Rage, pain and suffering. And the Calm Lands burned.
The silence began after the storm. The sound of small waves lapping up against broken wood pierced the blackness of his mind, along with the sounds of the gulls overhead. He slowly found his way back into consciousness, his mental faculties very slowly returning, seeming to be fighting against an opposite will. As he opened his eyes, the emotion that first came to him was fear. Looking down, all he could see were wooden planks. He tasted salt water. He smelt death, and he didn't know why. He could feel something inside his head, clouding him. Yet it was even now starting to fade. He was strong. The powers of even the toxin of Sin were no match for such a mind...such a strange, unexplainable mind. He spluttered as a wave came too far and filled his mouth and nostrils with fluid. He rose groggily, not able to get to his feet at first, but just trying to raise his head above the level of water. He took a cursory look around at what remained of Kilika. Needless to say, it wasn't much. It wasn't much at all.
"Oh Yevon above..." His voice was weak, croaking, and even as it came out of his mouth he regretted using it, his throat clenching, resisting the effort. What was left was a sea of floating wood, foliage, objects and bodies. He himself sat on a small pile of wood, stranded on a sandbank that had perhaps been created by the sheer natural forces at work as the leviathan had attacked; a small island of wreckage of his very own. Sea surrounded him where there once would have been houses, shops and people. Living people... His eyes started to sting, though now his eyes were producing their own salt water as tears crept down his face. Then he remembered. He remembered it all. The horror, the chaos, the screams, oh the screams...All while the deadly sunset glowed. The sky seemingly red with the blood of the fallen.
He looked around where he was seemingly stranded. There were more bodies here. Dozens of bodies, strewn like flotsam and jetsam amongst the remains of the port. That's all it was the town was now. Flotsam created in Sin's wake. Anger, despair, along with hundreds of other conflicting emotions flowed through him at this realisation, making him want to scream, to destroy. No, no, he would not allow himself to think those thoughts. Destruction would not breed destruction; it was a cycle he knew all too well. Though Sin...as he recovered his own identity from the clutches of the toxin, he knew that a path of destruction lay ahead of him. It would be Sin that would be destroyed at his hand, for the people of Spira. That was the path he had chosen. He remembered.
"Hey, you okay brudda?" The voice came from behind him, causing him to spin around. He saw a man dressed in something familiar (is that the Besaid Aurochs kit?) waving to him from a pier that had somehow escaped Sin's wrath. The man was dark skinned, yet had short blonde hair. White paint made into patterns covered his face and upper body. A look of concern was etched on his face, his eyes those of a man who had just witnessed Sin's destructive abilities. A look he knew all too well. He could not speak again to reply, the strength did not remain in him, and he could only give a little cursory wave back. This was before he collapsed again forward as the pain that had been dulled by shock hit him with immeasurable force, and he blacked out again.
He woke up this time under a blanket, with a pillow supporting his head. He yawned, and then memory and pain in a combined assault hit him like a brick wall. He cried out, and he heard a startled "oh!" to his left. Footsteps came towards him, and on reflex he pulled the blanket over himself, even though he knew there was no reason for protection. Fear was a powerful motivator, even when it lingered. He opened his eyes to see a figure crouching over him. It was a young woman, with soft brown hair and shining, sad yet caring eyes. She was pretty, yet he was distracted by that only for a second, instead being more interested in her garb. That was no ordinary clothing; that was the clothing of a Summoner, he was sure.
"Are you okay? I healed you, but there might be some lasting pains...forgive me. My name is Yuna, from the Isle of Besaid, what's yours?" Yuna? He knew that name. He was sure he did. Ignoring the pain that resounded seemingly in his right leg worst of all, he reached into his aching mind.
"My deepest gratitude ma'am, I'm truly grateful for your care and attention. My name is Matza, I am a native Kilikian, and I am a Summoner. A Summoner who was not prepared for Sin so early in his journey." He chuckled, despite the sadness and pain. Laughter was a soothing tonic.
"Oh! I am a Summoner too! I too am early in my pilgrimage". That was it, something in his mind clicked. He knew he knew that name. He had heard it many times before, overheard in conversations, and in his own talks with the monks at the Kilika temple.
"Wait, erm, pardon me for being so intrusive, but would you by any chance be the daughter of High Summoner Braska?"
"Yes, yes I am." He was surprised to see a little twinge of disappointment in the woman's face, and he realised what he has said. It must be tough having a famous father.
"Well, it is an extraordinary pleasure to meet you, not least to be healed by you, and the honour would be the same if your father was not Lord Braska." He smiled, and was a met by a smile in return. He was glad. He didn't want to offend anyone he owed something to, or another Summoner for that matter. Unless they deserved it of course, but Matza felt that Yuna didn't. There was something immediately apparent in her, a kindness that seemed to be all too rare nowadays. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. "The dead! They must be sent!" He choked, as he tried to scramble to his feet. However, his leg went from under him, and he crumpled in a heap back to the floor, eliciting a gasp from Yuna. "Ow...dammit."
"You needn't worry, I have already performed the sending. I'm sorry if you wanted to help..." She added as Matza groaned softly. Yet he shook his head, and forced a smile.
"It is fine, I am glad someone has done it. I would not wish for my former neighbours to become fiends. They...did not deserve that. Nobody does, of course." Yuna nodded, as Matza returned under his blanket. Every move he made caused him to wince slightly. He must have broken his leg in the chaos, yet he had no memory of the attack itself. Those sorts of memories tend to get repressed, he found. It was similar to those other times when he'd found he could not remember...what he'd done. He sighed.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, Lady Yuna, I shall sleep till the morning. Then, hopefully some of the pain will go away."
"Of course, I'm sorry. Do you need another cure spell?" Matza chuckled, causing Yuna to look curiously at him.
"There is really no need to apologise. You are at no fault. Only one thing is. As for the cure spell, I'm fine; do not waste anymore of your magic on me when there are still those that need it. I wish I could help, but I can barely heal myself. I should apologize for that." He cursed his own weakness at this time. He was a Summoner, he was meant to be a pillar of strength. He should be helping the wounded...sending the dead. He shouldn't have been leaving it all to this young girl, who should not have to deal with so much by herself. He swore gently under his breath as another stab of pain ran up his leg. Obviously he was not quiet enough, for Yuna blushed slightly and put her hand to her mouth as she stood up. Though there was a twinkle in her eyes that Matza was glad to see. She wasn't a prudish Yevonite then, something that, although he was a following of the teachings himself, he hated. Prudishness was truly a destroyer of a wholesome sort of fun, one of the only things that the people of Spira had; it shouldn't be infringed upon.
"Well, goodnight. I hope you feel less pain in the morning."
"Thank you, Lady Yuna. Thank you for doing my job when I could not. I will always be grateful for that." With that, Matza drained all the magic he felt he had at the time, and used it to cast a cure spell on himself, helping to numb the pain in his leg, and with that he was able to drift off to an admittedly troubled sleep.
It was not long before Yuna's curious gaze returned to the now sleeping Matza. Immediately something about him struck the girl as wrong somehow. For one, he seemed old to be a Summoner; he must have been almost forty, judging by his weathered, rugged face, his chin covered in dark stubble. His hair was almost completely silver, with only some streaks of jet black, but whether that was his natural colour Yuna did not know. He was also a surprisingly large man for a Summoner, tall and muscular. Also, if he was a Summoner, where were his guardians? Had they been amongst the dead? He had not seemed concerned for any others...It was puzzling. The young Summoner sighed, driving it out of her mind. She had much more work to do without these thoughts distracting her. With that, she went back to doing what she could for the other wounded.
When morning came, so did the realisation that everything that had happened the day before, hadn't been just a dream. Matza sat on the edge of one of the few remaining boardwalks, legs dangling over the side. His ripped and torn clothes had been replaced, and he was now wearing loose fitting blue pants and a clean white wife beater. The top was a little tight, but he'd taken the first things he could find. Now was not a time to be picky. Luckily, somehow, his hardened boots had survived. They would have been a greater loss, as would have been his weapons. However, some early morning scavenging, possible now that his leg only sporadically experienced spasms, proved extremely successful. Buried underneath some rubble, he found what he, when he woke up, was terrified at the thought of losing. Strapped to his back was a substantial seven-point Shuriken, each point a wicked double-edged blade, curved and sharp. Another single blade was attached to his left forearm with more leather strapping. Of course, he also had his Summoner's staff, once again strapped to him but this time on the outside of his right leg and hip. Its shaft was metal painted white, and the symbol of Kilika in red sat on top of the shaft. He liked all his weapons, but had to admit he probably wouldn't have the staff if it wasn't for Yevon's traditions. Then again, he was never one for traditions, despite his beliefs. It was why he had alienated some of the monks at the temple in Kilika, but many understood him. The latter were often the ones that knew his story.
Footsteps, familiar sounding footsteps accompanied by ones he did not recognise, made Matza turn his head slightly to look behind him. There he saw the familiar face of his fellow Summoner he met last night, the Lady Yuna, accompanied by a dark-haired woman in a fur-lined black dress that exposed her shoulders, and a blue-furred Ronso warrior with a broken horn. Matza jumped up to his feet, and was revealed to find that his leg did little to complain. He smiled a tired smile, his despair now turned into solemn acceptance. This was Spira after all. You knew that Sin would attack. You couldn't let it destroy your emotions; a solemn sadness was enough. Or at least, that was what he thought. It was their punishment after all; they had to learn to accept it.
"Ah, the Lady Summoner. An honour it is again, and once again I have to express my gratitude for helping me last night. Well, if I don't, my leg certainly does." Yuna smiled, and returned the prayer that Matza had been giving whilst he was talking.
"It was really no worry. I hoped I did all I could."
"You definitely did, you did some of what should have been my share after all. It does annoy me that I was 'indisposed'...I owe a lot to this place. These are your Guardians, I take it?" He questioned, changing tack quickly, away from the topic of himself.
"Oh, yes. This is Lulu," the dark-haired woman nodded a greeting, "and Kimahri." The Ronso remained unreadable and stoic. Matza was not surprised. Many of the Ronso he had met had been the same. They were generally a very dignified race, well, apart from those two lunkheads he had met once. "I have others with me, but one of them is still helping around, and another is still asleep." Matza noted that the other woman turned quickly towards the Summoner, the look on her face a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "Pardon me for asking...but where are your Guardians?" Yuna was even more curious after Matza met the question with a soft chuckle.
"I must reveal that I am a bit of a curiosity in that department. You see," he said, indicating his clearly deadly weapons, eliciting a gasp from Yuna, "I am my own Guardian." He could now see clearly the puzzlement his statement had caused in Yuna, and even the woman called Lulu raised an eyebrow interestedly.
"But...isn't it in the teachings of Yevon that every Summoner must have at least one Guardian? Are you allowed to be a Summoner without a Guardian?" Matza frowned at the girl's question.
"Those affiliated with Yevon I have talked to have been split on the matter. Some have told me that I must continue in my duties, others have said that I must stop until I find a Guardian. The truth is..." he paused a minute, searching for the right words. "I take it, Lady Summoner, that you trust each of your Guardians with your life, that you feel a bond with them." Yuna nodded in agreement. "Well, it just happens that I have no-one to trust. The only hands I feel my life should be in are my own. I cannot explain to you why that is, it's complicated. Suffice to say that I would push away anyone who tries to get close to me anyway. That leaves me in no position to find a suitable Guardian, and I know how to defend myself anyway. These things," he said, indicating the Shuriken and Armblade, "aren't just for show. Honestly, I see no reason why I need a Guardian. I don't see why I should risk the lives of others needlessly, unless I feel they have a bond with me, and then it is less needless. Such a person, however, I have yet to find. I soldier on alone; it is 'no big deal'." Matza sighed, trying not to get lost in his own memories as he was prone to do. He was in company after all.
"I'm sure you will find someone," said Yuna, in a caring tone that somehow made him believe her, "and then both you and Yevon will be happy." She smiled, and Matza was reminded how young she was. She could have been his daughter. A daughter...that's what they could have had. No! He shook himself out of his thoughts, and smiled in return.
"You go to the temple of Kilika to pray to the fayth?" She nodded in conformation. "Well, I wish you luck. I must head to where you have just come. I shall maybe see you on the road sometime. I take it you will be at the Blitzball tournament? It IS for Maester Mika's 50th anniversary as Grand Maester after all."
"Of course! Some of my friends will be playing for the Besaid Aurochs too!"
"Excellent! I hope they do better this year then. Though, I must warn you, they will be no match for the Kilika Beasts!" Both of them laughed, once again, thought Matza as he did, showing the power of Blitzball as an agent with which to forget about the problems of the world. "For now, though, I say farewell. Now!" Matza ripped his staff out of the straps on his leg, and pointed it to the sky. For a second, the heavens seemed to fill with a fiery light, before something too bright to look at burst from the flames. It flew straight towards them, forcing Yuna and her Guardians to shield their eyes. Yet Matza raised his arms to the sky, and welcomed it. Something landed with a quiet thud and a flapping of wings on the boardwalk, and the people around all gasped or stared in wonder as the light reduced. There was a large bird, not a fiend; it seemed too regal for that, but something else. Its plumage was red, gold and yellow, the colours of a glowing fire and the sunset. It was large, but with a fairly small head and neck. It wore a crown of feathers on its head, and there was an air of serene calm about it.
"What...what is that?" he heard the younger Summoner's voice as he jumped up onto the great firebird's back. "Is than an Aeon?"
"It is, it is!" He shouted, energy now flowing through him after the summoning. "It's what I got after praying at Kilika temple! Others only seem to gain the ability to summon Ifrit, the fire-demon Aeon, but something was obviously different about me! The monks were certainly surprised." His eyes softened as he stroked the feathers on the back of the creature's neck. "I call it Pheonix," he said softly, "and I and she will see you soon!"
With that, the Aeon flapped its fiery wings, and took off into the air, leaving behind the destroyed port town, as it flew towards Besaid, and the next stop of Matza's lone pilgrimage. Sin's attack had almost stopped him, and, as he sat there, focusing on retaining the summoning till he arrived, he vowed to himself that nothing would get in his way of wreaking his revenge on Sin. It was time the events of ten years ago were completed. He must finish what was started all that time ago. He owed that to himself. To her.
So thats the first chapter! Obviously a bit OC-centric, but don't worry, lots more familiar faces will be in future chapters. This is the atypical set-up chapter. Tell me what you think if you have the time, constructive criticism just makes me a better writer!
