortunate, but…
But perhaps he'd leave after. Yes. After…after he rested. He needed…needed to…
The old woman had gotten up and helped him lay his head back down onto his pillow, which suddenly felt like a cloud of cotton for all the relief it brought upon the aching muscles around his neck.
He needed to…
"No," he heard himself saying, weak as the protest was. "No, I need to…"
He thought he felt her draping a blanket over him and smoothening the fur on his forehead with her ancient, wrinkled hand before leaning over him and whispering gentle words, words that softly guided him over to the bliss of oblivion.
"Rest, pequeño."
Author's notes:
As you may have noticed, the story that formerly had ~100,000 words is now reduced to roughly 4,400 words sans the author's notes. Here's why.
Reason uno: I took it down because rereading the first chapters nauseated me. I realized that I've changed my writing style somewhere along the way, and that my writing was immature when I began this. My writing had such an…arrogant undertone to it, you know? It was like I kept screaming, "Did I tell you I was PROFOUND?!" Haha. I wonder why no one called me out on that. You're all too nice. So I'm going to rewrite this, because I know I could do better. It took me three years to write my first long-term fanfic; I'm sure I could handle this, it's only been a year after all. Yeah, I could do this! Yeah…
Reason dos: I took down the whole story because it was becoming less of a story and more like a blob of words to me. Honestly, it was stressing me out; the plotholes were making me a confused crying mess. I'm all for magical explanations, but even magical explanations should have some sense! It wouldn't really have mattered if I wasn't such a stickler for details, but each time I tried to dig through San Lorenzo's history, I found nothing and was frustrated and lost the will to continue writing FSL. What happened before San Lorenzo was built? Where'd the Arcanum come from? Who is Uli? Weren't Netherworldians nice people? So why dump the Bloodwolf in their realm?! Who is Dulcinea, is she hundreds of years old? If SL is centuries old, how did new people come there to fill the place up? (Certainly not reproduction, since the kids are apparently all orphans.) Is Sino a godlike creature? Who even IS Sino? How did he gain such power? Who what when where how why why?
Despite all those frustrating questions, I couldn't bring myself to completely abandon this. I already started, so I might as bloody well finish. Sigh. This godsdamned monster of a fic is taking over my life too much…
Another reason I won't give it up is because: I have the best readers in the world. There are about maybe four people saying I should march on, and though that may not be much relative to other stories, I could not be happier to have them along. They have my utmost gratitude for believing in me when I won't. :')
So! Back to business. Since the show doesn't directly provide SL's history, I took on the task of answering them myself. I found that doing the story all over again from the beginning with the new history in mind was more satisfying than just… blindly marching on through the chapters and leaving a trail of dead words in my wake. San Lorenzo's history needed to be rewritten, so I did just that.
I have finished revising the plot of this story, and am now officially writing chapters, so it's only a matter of time before I post again—though I have abandoned my account, and am now moving to riva1argentica on FFN, same on AO3. (Follow me if you're curious on what I'm up to; I'm also on Tumblr for more real time me.) If you've read the original version and are wondering if the new revised version would be the same, I'm going to say—nope. Though they rest on the same premise (Evil Puss taking over the town, Scimitar as his sidekick, threat of the end of the world, earthquakes, rebellion, time travel, mind control, Puss being the One from the Great Prophecy, all that,) the two stories have entirely different skeletons. They may look the same outside, but the bone structure is different. That means some stuff may still surprise you. So, I hope you stay tuned! The new revised version is going to be more complicated than For San Lorenzo, because in it, I took the liberty of writing the history of San Lorenzo as well, who Sino is before he became a godlike entity, who Puss in Boots is before he arrived to San Lorenzo—all alongside Puss and Dulcinea's quest to save the world.
If you have any ideas for a new title, I'm open! I already have a few in mind, but I wouldn't mind suggestions. Feel free to make them as dramatic as possible.
Oh, and I'm only going to keep this preview up, not only because posting non-stories are against the site's rules, but also because I want to keep the comments this story received while it was still alive.
Await further updates if you're interested in keeping track of this story's progress; again, the remastered version would be posted from my second fanfiction account, riva1argentica, as soon as the first arc is finished. It might take me some time, because I'm also working on five other fanfic projects at the moment, six when you count this one. I'm already drowning in words as it is.
Yes, I like killing myself.
If, for some reason, you still want to see the original version, For San Lorenzo is still up in Archive of Our Own (though I plan to take that down too once the first arc is officially finished.) Be warned, though. There was a reason why I decided to remaster it.
Thanks for stopping by! :)
Rival Argentica