Author's note: I don't own Final Fantasy, so the characters aren't mine. I'm not making any money off of this, so please don't sue me.
Final Redemption
The pleasant breeze blew across the golden grasses of the mountain; the sun shone high in the sky adding to the warm glow. It was a time like this that one person could compose a calming tune to the scenery and the music would last the test of time, never to be forgotten, never to be wasted. It would have been, if the ground were not scarred with the telltale signs of battle. A body lie there, heaving its last few breaths, seeing its life flash before its eyes. Blood stained the ground, permeated the air with its sickly-sweet scent, and for the body coiled up in pain, left its coppery taste inside its mouth. A broken staff lay to the side, a testament to its keeper's shattered power. Only now did the one so close to death see though the lie it had been put through.
He said I was special. I was going to be the one to make him proud. It didn't matter to him. He didn't care about me. I am, after all, only a weapon.
Blue-black feathers fluttered in the air, stripped from his back from the battle. One particularly long pinion landed in front of him, and eyes, blurred with weakness, could barely pick it out of the blurred scenery, even from the stark contrast it gave to the vibrant red of the ground in front of him. Slowly, he came to posses the feather in his gnarled and battle-worn hand.
When he laughed at the death of my brothers, I laughed with him. They were far from being as strong as I. Now I can imagine him laughing at me. That's what he's doing right now. I am sure of it.
With the fleeting strength that came with his mental anguish, he curled his hand around the azure-obsidian plume and crushed it. He choked back a sob, as well as some blood that occasionally dripped from in between his lips. It was cruel for fate to deal him the card of what the black mages would soon come to call awareness,' but at least it was better late than never. At least he had the chance for a last-moment redemption, a last moment to find peace before he died.
Is this all there is live has to offer? Was I supposed to die this very moment, or was I meant for greater things? No, it can't be. I lived my life as a murderer, and I didn't care.
He let out his final breath, then stilled as his life force left his body. The blood that he had been trying to keep inside himself is body entirely at that moment, forsaking his corpse of even a shred of humanity in his bones. Animals emerged from the light foliage that hid them, and they soon came to feed upon his lifeless corpse, though he still would live for a while in the stories of those who had fought with him--even if it were negative. Even that would not last, because in time, even the only memory of his spirit would be long forgotten by the people who slew him. It was in a saying he once heard when he was still alive, "Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky."