Author's Notes: I've had this fic idea bouncing around in my head for quite a while. It's set really far down the BoF 1-3 timeline, about 1500-2000 years. That way, I can play around with the history, geography, and political organization, but still keep the idea of the destined cycles. By the way, I don't own the Breath of Fire game series.
by Esor
Prologue
"...Those who seek to gain insight on that which is yet to come must first turn their eyes toward that which has already been. The repetitiveness of mother nature is clearly evidenced in the passage of day and night, the turn of the seasons, and the forces of life and death. Just as the natural world is one based upon cycles, understand that so too does the history of civilization follow such paths. Events of past, present, and future are inexorably, eternally bound together by the endless circle of destiny that is existence..."
- Garath the Wise, philosopher
Savage winds drove the pelting rain in all directions, battering relentlessly upon a thin figure clad in a hooded black robe. The small rural town of Kanya, nestled snugly in the fertile plains of eastern Wyndia, had never seen a storm quite like this one. Just a few hours ago, the moon was shining down through a clear summer sky. Then, surging dark clouds rolled in over the western horizon, as swift as the howling winds that followed them. Great peals of thunder shattered the still quiet of the night as flashes of lightning danced in the distance. The frightened citizens of Kanya all took refuge within their homes shortly after the sudden storm swooped down from the heavens, leaving the robed figure trudging through the wet, wind swept streets alone.
"Almost there..." The weather beaten figure muttered in a weary, but distinctly feminine voice, as she paused beneath a stone archway.
The storm continued to rage while she rested there beneath the arch, adjusting something beneath her cloak. After a few moments, the traveler ventured into the storm once again, dashing through the chilled streets while the gusting wind whipped the cloak around her lithe frame. The incessant staccato beat of the pouring rain drowned out the sound of her footfalls as the figure pushed onward through the town. Candle lit windows, glowing bright in the gloomy darkness, blurred together as she ran past house after house. On and on the shrouded traveler ran, through the wide, straight village streets, not stopping again until she reached a small home lying on the outskirts of town.
"Finally..." She whispered, stepping up to the front door.
The overhanging thatch roof shielded her body from the rain as the young woman pulled back the cloak's hood with a sweep of her slender arm, releasing a wealth of luxurious dark blue hair. She effortlessly shrugged the dark robe from her shoulder, revealing a small bundle previously hidden within the folds of the cloak. Twin violet eyes, filled with tender compassion, gazed down at the bundle, upon the small face of an infant tucked safely within the woman's arms.
"Time for us to part ways, little one..." She whispered, sadly. "I wish it didn't have to be this way, but you'll be far safer here than if you stayed with me." Her lips gently grazed the child's forehead as she lowered him to the ground just in front of the door. The woman reached up, knocking quickly on the large oak door. "Goodbye..." With one final look of sorrow crossing her delicately beautiful features, she swiftly fled from the house, disappearing into the storm-wracked darkness.
*****
The roaring fire did little to warm the cold emptiness in Lynn Mystwing's soul as she stared at the large broadsword hanging above the mantle. She once thought that time and distance would somehow dull the pain. How foolish. Even after ten years of living as far away from Wyndia Castle as possible, the mere sight of Leonard's sword was at times enough to reduce her to tears. The knowledge that her husband died as a hero while saving the life of the reckless Prince Willam did little to assuage the fifty year old widow's pain. She expected nothing less from the noble, self-sacrificing knight.
A sudden knock at the door intruded upon Lynn's quiet reflection, breaking her train of thought. Wondering who in the village was crazy enough to be outside during such a storm, Lynn gasped as she discovered the sleeping baby on her doorstep. Taking the small child into her arms, her heart filled with sympathy for the boy, apparently abandoned in the middle of a harsh storm. The baby yawned, opening his emerald green eyes, and smiled. Lynn returned his smile, tickling him lightly with her hand and eliciting a few giggles. A glint of silver caught Lynn's attention as the child moved while laughing, pushing down part of the blanket he was wrapped in. Just beneath the top layer of the blanket, lay a strange silver medallion. Lynn lifted the curious object, cautiously examining it. The medallion was cast in the shape of a winged, serpentine dragon coiling around a clear, oval jewel. At least, that is what she assumed it was once shaped like, because what she held in her hand appeared to be have been split down the middle, leaving only half of whatever it once was. And on the back of the medallion there had been carved a single word. A name.
Ryu.
