Chapter 2: Awakening Anew

I don't dream. Mewt lectured me once about how we dream constantly and gave tons of explanations, but I didn't believe him. Well, I did, but I just didn't think it applied to me.

Of course, closing my eyes in my bedroom, then opening them and seeing an office instead killed that theory.

I'd heard that what happened in dreams couldn't be controlled, so I waited. And waited. Bored, and now thinking I'd been lied to this whole time, I looked around the room. It reminded me of a medieval castle. Giant stone blocks that seemed to shine made up the walls and floor. Or was that marble? Yeah, definitely marble. One of the walls had been knocked out though, leaving three pillars holding up the ceiling. Pale blue curtains swayed from an invisible breeze. The opposite wall had two bookshelves covering the wall. A mirror was held in between them, revealing a man with striking blue eyes staring at me. Blonde hair fell on armored shoulders and a scar ran along his cheek. The silver armor he wore only accented his strength. I flinched, unsettled by the way he stared at me. Wait, he moved back too.

I raised my hand, and so did the man. "Right, only my reflection." I chuckled. Maybe this was how I secretly wanted to look? I guess a dream could do that. Might be all those fantasy books I've read...It would explain the sword at my hip. I pulled the weapon out. It slid easily, and fit in my hand pefectly. It felt amazing. Must've been around four feet long, but I could swing it easily. How did the light catch on the blade like that? And that gem at the hilt! Heck, it even had my name embedded on the blade. "Marche Radiuju," in short, fancy script. This thing must cost a fortune.

I sheathed the weapon and turned to my left. A desk and chair were just a few feet away. Some papers were stacked on the desk, but that didn't freeze me in place. The helmet did though. Two horns rose from the top, curled around themselves in a forward spiral. That was enough for me to falter, if but for a moment.

I felt drawn to it. It seemed important, and reminded me of something from home. Something Doned had mentioned once...a symbol of power? I'm sure whoever wore this was powerful. And famous. Kings wore helmets like this, right?

When had I put it in my hands? Why not put it on? It was obviously mine. I saw myself on a throne, regal armor shining in an imaginary sun. But kings in armor normally don't get elected, do they? History's proven only war and death and murder get them there. A rattling caught my attention, and I realized I was shaking. "No, not me."

I hurled that priceless helmet to the floor. It shattered on impact, pieces flying everywhere. All thoughts of kings vanished, replaced by…disbelief?

I noticed a door across the room, but before I took a step toward it, I felt everything shaking. I stepped back and felt nothing but empty air. Bright light blinded me, and then I felt myself falling...


Fallingfallingfallingcrapcrapcrap-

"Aaaaaaaahhhh!" Marche screamed. He bolted to his feet, a hand on his chest. His voice faltered at the sight in front of him. His house didn't have stone walls. Looking around, he realized he wasn't even in a house.

"What the heck? Is this another dream?" Marche scratched his head. "Is that possible?"

It couldn't be real. No place in St. Ivalice had alleys filled with grass. And it was the middle of winter at home! Not this…spring weather? Summer? Whatever the season, Marche felt himself relax as a warm breeze went by.

Leaning against the wall, Marche laughed. "Well, if it is another dream, hopefully this one won't end with falling."

He looked down at himself. Yep, back to his normal body. He didn't recognize the clothes though. He wore a blue, short-sleeved shirt and brick colored shorts. He could feel padding underneath the shirt, and pulling it up, chain mail and a brown undershirt under above that. His feet were itching, probably due to the socks, and- "Steel toed shoes?"

Marche kicked the wall. A clear 'tink' noise resounded, and he shook his head. "Out of all of this, that has got to be the weirdest."

He had another sword as well, not nearly as fancy as the other one. Just a few feet of steel and a scratched up pommel. "I don't actually know how to fight with this..but this is a dream right? So why not dream I know?" He thought, swinging the blade around.

He posed in what he hoped was a starting position, both hands on the grip, his eyes focused on an imaginary foe. Eyes narrowed, he stabbed forward. Not pausing, he ducked a swing, then slashed forward. The walls around him faded from his sight as he focused solely on his phantom foe. As he twirled around another strike, he started laughing. It felt exhilarating! He imagined a second foe, shorter then him, and his body moved before he could even tell it to.

He would have kept fighting his phantom foes, but as he stepped forward for a finishing strike, he tripped over a rock. The ground rushed up to meet him, and he grunted on impact. He lay there, his adrenaline drained. "Okay, so that was cool."

Getting up, Marche sheathed his sword and dusted himself off. He paused, feeling something in his pocket. He reached in and pulled out a small sack, no larger than a small rock and not much heavier. Inside were dozens of golden coins, the light shimmering off them.

"So, I can somehow swordfight, and have a ton of money. Can this dream get any better?" Marche stared at his sudden fortune for a moment longer before returning it to his pocket. When he woke up, he was going to be so disappointed. But for now, he decided to keep exploring this new dream.

He walked out of the alley and realized his dream had given everyone new clothing. People walked by in silks, leather, armor…and all had weapons! As he stared at a particularly huge sword carried around by an otherwise friendly looking man, Marche thought, "Is my mind trying to tell me something? Maybe that I'd look good in leather while I decapitated someone? Geez."

The sight of the odd crowd suddenly vanished, replaced by a mob of people rushing around him. Marche found himself carried away with them and unable to push back, he resigned himself to not getting stepped on. When the mob dispersed, he looked around, and realized going with the flow wasn't a bad idea.

It reminded him of a bazaar. Stalls and tables of every size, as far as he could see, which admittedly wasn't far. But in sight was a bustling crowd filling out the plaza where, at the very edge of his vision, water shot into the sky. Marche laughed and dived into the chaos. This dream was getting better and better!

The first merchants he passed by disappointed him; they only sold food, and it wasn't even different! Just fruit basket after colorful fruit basket. Not feeling hungry, Marche walked on. The crowd filled the entire path now, and now they were shouting. Ducking under the arm of a black robed man, Marche grinned. "Of course, weapons."

And there were a lot of weapons. Swords, daggers, axes, hammers, staves…the list went on and on! Each merchant had their own gimmick too. One bare chested man was showing off, swinging his blades in intricate patterns as the crowd "Oow'd" and "Aww'd." Another was actually melding armor as another merchant took orders.

Finally breaking through the mob, Marche glanced around. For a dream, everything was so real. Even the canines on that furry merchant over there look authentic. Marche's jaw dropped. That merchant really did have a snout, and long, drooping ears covered in fur to match!

"Well, I do like dogs." Marche thought, staring as the creature sold a staff to a white-robed girl. "I guess dreams about dog people wouldn't be too crazy."

"Hey boy! Come over here!" Oh, the dog-man was staring at him, waving his hands (or were they paws?). He waved them again. "Yes, you in the blue!"

He walked over, and the creature began rummaging through a box. "You look like a smart lad." The creature smiled at him, revealing an unwanted display of decaying teeth. Quickly looking away, Marche saw what he'd pulled up: a small bottle of some green liquid.

"Ever been on your last legs?" The dog-merchant dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned toward Marche. "Not a healer to be found, and everyone's out to get you? Well, I can guarantee, this elixir here will be your savior."

"Err, I don't know." Marche said. He couldn't take his eyes away from the huge ears dangling off the creature. "I really don't have much."

Noticing his gaze, the creature smirked at Marche. "What, never seen a nu mou before, kid?" He laughed, tossing the miracle potion between his hands. "We are the masters of magic, you know. But even we need a pick-me-up, and this bottle can do it for anyone and everyone."

He leaned in again, pale green eyes sparkling. "So how about it? Only twenty-thousand gil!"

Retreating a step, Marche shook his head. "Uh, I don't have that kind of money."

The nu mou (Where have I heard it before?), tossed the elixir into a nearby bag. "Well, if you ever change your mind, just ask around for Gillis! Of course, come too late, and there won't be an elixir to buy."

Nodding, Marche walked away. "Did my mind just try to con me?" He wondered, dodging around a particularly 'large' nu mou. "Although, a magic potion would be something dream-like. Maybe I could have bought it. I should've asked how much 'gil' I had."

So absorbed in his thoughts, Marche didn't notice he'd run into someone until he fell back from the impact. "I'm so sorry, that was my..."

The rest of his apology ended in a mumble as Marche looked up, up, up to a lizard-like human glaring down at him. He was at least six feet tall, and covered in tiny, dull brown scales. It wore a pair of threadbare shorts and chain mail over a red shirt. His outfit did little to hide the bulging biceps and triceps and all the other –ceps on him. A part of Marche's mind noticed the sword at the creature's waist, but then it opened its mouth, snout, whatever, and spoke.

"Watch where yer going, boy." It's voice sent shivers down Marche's spine. Raspy and deep, it fit the creature too well for his liking. The pointed teeth sent him over the edge, and Marche opened his mouth on reflex.

"A-a talking lizard!" The dull annoyance in the creature's eyes vanished, replaced with shock. "Maybe…that wasn't the best thing to shout." Marche reflected as the creature looked him over.

"What'd ya ssay, ya brat? Ssupposse you want a fight, eh?" It sounded like a growl, and the creature gripped his sword.

Marche shook his head and backed away. "No, no, I'm not looking for anything like that."

The lack of noise around worried him, and he risked looking away from the increasingly angry lizard. The nearby shoppers had vanished, and even the stalls were devoid of their merchants. "Just my luck, my own dream gets insulted and leaves me to die."

The lizard had pulled out its sword and began rummaging through its pockets. Marche took the chance to pull his own sword out and calm himself. "It's just a dream. If I do die, I'll probably just wake up." He reasoned. "And besides, I kinda know how to fight. Maybe I'll even win!"

Just as the bangaa pulled his arm out of his pocket, a voice called out. "There you are kupo! I've been looking everywhere for you."

Both would-be-combatants turned to the speaker: a three-foot-tall stuffed animal. At least, that's what it looked like. It wore a bright green shirt and brown pants over light, cream colored fur. A patch of yellow-orange hair stuck out between two huge, brown-tipped bunny ears, and it had bat-like wings on its back. A small ball bounced along behind it, which after a moment Marche realized was connected to the creature's head. It twirled a wooden rod in one hand as it stepped between Marche and the lizard, and another wave of familiarity hit Marche.

The lizard growled at the newcomer. "You know thiss hume, moogle?"

"Moogle? Wait, seriously?" Marche stared at the little guy in front of him. He held back a laugh. "Doned is going to love this! A dream with his favorite video game characters. Although, it looks different from the ones in the games." He winced; the moogle's voice had jumped an octave. "And apparently this one hit puberty, if that's anything to go by."

He looked back to the lizard, looking it over more closely. "Then that must be a bangaa. Guess my subconscious likes those games too."

"Kupo? Kupo!" The moogle snapped his furry fingers. "Apologize to the bangaa, kupo."

Annoyed, Marche bowed his head. "I'm very sorry for insulting you, sir, as well as running into you. Forgive me."

No response. Marche risked a glance at the moogle, but he had already started walking away. The moogle motioned for him to follow, but before he even stepped, the bangaa grunted. "Now wait jusst a minute, boy."

"Yes?" He faced the creature, ignoring the pit opening in his stomach. The bangaa's smile reminded him of a cat. "And what do cats just love?"

"Yer a ssoldier, aren't ya. Why not have match?" He said. Marche stifled a laugh. The bangaa actually posed, finger pointed and everything! This dream could not get crazier!

"He's not serious, is he?" No answer. Marche turned to see the moogle nodding its head.

"Kupo, why not a two on two?" The bangaa nodded and began shouting for someone. Marche just stared at the moogle, who noticed Marche's surprise and shrugged. "What? It's just a quick fight kupo."

"Sure, quick for them. I can't fight two guys at once, let alone two bangaas!" Marche said. "How are you supposed to-wait." Rods, what type of person used rods in those games...

The moogle sniffed. "I'm trained in black magic, kupo. Payos." A cold breeze hit Marche, and the grass around them was suddenly a clear blue. "See kupo?"

Marche kneeled down and snapped one of the blades. It began melting in his hand, the grass inside limp. "Oh, that is just awesome! Best dream ever."

"Hey! You two ready?" The bangaa shouted. Marche ignored the odd look on the moogle's face and turned to see the other opponent. Another bangaa, a head shorter then the first was with him, and he didn't have a weapon. He wouldn't need one though, what with all the muscle on him. He didn't even have armor though, only a small orange vest and shorts. He looked bored, like he'd been dragged there.

Marche looked around. There were stalls close on the left and right, but nobody in them still. "Well, those'll probably break." He thought. Drawing his sword, Marche nodded at the bangaas.

The sword wielder grinned and raised an object above his head. "To battle!"

A flash of light blinded Marche momentarily, and suddenly a giant yellow chicken-thing was standing between him and the bangaas. The word 'chocobo' came to mind. Riding the bird was someone covered from head to toe in shiny grey armor.

Marche shivered at the sight of them. That armor looked similar to what he'd wore in his other dream. The knight looked over all of four combatants, and spoke.

"This shall be an engagement between two members of clan Stone and the unaffiliated Marche Radiuji and Montblanc Lambert." Mache blinked. How'd he know their names?

The mysterious knight continued, "Today's laws to be enforced are as follows-"

"Yeah, yeah, we all know them, Verax. Let'sss get sstarted already!" The armored bangaa said. He kept bouncing up and down, like a kid in a toy store. The chocobo glared at the bangaa, but the knight Verax nodded. With a kick of his heels, the chocobo hopped on top of a nearby stall.

Verax raised a gloved fist, a white light shining around it. "Let the battle commence!" He said, and suddenly he vanished.

The armored bangaa growled. "Leave the rat to me, Terin. You handle the furball."

Montblanc squeaked at the name and retorted, but Marche was too focused on the approaching bangaa to care. It couldn't be much different from before, right? Just now, there was a real blade coming for his neck. The sunlight shone off the bangaa's blade, and he felt his breathing speed up. "Just a dream."

His eyes widened, and Marche jumped to the left. The bangaa's sword nicked his shoulder as he charged by. Marche refused to cry out, and swung at the bangaa on reflex. He heard a cracking noise, and then his vision filled with stars.

He raised a trembling hand to his nose. Blood? He shook his head and pulled himself to his feet. The bangaa was clutching his right arm, which hung uselessly at his side. But Marche could only stare at his eyes. Pure rage, directed solely at him. He roared, a deep, guttural sound, and charged again.

Marche froze in place, terror holding him still. Pain flared in his arm, and he started moving on impulse, his sword catching the berserk bangaa's at the guard. He dodged the incoming fist and ducked under the bangaa's arm. He sliced between the armor and pants, and tried rolling. The bangaa caught his foot and slammed him into a nearby stall. He gasped for breath, unable to move. The bangaa dropped his sword and leapt at him.

He raised his blade, and then the bangaa tried biting his face. Marche felt hot breathe on his face, and squeezed his eyes shut. But the expected teeth never reached him, and peeking open one eye, he saw the bangaa's glazed eyes staring back. Something warm was dripping over his hands.

He lay there, straining to breath under the weight of the bangaa. "I just killed someone. Ijustkilledijustohshitoshit-" He was hyperventalaiting, his eyes locked on the bangaa's. "This is just a dream." He repeated it to himself, his personal mantra until his breathing slowed and he couldn't hear his heartbeat. It didn't stop the bile from rising in his throat, but he regained his composure. He heaved the body off and lay there a moment longer. For a dream, that near death experience sure felt real. He forced himself up, frowning at the blood on his hands. He wiped them and turned to the body.

The bangaa didn't seem different. It was like it had-he had fallen asleep, if someone could fall asleep with their eyes wide open and a sword in their chest. Ignoring his disgust, Marche tugged the blade out. Slick blood, still warm, ran down most of the blade. He shuddered and turned around. The only thing to greet him was a passing dandelion on the warm breeze.

He scratched his head. "Uh, hello? Montblanc? Other bangaa guy? Anybody-Ow!" He yelped, slapping his arm. It felt like someone had thrown a softball at him, but the only thing around was a silver card lying in the grass. Picking it up, he turned it in his hand. One side had that creepy helmet on it, but the other showed two swords crossed. He pocketed it.

Where could the other two be? Did it even matter? Marche hadn't even wanted to fight. He looked back the way he'd came. It'd be easy to walk away, say his nose had been broken by the nearby fighters. No need to...to kill anyone else. "But it's not killing. It's a dream." It sounded hollow, even to him. Would a dream have gone on this long? Maybe he shouldn't tell Doned about this…

He glanced toward the nearby stall. Someone had just screamed, and he could hear the sound of fire. Marche took a step back-

And was hit by a flaming bangaa. The two fell to the ground, the bangaa rolling off of him in one fluid motion, already patting the fire out. Marche gasped at the rush of pain.

"Great, you can help me with that damn moogle Feld, ya asss. What took you sso long with the brat?" The bangaa froze when his eyes met Marche's.

"Is this where I say something witty?" Marche said. He could barely hear himself, but the bangaa, he, well, he started...hacking? No, laughter, just really dry.

He crouched down and patted Marche's head. "Ssoundss like it, boy." His smile creeped Marche out. Then the patting hand gripped his jaw. "But ah guesss ya missed yer chance."

He heard a crack, then everything went dark.


Hello everyone, I finally got a round to getting this chapter up. Sorry it took so long, I wanted to get Marche's reactions believable and he would not co-operate. Anyway, don't worry about how this chapter is just about Marche, I'll be switching up the viewpoint character periodically. I also plan on showing off Mewt and Ritz's beginnings in Ivalice, but how I do so will remain a secret. For now at least.

I hope you enjoyed this (short) chapter, and let me know if any errors stood out!