Chapter One
Expectation brimmed in the air. The villagers made the necessary preparations for the crystal caravan, which traveled on its yearly venture to collect myrrh. Claire loved this time of the year, not only for the festivities and the smiles that brightened everyone's faces, but the symbolic hope that the crystal in their town stood for. Each year, the Village Elder read sacred prayers from the leather-bound tome he always carried, to apply myrrh to the crystal and beseech it for its blessing, to allow them to live in another year of peace. Claire hoped to see her brother, Samuel, who traveled the caravan and acted as its leader. She also yearned to travel the caravan one day, to help keep their village strong.
The Clavatians were known for their unity, and this village was no exception. Big feasts were prepared for the caravanners, who would no doubt be hungry from their long and weary journey. A scrumptious meal of mixed vegetables, with the finest Gourd Potatoes, Round Corns, and Star Carrots that were plucked from the lovingly tended gardens, along with generous slabs of meat dripping with grease, big loafs of flaky bannock, and the favorite staple of Clavatian meals, Striped Apple Pie, would be prepared. Claire brushed her hair into sleek perfection, before putting her customary bandanna over her head. For the finishing touch, she took a delicate red ribbon, a gift from Samuel, and tied the lower end of her hair. Her brother gave her the affectionate nickname of Hornet, since her hair resembled the insect's stinger whenever she put her hair up.
Other people in the village, however, named her 'little dreamer', for the far off expression she usually wore when she stood on the hilltop that looked towards a great expanse of infinitely blue skies. Claire peeked into a bronze-gilded mirror in her room, examining her features. Her face was cherubic, with a slightly rounded face and cupid bow lips, along with wide brown eyes that always seemed to marvel at the wonder of everything. At twelve years old, she was on the last year of childhood-soon to be on the verge of womanhood. She was not quite old enough to participate in a caravan, though she hoped that next year, she would be one of the chosen candidates. Next year, she thought to herself, I will follow my brother's footsteps. I will ride in the caravan, and make my mother and father proud.
She smoothed out imaginary wrinkles from her cream-colored dress and straightened her black leggings. Claire then tapped her soft brown shoes twice on the wooden floor, before heading out from her comfortable home. The sound of striking iron and the wave of heat billowing from the forge immediately struck her senses. Her father was hard at work, she knew. Forging was his pride and joy, and he was renowned as a great blacksmith who forged wonderful swords. Arion usually took some time to take Claire aside and train her in the art of swordsmanship, since she was the daughter of a blacksmith, after all. She didn't wield a real sword in her hands-instead, her father and herself would practice with wooden sticks in mock spars. Sometimes her brother would spar with her, something that always lightened Claire's heart and made her love her brother all the more fiercely. Claire looked forward to the day when she would wield one of her father's skillfully crafted swords and fight alongside Samuel.
Indeed, Arion struck iron with his hammer, concentrating on his task. Claire watched him at work, admiring how the iron seemed to bend and weld to his will. A true craftsman made a task seem magical-and she marveled how her father could skillfully shape a sword. The blacksmith paused momentarily to wipe a film of sweat from his brow, before he turned and glanced towards Claire. A smile spread across his face. Despite his steel-gray hair, he appeared young again, when he smiled like that. "Why, if it isn't my little dreamer! You're probably excited to see the caravanners again, I expect."
"Of course," Claire said, bowing respectfully to her father in greeting. "Samuel said that he found some mythril for you to forge in his letter. There were other materials, too-like diamond ore, alloy, and other things."
"Ah, that's wonderful." Arion then continued with his work, sparks flying from his hammer. "We can't afford mythril. It's been a while since I've held it in my hands. It makes wonderful weapons-it's a nice and sturdy material that is more resilient than iron and bronze."
"And orichalcum is harder than mythril," Claire said, remembering earlier conversations with her father about materials that were used in blacksmithing. "It's gold in color, and doesn't chip or rust, just like mythril."
There seemed to be a bright gleam in Arion's eyes when Claire spoke. "That's my Claire. You'd make a fine blacksmith one day."
He then ruffled her hair affectionately, causing Claire to grin and giggle in response. "Why don't you run along and see to the other villagers? They could use some extra help, I am sure."
Claire bowed again, before leaving her father to his work. Activity seemed to bustle everywhere. The fisherman netted in their latest catch, which would no doubt be part of the great feast for the caravanners. Cows were being milked in the rancher's farm, dough was being kneaded at the miller's, and crops were gathered by the armful at the farmer's. In the meantime, tailors brought out bright dyes and threads, while the merchant family got out their wares to help replenish stocks for the caravanners for their next journey. Everything was in motion, and Claire got caught up in the excitement, in the constant movement and activities that were taking place. She helped gather crops, milk the cows, and knead dough, until she began to sweat slightly from exertion. Still, Claire liked to work and keep busy. It helped distract her from the gnawing impatience of waiting for her brother to come back home.
When Claire finished, the day slowly turned to dusk. A chorus of insects rose, drowning the night into a cozy lull that always comforted her to sleep. Claire fought the urge to yawn, opting to stretch instead. She waited at the bridge, hoping to hear the sound of creaking wheels and the sight of the caravan coming back home. Claire waited until the night turned even deeper and darker, the hum of insects an incessant background ambience that made her nod off a couple of times. She strained to listen for any signs of the caravan's arrival, though none were forthcoming. As Claire eventually drifted off to sleep at the spot, she couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment that the caravan didn't arrive.
The next day was bright and warm, a cloudless day that made it impossible to feel sad or disappointed. Claire's earlier dejected mood rose with the sun in the sky, as she sat up from her place on the ground and stretched. Surely today would be the day that they would arrive. After all, caravans could be a couple days late. She was simply impatient to see her brother again, after missing him for a year now. She brushed off any dirt or dust that clung to her clothes, before she headed back into the village. If the villagers were disappointed from the lack of the caravan, they certainly didn't allow it to show on their faces. After all, there was still work to be done. The villagers went back to their daily proceedings, working hard, as they usually did.
Claire walked towards the farmer's house, watching as a middle-aged couple gathered crops to store for the winter months. Without any prompting, Claire helped dig out Gourd Potatoes, much to the relief of the grateful couple.
"Ah, little dreamer," the elder woman, Obelia, said. "It is truly a delight to have you still around. My son and daughter went on the caravan. It helps to have an extra pair of hands tending to the crops. I feel my old bones can't bend like they used to. My age is catching up with me, I'm afraid."
"It's no problem at all. I like doing something to keep me busy, anyway."
"Why don't you help yourself to one of our Striped Apples, Claire?" Obelia's husband said. "I recall that they're your favorite. In fact, I remember that when you were younger, you took off with an armful of our Striped Apples."
A bright blush streaked Claire's cheeks at the memory. She ducked her head to hide her face, as she said, "Ah, I remember. That story always makes Samuel laugh."
She felt a pang in her chest again, remembering that the caravan was late. Claire then moved onto the Round Corns, which needed to be husked and have their silk removed.
"We know that you meant no harm," Obelia said kindly. "And you know that you're always welcome to our garden, little dreamer."
"Thank you. It's really kind of both of you."
"We are Clavats," Marius said, with a kind of pride in his voice. "We don't have much, as you can see. But we do whatever we can to get by. A Clavat shares with another Clavat when they are in need. That's how we've managed to survive, all this time. The other tribes may think of ourselves as soft-hearted, though I think that we Clavats have our own way of enduring."
As Marius said that, it reminded her of something that Samuel said. Being rather philosophical, he mentioned that even though there was tension and discord about the tribes, each of them did what they could to survive. He even mentioned that the Selkies were ones to be understood and have sympathy for, rather than scorn and fear. You know, Claire, the world is what it is. Sometimes it's not fair, and it can be tough. So we Clavats simply have to be grateful for our lot in life and not ask for more. We have one another, and that's enough for us to pull through.
Her breath hitched in her throat, and Claire thought she could feel the gentle ache of tears. She tried calming her tears, and soon enough, they eventually passed away when she began husking the corn. Keeping her hands busy always made her feel calmer, more in control of herself. She vowed to herself that she would not cry, not after her sister Mintie passed away on a caravan venture, and her mother passing away soon after. Some say that their mother died of grief. Claire thought to herself that she would move on with her life, and not allow herself to wallow in despair. She didn't want to die from sadness, like her mother apparently did.
Even so, as the day went on, Claire departed from the farmer's plot of land with a friendly wave. Night came again, and there was still no sign of the caravan. It was the second day that the caravan missed its welcoming home.
"If the caravan doesn't come back…we have our own way of enduring, don't we, Father?"
Claire didn't know what compelled her to ask the question in the first place. She regretted mentioning the possibility that the caravan might not arrive after all. Her sister's death and mother's death were still a raw subject for her father. But Arion managed to keep calm when Claire asked such a question. Like Claire, Arion knew that life must go on, and that there was work to be done. "I've lived a good life now, Claire. If I were to pass away, then I would have no regrets in life. You understand?"
Nodding in response, Claire continued watching her father work in the forge. The silence seemed to stretch out between them, punctuated by the strike of the hammer against iron. Finally, her father spoke again, in a softer voice this time. "Yes, we Clavats have endured plenty of hardships, but we managed to make it through. Every one of us, including the Lilties, Yukes, and Selkies, have their hardships. Some more than others. Claire, I know that you worry about Samuel. But we have to hold on and wait for the caravan. We have to have faith that they will return. If it weren't for faith, what else do we have?"
At this point, Claire suddenly understood more clearly what the crystal stood for, the hope and faith the villagers harbored into it with religious devotion. Without faith, they would all wither away, just like the crystal would eventually fade without the myrrh replenishing its glow.
Author's Note: I decided that I would write a Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles fanfiction, mainly because I'm disappointed at the lack of a Male Selkie/Female Clavat Romance. So here it is. It's been a while since I've been in the writing game, but hopefully, I will be able to keep up with it. I hope that I managed to make this chapter an enjoyable read, and I will be attempting to write more as soon as I can.