It enveloped her, the darkness did. It was familiar to her: something that she seemed to have always known. Her memory recollected nothing before this shadowy existence. There was nothing around her, no person, either, but that was how it had always been. It didn't bother her. It was a mindless existence, one where time had no hold, and nothing had occurred before to make her think otherwise.
At least, that's what she originally believed. Now, though, she wasn't so certain. She had seen flashes of things; images that hinted at a world beyond this empty life, one filled with colors and emotions and actual things.
There were so many things that she did not know: so many aspects of these images that she did not understand. She did not know what she was looking at. She knew nothing at all. It was all so foreign and strange, and yet…and yet she remembered.
It was only small fragments, pieces that made little sense. First came colors: vivid splashes of pink, blond, silver, and black, mostly. As each raced by, there was a shadow attached to it, something that she was unable to recall. When she tried to concentrate on this, there was almost an invasion in her mind, something that was purely impulsive, seeming to demand that she cease these recollections at once. The feeling of primal rage echoed forth from this impulse, a rage that verged on violence, and it took every fiber of her being to fight it back so she could dwell on the beautiful colors once more.
Peace was granted to her again, allowing her to continue to contemplate the shadows from before. As she strained her mind on the most prevalent color, pink, a figure began to form. She knew that it had arms, legs, a head, but knew not what it was that she was beholding. How could this figure exist in her world of nothingness?
Her brain stretched to find a word for the form that she was able to see, and after much deliberation she came to the conclusion that perhaps it would be best to name it a 'human'. Where the name came from she wasn't sure, but it fit. Once giving the being a name, she was able to see more details, as if the name had conjured up a more vivid memory all in itself. Its skin was creamy white with the pink spilling over its shoulder in cascading curls that were tied with a band near the skull. Its face was narrow and thin with a similarly fashioned body. White cloth covered her torso, while mainly red seemed to consist of the cloth that covered her lower portion.
This figure was extremely familiar, but why…?
Frustration built up within her, and the irritation that stemmed from that emotion threatened to break down the barriers that kept the anger at bay. Slowly, ever so slowly, calmness swept over her and she was able to further investigate her memory.
This 'human' is female.
This in and of itself was a breakthrough, but the next thought was especially so:
Female? Sisters are female…This was my sister. This was Serah.
At this revelation, she no longer viewed simple concepts like colors or individual people. She was plunged headfirst into memories that she carried from some life that had long-since passed.
The human – no, her sister, Serah, appeared to be very young, still a small child. Her pink tresses were cast haplessly over her shoulder with a few strands sticking out on end. Her face was scarlet and her mouth was screwed into a severe frown, blue eyes flashing dangerously, especially for one so young. They argued about something, but the words and context did not make sense. She held a broken doll in one hand and, without hesitation, threw the decapitated head of the toy directly into the eyes that beheld her.
A sudden change in memories took her elsewhere. Now she was in front of an old house, with two older individuals in the background. These two elder humans sat together, the female appearing weary as she rested her head against the other.
This second human seemed much different than Serah and this new female – it was much taller, much more burly, and scratchy hairs grew around its jaw and mouth. Quickly she understood that this is what must be considered 'male'.
The male and female turned their attention to each other as she and Serah, now slightly older, prepared a lemonade stand in the yard. They were so consumed by this task that they neither noticed the adults behind them, nor the new, smaller boy that appeared from their right.
He came to them, took a cup of the sour yellow liquid and splashed it over Serah's new dress, calling her childish names in the process. Angry and nearly twice the boy's height, Lightning (that was her name!) ran forward and punched him in the face, telling him that if he ever touched her sister again, she would find him and break his face, permanently.
A pause took place at the end of this recollection as the faces of the two adults came to mind. The woman bore eerily similar hair to that of Serah's, and the man's gruff appearance rang a distant bell as well. He donned eyes that matched Serah's and a similar, sunny disposition that coincided with hers as well. If Lightning didn't know better, she'd have thought that these two adults gave Serah their attributes and…
No, they did give her those attributes. Those are her parents—my parents. My mother and my father.
Time shifted and warped around her, transporting her to a new place with far less charm.
There were many humans—no, people—gathered in a large hall, but all seemed to have coordinated their dress: everyone wore black. Their faces were downcast and far from smiling. Serah was there, amongst the crowd, sitting on a small chair in a corner. Lightning watched Serah's gaze shift between the people present, all wearing black, all with grim countenances and whispering, and Serah couldn't seem stand the solemnity any longer. She ran to the front of the room where few people were standing; where a long, wooden box dominated the setting, and she steered herself to the edge of the wooden frame of the box.
No, that wasn't a box.
It was their father's casket.
Serah leaned forward as tears streamed down her cheeks, peering over the box, crying out for her father, begging him to wake up. Everyone in the room went still, watching as Lightning took several steps forward and reached for Serah's shoulder, holding her close as the young girl sobbed into Lightning's chest. Serah's body convulsed, the power of her cries overwhelming her tiny frame, and soon Lightning found that she could no longer hold the tears back herself. Silently the salty droplets fell from the corners of her eyes, burying themselves in Serah's hair. Serah continued to cry, softly moaning her father's name, oblivious to the waterfall that streamed onto her crown.
No matter what comforting words Lightning offered, no matter how much she tried to swallow back her tears and act strong, nothing eased the pain that Serah felt. She still wailed, her cries haunting Lightning's mind even now. Soon a woman came forth, slowly prying Serah away from Lightning. With an angry, accusing glare, Lightning's head snapped up to see who dared to separate her from her sister, but she was met with her mother's tear-stained visage. An invitation was given to Lightning to come with Serah and their mother, but Lightning shook her head, saying she wanted to stay with her father.
When the room was absent of her immediate family, Lightning cautiously approached the casket, holding her breath as she did so, biting her tongue to distract her from the burning in her eyes. She peered over the edge of the wooden frame, squinting, afraid of what she might see. The sudden pain that pierced through her heart sent her tumbling backwards, backing away from the shade that resembled her father. Whoever that man was, it was not he: her father was a man that was full of life, full of laughs, with a rosy tint to his face and a sparkle in his eye, never to be caught in fancy clothes. This stranger, though bearing some resemblance, was not her father. He would never have been so pale, so dressed up with his hair so finely combed. He would not be resting so when his friends and family were about.
Her father was not dead. He could not be dead.
She backed away from the casket, mortified by what she had seen, and looked frantically around the room for some escape from this sick imposter. Even while the tears fell in tidal waves from her cheeks, even while she ran to find the comfort of her mother's arms, she still allowed herself to believe the lie that she had crafted to ease the pain that throbbed within her. She turned the corner, knowing that her mother and sister would be there, but when she rounded the corner-
The image shifted again. It still had the same weighty feel, but the setting was entirely different. Everything was an uncomfortable, stark-white: the walls, the sheets, the uniform of the woman at the bedside…
Lightning blinked several times, inching closer to the bed while firmly grasping the hand of her sister next to her. She would not allow herself to show weakness. Not in front of Serah, and certainly not in front of her ailing mother.
Lightning's face was tight, serious, while she watched the labored breathing of the woman that had brought Lightning into the world so long ago. Her pink hair spilled out around her in all directions like a fan, looking like champagne had spilled onto the pristine pillowcases. She saw the pain-furrowed brows, the creases on her mother's forehead, and she had to look away, to find something else to linger on. This sight was simply too much.
Her mother requested that Serah go fetch the nurse to ask for some water. Serah, ever the pleaser, jumped up and ran for the door. Now alone, Lightning's mother beckoned for her to draw closer. After a slight hesitation, Lightning obeyed and, upon her mother's offer, took the clammy hand that was given. As she listened to what would be her mother's final request, Lightning did everything she could to focus only on the wall, to blot out the emotions that were threatening to surge forth under her cool exterior. By the time her mother was finished, she had asked more of Lightning than any woman should ever ask a teenage girl, but Lightning swore that she would uphold every wish.
She closed her eyes so her mother would not see the anguish that Lightning felt brewing within her as the weight of her mother's words began to take root.
When she lifted her lids again, her heart sank.
Everything was the same as before: the stuffiness, the heaviness, the solemn faces and moroseness of everyone present, the all-black garments and the long, wooden box at the front…
Lightning was leaning over the edge of the casket, no longer believing that this funeral was an elaborate ruse, like she had when her father had died. She understood the reality of the situation far better than anyone else present.
Some resentment was held towards her mother for making a teen promise the things that she had. It would mean the end to the life that Lightning knew and the beginning of a hard career as a soldier—the only job that would accept someone as young as she and still pay decently. She was responsible for raising a twelve-year-old to adulthood, ensuring that she came out okay because, despite the number of people present, nobody else was family. Nobody cared enough to lend a helping hand.
Serah, as quiet as a mouse, approached Lightning with drooping shoulders. She wasn't sobbing, not like last time. She simply looked lost. Lightning came up to her, wrapped her arms around the girl's shoulders, and allowed the shudders of Serah's silent grieving to take their course through her body. A lump formed in Lightning's throat and she wished she could release her own grief, as her sister was now doing, but she had to refuse. She had to be strong for this little girl who was now without parents. She had to show Serah that life would go on, and that they'd be okay with just the two of them.
Because, this time, there was no woman to come take Serah away, to banish her fears and sorrow. This time, Lightning was alone; the only member of her family left to take care of this sad little girl she now held.
Flash forward a few days: it was her first day free after dropping out of school, and one day before she began her training in the Guardian Corps. She kneeled on the grass with a bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand, her free hand tracing the letters on the stone before her. She paused and glanced around at the other headstones surrounding her, wondering how many others had left orphans behind, before leveling her gaze on the fresh mound of dirt beneath her.
Her name used to be Claire, she recalled, but not any longer. Claire was helpless, able to do nothing more than watch those she loved fall ill and die; to see them suffer and shed tears of pain and sorrow. She was able to do nothing to help them, and if she were to help Serah avoid such a fate, she could no longer be the same person. That destiny was not her sister's to share, and to ensure it, she would become someone else. Someone new.
"My name is Lightning now," she said quietly, gently placing the flowers at the foot of the headstone before rising stiffly to her feet. Rubbing her arms to restore the warmth, she began to walk away from the sad place that was home to those that both created and destroyed the little girl known as Claire.
It dawned on Lightning that perhaps she was still the human she remembered being, that perhaps she still existed. She used the memories that had been conjured through sheer force of will and tried to get a bearing on who, or what, she now was. The only response she received was the rage. It was lessened, but it still beckoned for her to give in, to rid herself of her past life and embrace what had been bestowed upon her. She didn't know what it meant, but she feared its call, and so she buried herself once more in the past.
Arrangements had been previously made for Lightning to enter the GC. She had aced the entrance examination and passed the physical tests with flying colors. The only area she scored low on was the area of social interactions, where she barely scraped by. Still, though, the professors had been impressed, and since few females were enrolled, they were glad to have Lightning on board.
Instead of a classroom mixed with a fairly even male-to-female ratio, she was in a predominantly male setting. One day she had stood across from a boy, not much older than her, and both had their weapons unsheathed. The fight began, and it wasn't long until the victor was decided.
She walked away from the unconscious boy's body and heard the other males whisper about her masculinity, saying she was only top of the class for performing special deeds for the teacher, for saying-
She soon learned to block it all out and concentrate on little more than her target because it didn't matter what they said. Not anymore.
As she grew older, there had been a few times where she was invited to parties hosted by either the GC Professors, which were typically suit-and-tie events, or parties held by the general student body. She rarely attended the former, and never once attended the latter. She was always nose deep in her books or out practicing her swordplay. She had no tolerance for treating this career like a game or some social event: her sister was counting on the income she would earn, and to earn the best pay she had to be the best soldier. There was no room for anything less than perfection.
A year later, when Lightning had established her career in the GC as a diligent soldier, it became apparent that she was consumed by her work. She gave up everything to ensure Serah was well provided for: when asked if she would go out, the answer was always 'no'; on her days off she would volunteer to work extra shifts to get paid overtime; she never went on a date, rarely ever went shopping for herself, or went out to socialize in general. Her only friends were her weapons and the only thing she knew to rely on was herself.
Serah was lonely, certainly, but Lightning assured her that there was no other way to go about it. Serah wanted to attend college, to be a teacher, and so, to make sure that happened, Lightning worked her ass off to save up enough money. It didn't help that their parents had left the house in subpar condition, or that, between Serah and Lightning, food never seemed to last for more than a few days.
Serah loved shopping and would often take the allowance granted to her by Lightning to go and buy new outfits for herself, but Lightning never had the opportunity to join her. The repairs on the house had to be done, and so Lightning did her best to do that on her own. If she wasn't working on the house or her job, she was either trying to help Serah with homework or, more likely, trying to catch up on sleep. There was rarely a free moment where the two could spend time together.
Of course, there were also fights. Usually it would be because Serah would get home from a friend's house late, forget to do her homework, or simply that Serah wanted Lightning around more.
They had gotten into a terrible fight about that once, she recalled. Serah had burst into tears, saying that she really was an orphan with no family, that her own sister abandoned her. Lightning, no longer understanding the language of despair, retorted that Serah should just suck it up and act like an adult, since Lightning was doing everything for Serah's sake. She should have stopped there, but she continued on, telling Serah all her grievances – about how she, Lightning, was not allowed a life because she was so busy ensuring that Serah would be able to live like Lightning had not. It carried on for nearly an hour before Serah ran off for two days to stay at a friend's, leaving Lightning feeling bitter and alone.
Other scenarios passed by until, quite suddenly, she was standing in the sand of a beach on a particularly sunny day. She was wearing an all-black outfit, slaying fiends, when a group of young people approached her.
She recognized one of them. He was tall, blond, muscular and unreasonably attractive. But, despite this, she spoke to him harshly, her scathing words and biting remarks attempting to slaughter his ego. He had asked her out once, but she refused, as she always did despite the longing for a night out with a good-looking guy. She had not been on a date since, well… ever. It seemed as if this day wasn't about to change that record.
Another day was prominent in her mind: when she was promoted to sergeant. Her town was a small town, and so something like a promotion to the ranks of sergeant was a big deal. A large group gathered in town and watched the ceremony take place. Others were being promoted to various ranks, but Lightning was the highest-ranking among them. When her turn came up, she walked forward to a beefy man with a moustache and accepted the shoulder plate that was assigned to her. This man stepped aside, bowed, and presented Lightning to the crowd. Everyone cheered, and when she looked down at those gathered immediately before her, she first saw Serah with her sad smile, clapping politely for Lightning and wiping away a small tear.
The next person she saw was the blond man, winking at her, and a tall, tanned man avoiding her gaze.
Other days passed by, but few seemed to be of little import. It was simply life going on as it always had. One night showed people milling about while Lightning was on security detail, and she was approached by her superior about being promoted. Then there was talk of a much-needed vacation with Serah followed by fireworks…
There was a light shining on one memory where she stood within her own home, angry and upset, while a giant of a blond stood near her, accusing her of not listening. Lightning, though unsure of what the subject was about, knew that her outrage covered her guilty conscience, and despite wanting to probe for the truth that she believed to be hidden, she turned her back and paid no further heed to the man behind her. When he left, she turned back around, noted the silence, then hung her head, her hand clenching a new dagger that rested on the tabletop.
Then there was the train with many hooded civilians, where their fear was palpable. Everyone's nerves were on edge, including Lightning's, but she knew what she had to do. She had a man she could trust to aid her at her side, despite his hesitation to join her, and she knew she was more skilled than these PSICOM soldiers that were posted at random intervals on the train. She wasn't about to allow these bastards to lead her to her death.
Thoughts and memories skidded by until they paused at a distinct thought. She was with a group of four others: a young girl with pigtails, a boy with silver hair, a man with an afro, and the tall, muscular man from before.
But she wasn't on some fun outing with the group, nor was she on a date with the blond man. No, instead, she was punching him. He fell to the ground and got back up, only to fall again by the fury her fist contained. She saw the flash of anger in his eyes and felt regret, but that did not quench the rage, hurt, and guilt that swelled in her breast.
Wait, her breast? There was a marking on her breast...a tattoo? When did she get a tattoo?
Memories continued to fade in and out, but after the memory of the beatdown, there seemed to be one major consistency in each one: the blond man. He was always ready to jump into the fray, to be her guardian, to ensure that she would not fall victim to any fiend's attacks. She watched as he took blow after blow for her, throwing himself into harms' way to ensure Lightning's safety. Even after suffering one punishing strike, he would turn around and see if she was in one piece, offering what little bit of assistance that he could to make her better if her condition was less than perfect. He did everything to protect her, even if it meant suffering ungodly damage to do so.
As she witnessed these memories, a familiar feeling began to stir within her. She knew this man very well, and she felt something akin to adulation – no, adoration, maybe, towards him. She respected him, cared deeply for him.
But love stirred within her for others as well. If she stretched her mind a bit, she remembered a young boy. Silver hair erupted everywhere, and she saw his bright, round eyes that had shown fear at first, but grew to confidence as he realized his own strength. Though the soft spot in her heart was a different sort of affection from the blond before, it was no less powerful. For this boy she felt motherly love, a tenderness that she had formerly only shown to Serah. Whenever this boy looked up at her with those eyes, it made her heart feel lighter and happier; it made her feel like she was making a difference that counted in this crazed world.
Among the other memories were two other people that would appear now and again: a black man, the one with the afro, and the young, pig-tailed girl. Towards the man with the afro, she felt camaraderie. He was a good friend, somebody she could relate to on many levels. He had understood the same feeling of loss that Lightning had experienced and known what it meant to sacrifice everything for those you love. They had conversed about the subject occasionally, she recalled, and those conversations helped to craft a friendship she never imagined having.
The girl, however, was a different case. Lightning realized she didn't know much about her, but she respected her abilities and her want to protect her dearest friend.
But…who was her dearest friend?
In fact, how did she even know these people?
Then, as if in answer, like it had been waiting all this time, the final image burst forth: a woman with crazy hair, a blue sari, a lance…
Fang.
What had Fang done? She had agreed to become Ragnarok, agreed to bring 'salvation' to the land—
That was it.
That was the spark she needed. Everything rushed back to her, connecting all the missing pieces to form a beautiful whole.
A Pulse fal'Cie turned me into l'Cie and gave me a focus that no one truly understood. Serah, who had become a l'Cie before me, told us to help Cocoon. After hearing this from Serah, she turned into a crystal, and we vowed to uphold her wish. We would save Cocoon, not destroy it.
The people I saw before are l'Cie, like me, and have travelled with me from the beginning. Those people were my reason for fighting, for continuing on despite how ominous our future looked. The boy was Hope. The girl, Vanille. Sazh. Serah. Fang. Snow…
I fell for Snow, even though he is my sister's fiancée.
But that doesn't matter. Not right now.
She used the memories that she had conjured to strengthen her as she opened the door to where the rage resided. It threatened to take her over, to consume her fully, but she recalled those that were counting on her and all the tasks left undone, and somehow she managed to fight back. She pushed and shoved her way through the desire to harm and to kill, to bring destruction upon the land, even though it seemed so natural for her to do so. She became aware of where her body – her actual body – was in time and space, and soon, very soon, she felt her humanity begin to restore itself within the hollow shell that had taken over.
There are things to do and people to save. Memories are nice, but that's all they are: something to dwell on while the world carries on without you. I have a place to be, a fal'Cie to kill, a world to rescue, and friends to save. I cannot be sitting here, in this void, reminiscing. I have remembered, and I will not be a Cie'th any longer.
Not when I still have a focus to complete.