Another pointless Author's note: So here I am, rewriting Chapter I, technically Chapter II, and I'm wondering . . . how can I make this chapter better? Besides correcting any grammar problems, of course. So I figured, 'Eh, why not go into the Warrior's head even further than what I did before? I mean, come on. The guy's got to have a lot on his mind. He's the freaking Warrior of Light, for crying out loud! Gotta be something to how and why he behaves the way he does.'
And so I give you Chapter I: Agitations of a Knight.
-::Meaningless Existence::-
-:Chapter I – The Agitations of a Knight:-
A week had passed since the defeat of Chaos. The world was truly at peace. The sun burned a magnificent white, a hot globe floating in the endless sky. The songbirds played their melodies, stable in their sycamore trees. The grass was greener, the ocean bluer, the land ripe with riches and wonder.
Of course, not everything was perfect. The day the Warrior entered the joyous town, the city crier was announcing some hoodlum goblins had kidnapped the King's younger daughter. The Warrior had remembered the cheeky, little girl, who took pride in wandering the castle walls, looking for adventure. Perhaps that was how the girl had been snatched, since goblins, as dumb as they were, had a knack for sneaking into small places, something the young princess was also known well to do.
The Warrior had not waited for any further information. His heart giving a slight skip, he raced towards where the goblins were lasted seen. From there, he tracked down the Cretans and easily struck them down where they stood. News of his victory reached the castle, and the next thing the Warrior knew, he was being hailed into Cornelia as a hero.
But rewards and fame mattered not to the nameless harbinger of light. For him, the greatest reward was serving the Light, aiding people in need.
This all happened in a week. Now, the Warrior of Light rose up early in the morning, the sun still lazily creeping over the horizon. Only dressed in his dark undershirt and pants, the Warrior took his time, leaning up against the windowsill and observing the morning light.
He had never felt this kind of calm before. It seemed . . . peaceful, relaxing. Most people would find this quiet enjoyable, liberating of the trials the world had yet to offer.
But to the nameless Warrior of Light, it felt foreign, strange . . . threatening. Like a fish out of world, in this new world of peace where he only knew strife and violence. He fought to end the conflict, and yet here he was, wishing for it to continue. This new feeling of peace was unsettling to him, making him anxious and edgy.
As he walked the morning lit corridors, he was tense, listening to any and every sound. Yet everywhere he turned, there was no danger, no sign of a threat.
His patrol, if wandering aimlessly through the castle early in the morning searching for possible threats can be called that, took him finally outside the stone walls of the castle and onto the wide, wooden drawbridge that filled the gap made by the moat below.
Pausing, the Warrior looked at the burning red sky once more and remembered the words of advice given to him by one of his fellow Warriors.
"Red in the morning sailors take warning. Red at night sailors' delight."
He had never truly understood the phrase until he had seen its fruition, where he and his allies had to take shelter from a storm. Observing the sky carefully, he watched for the large thunderhead he had come to associate with storms. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he heard a voice calling him, and he turned around to see a familiar face.
Her green hair framing her gentle face, the Princess of Cornelia, Sarah, gave the Warrior a friendly smile. "How are you doing today, sir?" she asked sweetly. The Warrior stared at her a few seconds before turning his face to glance over his shoulder. Still nothing.
"I am well," he replied. "You?"
"As well as a song bird singing its finest tone," she replied, to which the nameless knight arched an eyebrow in question. Giggling gently, Sarah waved her hand dismissively. "You are certainly a strange one, my friend. To think you came to this castle with no memories and little understanding of this place." She paused, looking now at him with sad eyes. "Have you remembered anything yet?"
The Warrior shook his head. "Nothing. However, it is not a concern for one such as yourself, Princess. Believe me when I speak this truth; those lost memories hold no restraints on me."
"Still," the Princess stated, "what if you had a family, friends, somewhere out there waiting for your return? They must be worried sick for you."
"And I might have nothing waiting for me," he responded. He placed a reassuring hand on her small shoulder. "Please, do not waste your worries on a nameless man. I have no fear for what my past held, nor any fear for the future."
Sarah sighed. "Very well. If you insist." She twirled around, her white dress floating around her frame. She took a few steps before stopping, turning and looking at the Warrior. "By the way, my father and mother have invited you to a banquet later this evening. They wish to thank you publically for rescuing my sister from those horrid goblins."
"Then please tell them I thank them and accept their gracious invitation." To this, the Princess smiled and ran off, the wind once more catching her dress and hair.
Strands of silver hair blowing past him, the Warrior then continued back the way he came, his mind slightly numb. He could not understand this feeling of peace like everyone else. They all seemed so cheerful, so carefree. He had remembered the faces of his fellow warriors before they split ways. Each looked so relieved to be returning home, to where their regained memories beckoned them. But for the Warrior, there was no such beckoning. All he had left for his past still was the faintest whisper of a name, he was sure, perhaps his own. And he hung onto that piece with everything he had, all his life, all his strength, willing it to reveal its true nature to him.
Yes, he had lied to Sarah. He had fears of what the past withheld from him. Was he a knight gone rogue, or a simple man with a simple life waiting for him? Was he a warrior from a destructive kingdom, a slave looking for freedom, a man looking for redemption?
He knew not. He was confident that his past wasn't drenched in darkness and evil, but still, the unknown kept him from sleeping peacefully at night. Everyone he knew who had lost their memories had regained them one way or another. Yet he had nothing to show, nothing gained.
He was beginning to worry that there was nothing there to begin with.
Shaking his head, he returned to his room, dressed himself in his Knight class armor, and went to the training grounds. The King had given him full use of the field, as his prowess had been seen just a week ago when he had rescued Sarah's younger sister from the horde of goblins. A few trouble-makers had made their way through the kingdom since then, but the Warrior of Light had dispatched of each of them quickly and easily. Now everyone regarded him as not just a nameless knight but a hero among their ranks. He had even heard rumors in the castle that the King was going to ask him to take his eldest daughter's hand in marriage.
But none of that mattered for the Warrior. As he drilled himself, swinging his sword through the air at imaginary foes, he felt an ache for something more. This peace was too daunting for a man such as himself. He found himself thinking too much, pondering too deeply. Such thoughts had never appeared while fighting for Cosmos. But now with all this time, he couldn't help but question and puzzle over everything.
Questions like, where did he come from? Where was his home? Did he even have one to return to?
Was he banished? Was he an apostate? A vagrant?
What were his roots? A simple farmer? A son of somebody? A noble? An officer in some military?
And his name. What of his name? Why didn't it come to him like a bird taking flight? Sure, the boy known only by his title of the Onion Knight had no recollection of his name, yet he had some memories, some part of him that he did remember from the past.
Yet the Warrior had nothing. Nothing at all to show for anything he had once. It was as if the universe wished to torture him, mock him for his loss, tease him relentless until he broke.
By the standards of his comrades, he was dubbed a deep thinker. But this position bothered the Warrior, for his stance as a deep thinker permitted his mind to go places he dared not wish to find himself. With this in mind, he swung harder and longer, hoping to lose himself in training, to abandon his woes and just be the sword.
However, several minutes of this did not aid him. In fact, he found himself growing increasing frustrated the longer and harder he tried to fight these dark thoughts. Finally, unable to take it anymore, he cried out and stabbed his sword into the ground.
Grinding his teeth as the anger began to bubble deep within him, he felt something beginning to awaken. A beast once sleeping, but had now begun to stir. He felt it rise within him as his anguish grew, and just when he felt ready to burst with rage, yet another voice broke through to him.
It was a soldier, a young one by his appearance. He approached, stopping only a few yards away with a wary look on his face. Realizing his anger must be showing, the Warrior regained his stoic presence and straightened his posture, hoping he looked less intimating. "Yes? Can I help you?"
The soldier shifted a bit, still looking nervous. "Well, sir, you just looked a little . . ." He quickly glanced around before leaning forward a bit, as if sharing a deep, dark secret. "Heated."
The Warrior sighed inwardly as he outwardly gave the soldier a shake of the head. "Be at ease. I am fine."
"Very well." The soldier began to backtrack before turning and leaving. But before he was out of eyeshot, he looked once more over his shoulder, then left.
And the Warrior was alone again. In more ways than one.
The sun was beginning to set when the Warrior finally returned to his room. The sky had taken on an amber-like tone, the clouds orange in the light.
It was such a marvel, the Warrior thought, to see such a similar sky, yet under drastic circumstances. He knew he had seen similar skies before, however, there always lingered a pang of fear, an unforeseen villain waiting in the shadows.
The banquet was drawing nearer. The Warrior knew he had to get ready, but he had no understanding of how to present himself or behave under these pretenses. He figured the best thing to do was to be cleanly, so he cleaned his armor and under-clothing, bathed in sweet-smelling water that had been prepared for him by the Queen's maids, and attempted, although this word must be stressed, to groom himself. However, when his wild mane refused to yield, he relented, simply allowing the mass of silver hair to stick up and around as it pleased.
Now standing before his bed, his armor, weapons, and accessories placed in front of him, the Warrior thought for a moment of what to wear. It seemed ridiculous, really, for him to be bothered by such things. But he did wish to honor the King for his kindness, and thus he felt a need to exercise proper edict.
Sighing, he scratched his head, shaking his head. Why do things like this need to be so complicated?
Giving in, he merely chose his usual wear, although he left his sword, shield, and helmet behind, along with his supplies. A banquet did not require such tools of war, right?
Conversely, he found it strange to leave such necessary equipment. Several times, even before leaving his room, he felt compelled to retrieve the items and continue to the banquet, but he forced himself to stay on his path.
This feast would currently give the Warrior a chance to cool down, release the tension that had been building inside of him. Perhaps he could request the King to send him on a dire journey to some foreign land not yet explored? Such a thought gave the Warrior a little bounce in his step. To be on the battlefield, to face against forces outnumbered and untamable, these were the things that gave the Warrior's mind ease, tension released with every swing and arch of the blade.
He was, after all, the Warrior of Light, a man practically built to fight. He knew nothing but conflict, understood nothing but conflict.
He understood his friends' love for a peaceful life. After all, Firion had wished for a world where the wild blooms could grow freely, never fearing the day they'd be crushed by military boots marching to war.
And yet he could not see himself in such a lifestyle. This wonderful peace had him on edge, waiting for the darkness to return. Though he would never speak it allowed, a small part of him wished for conflict to begin.
He brushed aside that foolish thought. Conflict was evil. It only brought terror and destruction to innocent lives, robbing mothers of their sons, children of their fathers. To wish for such a thing…
"You don't wish an end to the fighting. You find pleasure in it, just as I do."
The Warrior blinked. Sephiroth had said those very words to him, when he had come to Firion's aid after the latter lost the wild rose. He had pushed the taunt away, but now…
Was he correct? Did the Warrior enjoy conflict? Did he, in fact, relish in combat, like the fallen hero had?
The Warrior immediately shook his head. No, of course not. These anguish feelings are only there because of the mounting frustration of his lack of self and the need for purpose. He would find one, however. He would find one, and then all these feelings would finally abandon him.
The banquet had begun. The castle bustled with happy noises and excited chinwag, while guards stationed around the building kept watched. Clouds had begun to gather, almost blocking the moon from sight, although no guard paid it any mind. The forest behind them foretold nothing of the coming menace that perched upon a single tree.
As it stood, staring out at the castle, its booted feet balanced on the treetop, its one visible eye, blood red and burning with an untold darkness, a single pentagram swirling in its eye. began to glow an unearthly, demonic light.
Red blood wiped around its cloaked form like snakes, its drenched capes already crusted over several times. The glow continued to intensify until it threw its head back and screeched to the sky, echoing across the plain.
It had begun.