Long Live the King
by Rydia Highwind
Interlude One - Kain
Two years ago
Morning had never looked so dreary to the Dragoon Kain Highwind.
Not that it was a lovely morning to start with. The rain had been coming down quite steadily the entire night, and it was not making any sign of letting up soon, casting the sky with drab grays and blacks rather than the usual blood red of sunrise. The entire plane of vision was the same, uniformly dull; even the icy mist erupting from his lips with every breath held no color of its own. The fire keeping him from freezing didn't seem to have much color to it that morning either.
"What a perfect day," Kain murmured to himself, rubbing together his bare hands in front of his small fire. He was reclined, sitting cross-legged inside a make-shift tent situated in a niche in the face of the mighty Mount Ordeals, trying to warm himself slightly before setting off to tempt fate at the summit of the infamous mountain.
He fully expected to face himself at the top, as it was rumored that one would battle his own worst enemy, and Kain considered his own mind to be his undoing. The prospect still scared him to the point of finding reasons for putting off the battle for nearly a week now. And yet, he knew that he had to go up there and face himself before he'd ever find closure. Any more of this stalling and soon he'd just push himself off the side of the mountain. He'd dishonored the Dragoons enough by simply letting his lust get the better of him, they didn't need to be further disgraced with a suicide.
Already he adorned most of his armor, sans his gauntlets and his helmet. Something was telling him he wasn't going to need any of that once he arrived at the top of the mountain, but that didn't seem to make sense. He remembered stories of Cecil's venture atop this mountain, and he'd definitely needed his armor. Sighing lightly, he pulled the helmet over his golden hair, and then slid on the gauntlets. Equipped with his shield and the Lance of Holy, Kain stamped out the small fire, then proceeded to the top of the mountain, wondering vaguely if he'd ever come down.
There, atop the summit, he steeled himself as he gazed on the stone memorial Cecil had described to him before. It was a place the Paladin had often vowed to return to, but he had landed the time consuming job of king, and he hadn't gotten a chance to get back there. Kain had to smirk a little at that one--he knew Cecil's wanderlust was just going to get worse in every meeting he was forced to sit through. Many might envy the position, and the man who held the throne was likely willing to give the job away with the drop of a hat. And if he wasn't, it could only be a matter of time before he'd regret taking the post.
Of course, the people of Baron wouldn't have it any other way. The only militant who hadn't been twisted to the will of or killed by Golbez, the man who left a Dark Knight bent to the will of the evil king and the dark sword and came back a Paladin, the holiest of warriors and the savior of the world. Who better to rule the most powerful nation in the world than the man who saved that world?
Kain shook his head. He felt the familiar pangs of jealousy shooting through him once again. It seemed his life was nothing but a cauldron of envy cast about his best friend like a fire. Every time Cecil proved his superiority, the fire would grow, but he'd always kept it under control.
Until he met Golbez.
True, he had not gone down without a fight. He had been tortured in more forms than he could remember, and gone through more agony then than ever before and ever since. But Golbez knew. He'd searched Kain's mind, and knew just what words would win him over. Mind control was only possible if the subject let the controller in, at least the first time. For the rest of his life, Kain would have to live with the fact that he let Golbez in. And for the rest of his life, Kain would have to live with the fact that he was not won over by torture, like many weaker-minded men had been, but by his own jealousy, burning out of control.
Guilt was enough to quench the jealousy. Jealousy was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, hadn't it? And now the blood on his hands was burning at his soul, burning away the jealousy with self-hatred. Cecil was a good man, and he deserved everything he had gotten. And Kain knew he deserved everything he'd gotten as well.
He stood looking at the rock for a long while. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," he whispered to the rain. "Then again, whatever I end up with is probably the best, huh?"
The rain didn't answer.
Not that he had been waiting for an answer, but one would have been nice regardless. He suddenly felt very alone as he took a step forward. The rain splashed lightly from his green-blue armor, soaking his face and hair and sending a chill through him. He reached up and touched the outline of the door. Would the rock monument even let him in? He waited for a long moment, then sighed, closing his eyes and hanging his head. "Come on," he muttered under his breath, leaning his head against the smooth stone door and banging his fist into the structure.
It was then that he heard the first grinding of stone and looked up. The door was moving away from him, opening up into the chamber where his destiny lay waiting for him. He removed his hand from the door, watching and waiting, a flood of relief and despair flooding through him at the same time.
The stone door seemed to melt away in front of him, and ahead of him he could see mirrors reflecting his every move from some unknown light source. Briefly he realized this was his last chance to turn away and leave, but something there held him entranced. Steeling himself and closing his eyes, he took a step forward.
He did not have to open his eyes to know that the stone door had melded back into place behind him, trapping him within the mirror room inside. A sense of overwhelming and inexplicable peace flowed through him suddenly, and he reached up to remove his helmet. What was it about this place? He felt totally off-guard, though he knew the battle that would decide the rest of his life was coming up in a matter of minutes. His Dragoon helmet clattered to the ground, and he took a few steps forward, reaching out to touch the smooth, cold glass.
"Well, you sure took your sweet time getting up here, Sir Highwind."
Kain whirled around, looking furiously about for the owner of the mysterious voice. It had seemed to materialize out of nothingness, and no one he could see was present. Griping his lance tightly in his hands, he looked up at the odd source of light, as that's where the voice seemed to be emanating from. "Who are you?" he demanded, trying not to lose his edge.
"I've been waiting for you for a while now, Kain."
The Dragoon didn't answer. The voice wasn't responding to him anyway, it didn't seem. He just looked up at the odd light pouring down over him, and held his lance, ready for the attack he knew was coming at any moment.
"Why so tense? Are you waiting for something?"
Steeling himself, he looked up at where he presumed the voice to be coming from, and called out, "I'm waiting to be tested. That's why I've come here." He winced at the echoes of his voice about the chamber, but held his ground.
"So have they all. But are you truly ready to face that which is your own worse nightmare? Many come here, and many do not leave, Kain. Do you even know what your greatest fear is?"
He knew what it was, all right. The thing he despised most in the whole world. Himself. It'd be his own person he'd be fighting, and he knew it. He was terrified over the whole matter, and still, the only explanation he could come up with for Cecil's bravery as he battled his past was the fact that it was thrust on the other man's lap and it was over before he could even think about what had happened. "I know. I know what it is."
"Do you?"
Then the light vanished.
"Wha--?" Kain looked around the mirrored chamber in confusion. It was now only lit by a dim light from an indeterminable source. Cautiously, he looked around, wishing he had not discarded his helmet so carelessly.
There was a rush of movement from behind him and he instinctively ducked, only to find a set of arms stabbing the empty space where he had been with a long, deadly knife. Kain rolled away from the unseen aggressor and leapt to his feet a few meters ahead. The figure, though, anticipated this and lunged for his throat. The Dragoon felt a strong arm wrap tightly around his neck and the knife blade drew closer to his exposed throat. Desperately, he clawed at the blade, wrapping his fingers around it, not heeding the deep cuts running down his hands as a result. Down, clattered the Lance of Holy as the blade pressed closer.
He stepped back, coming down on the assassin's foot hard enough to earn a yelp of surprise and pain from his aggressor. Now with the odds in his favor, Kain wrenched the knife from the man's hand and ducked down to the ground, groping for his own, more familiar weapon, his lance. The darkness in the chamber grew ever stronger, however. The Lance of Holy was not found.
Without warning, there was a rush of wind and a shadow passed over the Dragoon. The assassin had retrieved the lance, and was using it against him. There was a sudden flash of blinding white light, and an explosion of sound and pain as something shoved him roughly back against the far wall. He felt as if his chest were on fire as whatever magic that had been used on him penetrated his armor and struck him full force. Crying out in surprise and pain, he tried to stumble to his feet, but the attack had caught him off guard and had injured him more than it might have had he the time to prepare. Of course he knew the lance had the ability to cast the Holy spell, he just always had avoided using it. He had no magic skills and didn't particularly care to possess any either.
His aggressor had no qualms about using the magic at his disposal though. Even in the dim light, Kain could see the dark figure coming toward him, the lance raised, coming down for the kill. Holding his chest with one hand, Kain realized that in his other hand he still held the knife. As the lance came down, the Dragoon rolled forward with amazing speed and agility, and took the assassin down after imbedding the knife in his stomach.
The other man sputtered and fell to his knees, dropping the lance. Kain grabbed it, leaping to his feet. Without delay, he shoved the point of the weapon through the back of the man's neck, finishing him off.
Breathing heavily, Kain pulled the lance back, shaking it slightly and sending blood splattering to the ground nearby. He had done it. He had defeated himself. He had proved his own worth. Overcome with emotion, he stumbled to his knees a few feet away from the body, not heeding the tears rolling down his cheeks. "I did it," he whispered. "I lived."
It was only then that the voice returned, casual and fleeting as before. "Living is not always the proper way of defeating your past, Kain."
Just then, the light in the cavern began to grow, consuming the darkness and the shadows that had plagued it before. Brushing at the wetness on his cheeks, Kain looked around again for the source of the voice, but again it was in vain. The words pierced him to the bone, though, and he suddenly found he could not look at the body. Fear was consuming him, though, he had to look. So he forced himself to turn his cobalt blue-gray eyes toward the misshapen figure lying beyond his feet. And this one look ensured him what he had feared most. It was not himself who he had killed.
Horror engulfed him as he felt his own curiosity take possession of him. The next thing he knew, the body was rolled on to its back, the face exposed. Kain swallowed a cry of panic as he recognized it.
It was Cecil Harvey, his best friend.
by Rydia Highwind
Interlude One - Kain
Two years ago
Morning had never looked so dreary to the Dragoon Kain Highwind.
Not that it was a lovely morning to start with. The rain had been coming down quite steadily the entire night, and it was not making any sign of letting up soon, casting the sky with drab grays and blacks rather than the usual blood red of sunrise. The entire plane of vision was the same, uniformly dull; even the icy mist erupting from his lips with every breath held no color of its own. The fire keeping him from freezing didn't seem to have much color to it that morning either.
"What a perfect day," Kain murmured to himself, rubbing together his bare hands in front of his small fire. He was reclined, sitting cross-legged inside a make-shift tent situated in a niche in the face of the mighty Mount Ordeals, trying to warm himself slightly before setting off to tempt fate at the summit of the infamous mountain.
He fully expected to face himself at the top, as it was rumored that one would battle his own worst enemy, and Kain considered his own mind to be his undoing. The prospect still scared him to the point of finding reasons for putting off the battle for nearly a week now. And yet, he knew that he had to go up there and face himself before he'd ever find closure. Any more of this stalling and soon he'd just push himself off the side of the mountain. He'd dishonored the Dragoons enough by simply letting his lust get the better of him, they didn't need to be further disgraced with a suicide.
Already he adorned most of his armor, sans his gauntlets and his helmet. Something was telling him he wasn't going to need any of that once he arrived at the top of the mountain, but that didn't seem to make sense. He remembered stories of Cecil's venture atop this mountain, and he'd definitely needed his armor. Sighing lightly, he pulled the helmet over his golden hair, and then slid on the gauntlets. Equipped with his shield and the Lance of Holy, Kain stamped out the small fire, then proceeded to the top of the mountain, wondering vaguely if he'd ever come down.
There, atop the summit, he steeled himself as he gazed on the stone memorial Cecil had described to him before. It was a place the Paladin had often vowed to return to, but he had landed the time consuming job of king, and he hadn't gotten a chance to get back there. Kain had to smirk a little at that one--he knew Cecil's wanderlust was just going to get worse in every meeting he was forced to sit through. Many might envy the position, and the man who held the throne was likely willing to give the job away with the drop of a hat. And if he wasn't, it could only be a matter of time before he'd regret taking the post.
Of course, the people of Baron wouldn't have it any other way. The only militant who hadn't been twisted to the will of or killed by Golbez, the man who left a Dark Knight bent to the will of the evil king and the dark sword and came back a Paladin, the holiest of warriors and the savior of the world. Who better to rule the most powerful nation in the world than the man who saved that world?
Kain shook his head. He felt the familiar pangs of jealousy shooting through him once again. It seemed his life was nothing but a cauldron of envy cast about his best friend like a fire. Every time Cecil proved his superiority, the fire would grow, but he'd always kept it under control.
Until he met Golbez.
True, he had not gone down without a fight. He had been tortured in more forms than he could remember, and gone through more agony then than ever before and ever since. But Golbez knew. He'd searched Kain's mind, and knew just what words would win him over. Mind control was only possible if the subject let the controller in, at least the first time. For the rest of his life, Kain would have to live with the fact that he let Golbez in. And for the rest of his life, Kain would have to live with the fact that he was not won over by torture, like many weaker-minded men had been, but by his own jealousy, burning out of control.
Guilt was enough to quench the jealousy. Jealousy was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, hadn't it? And now the blood on his hands was burning at his soul, burning away the jealousy with self-hatred. Cecil was a good man, and he deserved everything he had gotten. And Kain knew he deserved everything he'd gotten as well.
He stood looking at the rock for a long while. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," he whispered to the rain. "Then again, whatever I end up with is probably the best, huh?"
The rain didn't answer.
Not that he had been waiting for an answer, but one would have been nice regardless. He suddenly felt very alone as he took a step forward. The rain splashed lightly from his green-blue armor, soaking his face and hair and sending a chill through him. He reached up and touched the outline of the door. Would the rock monument even let him in? He waited for a long moment, then sighed, closing his eyes and hanging his head. "Come on," he muttered under his breath, leaning his head against the smooth stone door and banging his fist into the structure.
It was then that he heard the first grinding of stone and looked up. The door was moving away from him, opening up into the chamber where his destiny lay waiting for him. He removed his hand from the door, watching and waiting, a flood of relief and despair flooding through him at the same time.
The stone door seemed to melt away in front of him, and ahead of him he could see mirrors reflecting his every move from some unknown light source. Briefly he realized this was his last chance to turn away and leave, but something there held him entranced. Steeling himself and closing his eyes, he took a step forward.
He did not have to open his eyes to know that the stone door had melded back into place behind him, trapping him within the mirror room inside. A sense of overwhelming and inexplicable peace flowed through him suddenly, and he reached up to remove his helmet. What was it about this place? He felt totally off-guard, though he knew the battle that would decide the rest of his life was coming up in a matter of minutes. His Dragoon helmet clattered to the ground, and he took a few steps forward, reaching out to touch the smooth, cold glass.
"Well, you sure took your sweet time getting up here, Sir Highwind."
Kain whirled around, looking furiously about for the owner of the mysterious voice. It had seemed to materialize out of nothingness, and no one he could see was present. Griping his lance tightly in his hands, he looked up at the odd source of light, as that's where the voice seemed to be emanating from. "Who are you?" he demanded, trying not to lose his edge.
"I've been waiting for you for a while now, Kain."
The Dragoon didn't answer. The voice wasn't responding to him anyway, it didn't seem. He just looked up at the odd light pouring down over him, and held his lance, ready for the attack he knew was coming at any moment.
"Why so tense? Are you waiting for something?"
Steeling himself, he looked up at where he presumed the voice to be coming from, and called out, "I'm waiting to be tested. That's why I've come here." He winced at the echoes of his voice about the chamber, but held his ground.
"So have they all. But are you truly ready to face that which is your own worse nightmare? Many come here, and many do not leave, Kain. Do you even know what your greatest fear is?"
He knew what it was, all right. The thing he despised most in the whole world. Himself. It'd be his own person he'd be fighting, and he knew it. He was terrified over the whole matter, and still, the only explanation he could come up with for Cecil's bravery as he battled his past was the fact that it was thrust on the other man's lap and it was over before he could even think about what had happened. "I know. I know what it is."
"Do you?"
Then the light vanished.
"Wha--?" Kain looked around the mirrored chamber in confusion. It was now only lit by a dim light from an indeterminable source. Cautiously, he looked around, wishing he had not discarded his helmet so carelessly.
There was a rush of movement from behind him and he instinctively ducked, only to find a set of arms stabbing the empty space where he had been with a long, deadly knife. Kain rolled away from the unseen aggressor and leapt to his feet a few meters ahead. The figure, though, anticipated this and lunged for his throat. The Dragoon felt a strong arm wrap tightly around his neck and the knife blade drew closer to his exposed throat. Desperately, he clawed at the blade, wrapping his fingers around it, not heeding the deep cuts running down his hands as a result. Down, clattered the Lance of Holy as the blade pressed closer.
He stepped back, coming down on the assassin's foot hard enough to earn a yelp of surprise and pain from his aggressor. Now with the odds in his favor, Kain wrenched the knife from the man's hand and ducked down to the ground, groping for his own, more familiar weapon, his lance. The darkness in the chamber grew ever stronger, however. The Lance of Holy was not found.
Without warning, there was a rush of wind and a shadow passed over the Dragoon. The assassin had retrieved the lance, and was using it against him. There was a sudden flash of blinding white light, and an explosion of sound and pain as something shoved him roughly back against the far wall. He felt as if his chest were on fire as whatever magic that had been used on him penetrated his armor and struck him full force. Crying out in surprise and pain, he tried to stumble to his feet, but the attack had caught him off guard and had injured him more than it might have had he the time to prepare. Of course he knew the lance had the ability to cast the Holy spell, he just always had avoided using it. He had no magic skills and didn't particularly care to possess any either.
His aggressor had no qualms about using the magic at his disposal though. Even in the dim light, Kain could see the dark figure coming toward him, the lance raised, coming down for the kill. Holding his chest with one hand, Kain realized that in his other hand he still held the knife. As the lance came down, the Dragoon rolled forward with amazing speed and agility, and took the assassin down after imbedding the knife in his stomach.
The other man sputtered and fell to his knees, dropping the lance. Kain grabbed it, leaping to his feet. Without delay, he shoved the point of the weapon through the back of the man's neck, finishing him off.
Breathing heavily, Kain pulled the lance back, shaking it slightly and sending blood splattering to the ground nearby. He had done it. He had defeated himself. He had proved his own worth. Overcome with emotion, he stumbled to his knees a few feet away from the body, not heeding the tears rolling down his cheeks. "I did it," he whispered. "I lived."
It was only then that the voice returned, casual and fleeting as before. "Living is not always the proper way of defeating your past, Kain."
Just then, the light in the cavern began to grow, consuming the darkness and the shadows that had plagued it before. Brushing at the wetness on his cheeks, Kain looked around again for the source of the voice, but again it was in vain. The words pierced him to the bone, though, and he suddenly found he could not look at the body. Fear was consuming him, though, he had to look. So he forced himself to turn his cobalt blue-gray eyes toward the misshapen figure lying beyond his feet. And this one look ensured him what he had feared most. It was not himself who he had killed.
Horror engulfed him as he felt his own curiosity take possession of him. The next thing he knew, the body was rolled on to its back, the face exposed. Kain swallowed a cry of panic as he recognized it.
It was Cecil Harvey, his best friend.