But I hold on and I feel strong and I know that I can…
Above & Beyond Pres. Oceanlab - On A Good Day
I can hear them…
Sorceress are said to be able to feel the ebb and flow of magic and any hint of disturbance in its natural flow; from creation to usage. Magick was an element of Terra, the Earth, much akin to precious metals in value and dragon hide in rarity, yet that much more valuable.
With that being said it was doubly true for Guardian Forces. GF's were just as their name stated, Guardian Forces of Terra. Once thought to be creatures of automaton nature, the discovery of their sentience brought about a new piece to the puzzle behind another mystery of the world. Corporeal forms of magic with the ability for self reasoning.
Yet that information was privy only to a select few.
Their voices are resonating along the connection…within me…within him; us…
When a sorceress claims her knight their bond is immense, inseparable, and everlasting.
But the bond between sorceress and magic is like air and water to the human body.
She opened her eyes and silver raced across them, replacing once compassionate brown with a reflection of the moon against the backdrop of the night sky.
"Their in conflict," she whispered, more unto herself then her companion in travel…
"Who is? Squall and Irvine you mean?"
"Yes…but so are they," Rinoa spoke, emphasizing the plurality.
"All of them," Quistis voice raised in question to a disbelieving octave at the statement, "but why would he do that?"
"I can't…I don't know," Rinoa replied, gripping the rails of the docked ship as she cast her eyes, now fading between their normal brown color and the silver of the magic that coursed through her veins, a slight sheen present in them, "all I can feel is him and their presence within him," she spoke watching as a flock of gulls rested on the waves of the gently lapping sea just beyond the pier.
"All of them…"
And a rumble of thunder echoed over the cloudless sky…
What's wrong Squall?
(xXx)
He was a King.
Not in a royal sense. He wasn't a born noble or a petulant socialite child living off the fame and fortune of his family name, nor apart of no prestigious bloodline. Even if his estranged father, with whom he had no contact with for the majority of his life, just so happened to be President of the most technologically advanced civilization on the planet granted him little in matters where he presided.
But he was still a King.
But not of people; he wasn't a king of men and women, or a populace or anything of the sort. While his position as 'Commander of Balamb Mercenary forces: SeeD' may have afforded him privileges in a militaristic sense that could be roughly equated to the influence a King may have wielded it still didn't make him king.
And yet he was still a King.
He dodged left, rolled, bounced up, dashed forward, stretched his arms high, tweaked his body to the left, tightened his grip, narrowed his vision and focused.
He slashed with the force of a hurricane and the precision of a bolt of lightning as he cut a swath through his enemies, neither seeing nor hearing them as the sky fell down around him and turned the world into varying shades of black and white and grey painted against the backdrop of a carnal scarlet canvas.
He was a King of battle. His Kingdom was War. His subjects, conflict.
It was an ugly thing; combat. He wasn't proud of what he was, of the things he did, but neither did he deny it. He didn't embrace his profession but he did accept it.
It was all he was.
Everything he'd been trained to be since he was merely a boy lead up to these moments in time when life and death became the same color upon the empty canvas of fate. His innocence as a child was taken from him the moment he stepped onto the Balamb campus. He didn't choose to become what he'd become but he'd assumed the mantle before he'd ever deny it.
And he'd carry the weight of the world on his shoulders…
He held a hand to his face as he closed his eyes in meditation; slowly drawing out the power within him even as the howl of the next flock of enemy grew louder with every passing moment over the precipice…
His eyes reflected the storm in the distance as he slowly allowed them to open, revealing the streaking lightning across the thunder clouds in his eyes as the sudden storm above heralded the arrival of a force of nature that only a god could envision. As the magic swirled up, around, and through him as he released the last gate inhibiting imminent power's arrival; dropping the mental barriers within him and letting the power of a god course through him.
With a roar entirely inhuman he let loose a rage that was not entirely his own as the heavenly condor's fury swept across the sky and ravaged his enemies…
Yes, he thought…He would bear this burden alone before he let another get swept up in the near uncontrollable groundswell of bloodlust that defined this power.
He had to because he cared for them…for her…
Rinoa…
But he didn't know how to care…
So he showed it the only way he could…
By doing so…alone…because that was what a good King did; sacrificed.
He was a King.
GUIDANCE
that which is borne with difficulty; obligation; onus
a/n: So I had a tremendously difficult time with this chapter and I still think it blows. Just for clarity's sake and my own peace of mind I'll elaborate on the complex processes of my working mind when it comes to writing. I don't outline anything I go with the flow of my creative muse. Sometimes my muse gives me everything I need while other times she gifts me only a few crumbs of insight. Its both incredibly frustrating while incredibly rewarding as well. Anyway I don't feel like I delivered anything for Rinoa and am really disappointed in that facet. I also think I might be making this story a little too abstract for anyone to follow. Hopefully my muse decides to gift me with some clarity in the coming chapters. That and simplicity.
