"Holy shit!" was all exasperated lips managed to utter before being
catapulted, alongside the rest of the body, down a twisted dirt tunnel. A
light blue bandana whipped about in its wake, struggling to maintain a
death grip on its skull of choice. Sweat poured forth in thick streams,
moistening rocky floors long since devoid of water. And there was the
sound of heavy, heavy breathing, followed closely by a destructive rumble.
The incessant query "Why me, why me, why me. . ." was quickly swallowed up by that rumble.
Why, indeed, him? For it was a he: to be more specific, this voice belonged to self-proclaimed treasure hunter Locke Cole. A recent divorcee from the world of light and fresh air, the young man currently found himself charging with wild abandon through the hollows of the earth, followed close behind by some unspeakable evil.
Had Indiana Jones existed, Locke surely would have identified with him. Instead, however, he simply wondered how the hell he'd gotten into such a mess in the first place.
--
Upon awaking after the end of everything, his arm broken after having been flung bodily from the water into a nearby tree, Locke had slowly made his way from the seaside to the fortuitously close town of Nikeah. Upon arriving, he'd discovered a great deal of destruction: buildings collapsed, people dead, and the harbour half swallowed up by the sea. It would take seven months of restructuring before the Nikeans managed to restore their port livelihood. The beleaguered thief rested there for three weeks, healing his arm with weak restorative spells – he'd sadly neglected to learn anything past the rudiments, preferring instead highly destructive, flashy magic – and aided in the restoration as much as he could.
Upon recuperating, Locke bid farewell to the still ramshackle town, heading south along the curve of the Serpent Trench. Using his considerable stealth skills, Locke managed to forego the majority of potential battles, thus saving his own hide; his combat skills, though polished, would not have been up to three weeks of constant assault. For a while he skirted into the mountain range that rose in the belly of the serpent, but decided, upon witnessing the steady construction of a large, black tower in the midst of the stony peaks, that discretion would be the better part of valour. And so he returned to the beaten path of dead roots and monstrous demons.
What was his goal in these endeavours? It was not to find his friends. No, that would simply have been a boon: at current, he looked instead to witness the lay of the land, as it was apparent to all, now, that the world had changed greatly. Things had to be surveyed. The situation investigated. No battle against the newly anointed god of the world would go forward properly without such preparations. But it mattered not, as Locke did not encounter a single former ally in his travels anyway.
His travels carried him further south, and brought Locke to the spot where a bridge would, within a month, connect one continent to another. At current it was only half complete. Most onlookers considered the architect mad, as he spent his days in the wilderness, tools in hand, steadily constructing his masterpiece while vicious creatures roamed to and fro around his hastily assembled shack of a dwelling. Locke bypassed him with an outwardly spoken word of encouragement and an inwardly whispered comment along the lines of "you crazy bastard". He would rescind this opinion when next he returned.
Travelling east next – as it was, indeed, the only available path – Locke spent a long, trying twenty days picking his way through the relatively barren wastes of the serpent's tail. There was little in the way of hiding spots, thus forcing the treasure hunter into more battles than he would have preferred. Had it not been for his knack of locating good shelters to dwell in for the night, ones obviously safe from harm, Locke would never have completed his journey in one piece.
On completing a short, northward hop, Locke came across the shattered ruins of Mobliz, still steaming from the swathe cut by Kefka's 'Light of Judgement'. The children of the town hid so effectively that he hadn't the slightest clue of their existence, and simply considered it a dead town. Terra had yet to take up residence amongst them, though Locke only missed her by a span of two weeks and four days.
Upon learning that Mobliz was, effectively, the end of the road, Locke was heard to curse mightily. The noise managed to attract a very ugly local, the emerald demon Phunbaba, who drove Locke back onto the road with a considerable bellow of his own.
And so, trail-weary and tired, Locke started back. Now strengthened with both foreknowledge of the dangers ahead and a new sheath of muscle on his arms, he managed the trip in a scant seventeen days. It was a decided improvement over the original twenty-four days.
Upon witnessing the bridge, Locke was seen to boldly kiss the architect, a greying man of fifty who, much to Locke's chagrin, jovially slipped him the tongue and grabbed a hold of Locke's buttocks. This conveyed upon Locke a maxim that he retained to his dying day: "beware the lonely artiste". Freshly robbed of his homosexual innocence, or at least a portion of it, Locke continued across the bridge.
Following a path that had since become fairly distinct by the pounding of Chocobo feet, Locke wandered along the curve of a newly formed lake, coming upon Tzen within two days. As luck would have it, he managed to involuntarily avoid Relm, who, astride a Chocobo, was headed north to Nikeah.
Throughout his many journeys, Locke maintained relatively high spirits. That was quite an accomplishment, considering the world in which he now found himself. He managed this through maintaining a sense of purpose: it was his duty, for the good of the group, to create an account of all that he'd seen. Perhaps, he thought, he'd be the first man to successfully map the new world. And wouldn't that just line his coffers with gold? Oh yes. People would kill for that kind of thing.
Yet, underneath it all laid a sort of constant ache, indescribably nagging. At times, walking in his lonesome, Locke would become incredibly depressed. He would think of all those he'd left behind, all those he'd failed, on that bloody, gruesome day. . . he'd been walking for months now, it seemed: how had he not found any of them? Was he really the only one still alive? Logic seemed to scream nay at that thought, but. . . was it possible?
Had he failed those two that he'd promised to protect yet again? Terra, who he'd come to see as a sister, the essential part that he'd never known before. . . and Celes. . . what was Celes? Was she another Rachel?
And when he thought of Rachel, and then Celes, both converging together into the same spot in his mind, he felt himself a traitor to both at the same time. To whom were his loyalties due? Frustration ran rampant. He didn't know, and figured he'd never be completely sure. It was all he could do not to break down and cry amongst those endless fields of ruin, brain torn.
So he just kept walking. Surveying. It was his endless cause, to provide information for those allies who may not even have been alive.
But, when the allure of potential reaches one's nose, they feel compelled to follow it, particularly if they are of an enterprising nature. Locke fell into this department. And so it came to pass in Tzen that a fellow "treasure hunter" by the name of Keye Onex – a wiry man with an eye patch and long, oily black hair – came into contact with Locke. Acquaintances of old, they managed to spot one another as Keye danced atop a table at the 'Sinful Tzen', drunk out of his mind. Upon sobering up an hour later, the two sat and reminisced about the good 'ol days, and of ventures both gained and lost. It was Keye who had introduced Locke to the Returners, as the decidedly less scrupulous man had gouged the small rebel group for his services as a spy and saboteur. And, as the night waned, Keye allowed Locke into his confidence – knowing full well that the occasionally naïve younger man would not break it – and described his current venture.
It had become readily apparent to almost every person on the planet that the geography of the planet had been irreparably changed as a result of Kefka's meddling. Continents, once few and large, were now split and divided; mountains had fallen, seas emerged, and towns shifted; and as a result of it all, the world was now a place of magic, and demons long thought dead. All in all, it seemed a wholly negative change.
However, from the stance of the profitable, circumstances were different. A plethora of once obscured locales, hidden under the recesses of the earth, had emerged into the red light of day once more. And with them invariably came their age-old treasures and secrets, secrets from the War of the Magi and beyond. Being a treasure hunter in this era of radical change was an incredible boon, so long as bold hearts stood firm and braved the dangers of the darkness.
Keye, bearing contacts throughout the world – being a professional thief with forty years experience inevitably granted one considerable resources – had come to know of a recently unearthed cavern near Thamasa. Once considered a mere myth by the locals, the so-called "Fire Caves of the Magi" was proven as fact when the earth covering its entrance gave way as Thamasa sailed out into the midst of the ocean. Several locals had already entered the cavern; not a single one, according to Keye's source, had re- emerged. Naturally, Keye chalked this up to a lack of caution, or "professionalism". Such a cave should, by all rights, bear considerable riches.
Locke was uninterested. Completely and utterly. He had other work to do. And he said as such, citing the fact that both he and his friends were currently engaged in kicking the ass of the world's newly self-appointed deity. Keye inquired as to his friend's whereabouts; Locke simply replied with "I'm playing scout right now".
Keye had long since realized that he would need a partner in his newest endeavour. He'd long since known that Thamasa was the town of the lost Mage Warriors; and if such people were having difficulty with the cavern, then a mere thief would be hard pressed alone. So running into Locke turned out to be a stroke of luck. But all would be for naught if the little punk were unwilling.
So he decided to toss in another incentive. Something too tempting to pass up. He knew of Locke's woeful past – Keye had long since made a point not to take on any partners whom he hadn't checked out – and was fully aware of his complications with Rachel.
Local legends had long since pinpointed the cavern as the birthplace of the legendary Phoenix, master of death and rebirth. Whether it could incite others into a similar process of resurrection mattered little to Keye's plans, as he knew tossing this particular bait in front of Locke's nose would get a response.
His plan worked perfectly. Locke immediately leapt at the prospect, without Keye even having to so much as hint at the repercussions of locating the Phoenix. Whether or not Keye would actually allow Locke to use the Phoenix – if that was, in fact, the treasure of the cave – was not, at current, an object. For his own part, Locke managed to maintain at least a token amount of scepticism in regards to his new business partner as he heartily shook hands. His mission, his purpose, had suddenly been swept aside, all for the sake of his old love.
They set off the next day, making tracks to Albrook on Chocobos. Through mutual agreement, they gave Kefka's grotesque monument to his own enormity an extremely wide berth. It had been rumoured that bizarre demonic concoctions kept watch at the base, and neither thief particularly wished to verify the claim. Within a day they made it to Albrook. Throughout the trip they planned and schemed, either exclaiming excitedly that they'd become the most renowned treasure hunters in the world with the haul they were bound to find in the cavern. Neither Locke nor Keye decided it worth mentioning that they had no intention of sharing: Locke if it were the Phoenix, and Keye if it were absolutely anything of abnormal value. Chartering a boat to Thamasa – it had taken nearly a month for the adrift town to be rediscovered – by the rest of civilization – the pair steamed their way to the mage town. The journey took three days in all, the passengers weathering choppy waters and several fierce encounters with sea serpents and other aquatic fiends. The end result was a disgruntled crew of cranky seamen who, before allowing their charges to disembark, demanded double their fare if they to be convinced to wait around. Wishing only to get off the damned boat, Locke and Keye agreed to the conditions, also secretly agreeing between themselves to rob the crew blind after the entire job was done. Though a man of morals, Locke was still a thief.
After a brief stopover in Thamasa – Locke, much to his dismay, found Strago's house to be ominously vacant – they started out towards the cave. Led by a local guide, they made good time, traversing the sparse forestland of the continent and coming upon the mouth of the cave within a few hours. After being amply paid, their guide, a jittery youth with quaking limbs, beat a hasty retreat. They expected not to see him on the return trip, but that mattered little, as Locke had always possessed a good head for geography. They would not get lost.
Granted, Locke may not have made it back, had Keye anything to say about it. His onetime friend meant nothing under the weight of riches.
The Fire Caves, for their part, lived up to the name. Huge clouds of billowing sulphur regularly issued forth from the split crags in the rock. The heat, even in the entrance, was well nigh insufferable: both men opted to abandon their less necessary garments, keeping only the protection of light armour. Locke, too, kept his bandana, as it had become a staple of his character, and he was loathe to part from it. Thus prepared, they began a tentative descent into the bowels of the earth, Locke with his daggers ready, and Keye bearing a wicked crossbow, complete with magically infused ice arrows.
The going was tough. Clean air was sometimes lacking, leaving both men wavering and weakened. The monsters, obviously not afflicted as such, were surprisingly powerful, and Locke had to make use of his woefully poor restorative abilities often in order to keep them both going. Fortuitously enough, however, his highly destructive spells of ice and cold proved highly effective, especially alongside Keye's arrows. There were times, however, when the heat and air made both aiming and concentrating tough – and the long, winding tunnels of blackened rock and dirt made the entire trip seem excruciatingly long. There appeared to be no end to their dolorous enterprise.
After nearly an hour of slow progress, however, the two emerged from the tunnel, coming upon a hugely emptied space of cavern. At the bottom of it all lay the source of the heat: a gigantic inferno of ash and magma, boiling incessantly and sending cloudy steam up into the heavens. Considering how far down one had to go to reach the magma, Locke surmised that it had to possess an unfathomably high temperature. Amidst the lake of fire, raised high upon an outcropping and extending back into the wall of the cavern, lay a highly ornate temple. Huge pillars supported the roof from caving in, neatly framing the swirling arches that topped the door of the place. But none of this caught Locke's eye in particular: rather, he looked at the decorations that lined each work of stone.
There were birds carved into everything. Huge, sweeping birds, with gigantic tails and gaping maws. Judging by the shape of each bird, moreover, Locke could not help but conclude that this was the temple of the Phoenix. And such a thought brought to him incredible excitement, as he seemed to hold the salvation of his beloved in his hands.
The memory of Celes, whom he had slowly come to love, slipped through the cracks, and vanished. Now there was room only for Rachel.
Like any ancient ruin worth its salt, the entrance was guarded by fiery demons. But, well tempered by their previous encounters and suddenly flushed with the thought of success, neither Locke nor Keye felt the least bit intimidated. They'd grown quite used to their circumstances. Consequently, said demons soon found themselves either pinned to the walls of the temple, or sent plummeting to a blazing death. Not even monsters bred amongst fire could withstand such heat as was emanating from the bowels of the cavern.
The doors to the temple were huge, and wrought out of thick metal. As such, they were incredibly hot, thus requiring the pair to look for a means of opening them. Locke hardly wanted to introduce such a drastic drop in heat from using his ice spells on the doors, as doing so would probably invite a catastrophe. After ten odd minutes of searching, Keye located a large stone button, offset from the door by about ten meters and hidden under an ornate carving of the Phoenix. A single push flung the doors open.
Thus they entered, both more than a little weary, into the halls of the birthplace of the Phoenix. Only one would emerge from those same doors come the eventful climax of their adventure.
NOTE: This. . . is getting long. So I'll split it up into two chapters. No harm in that.
The incessant query "Why me, why me, why me. . ." was quickly swallowed up by that rumble.
Why, indeed, him? For it was a he: to be more specific, this voice belonged to self-proclaimed treasure hunter Locke Cole. A recent divorcee from the world of light and fresh air, the young man currently found himself charging with wild abandon through the hollows of the earth, followed close behind by some unspeakable evil.
Had Indiana Jones existed, Locke surely would have identified with him. Instead, however, he simply wondered how the hell he'd gotten into such a mess in the first place.
--
Upon awaking after the end of everything, his arm broken after having been flung bodily from the water into a nearby tree, Locke had slowly made his way from the seaside to the fortuitously close town of Nikeah. Upon arriving, he'd discovered a great deal of destruction: buildings collapsed, people dead, and the harbour half swallowed up by the sea. It would take seven months of restructuring before the Nikeans managed to restore their port livelihood. The beleaguered thief rested there for three weeks, healing his arm with weak restorative spells – he'd sadly neglected to learn anything past the rudiments, preferring instead highly destructive, flashy magic – and aided in the restoration as much as he could.
Upon recuperating, Locke bid farewell to the still ramshackle town, heading south along the curve of the Serpent Trench. Using his considerable stealth skills, Locke managed to forego the majority of potential battles, thus saving his own hide; his combat skills, though polished, would not have been up to three weeks of constant assault. For a while he skirted into the mountain range that rose in the belly of the serpent, but decided, upon witnessing the steady construction of a large, black tower in the midst of the stony peaks, that discretion would be the better part of valour. And so he returned to the beaten path of dead roots and monstrous demons.
What was his goal in these endeavours? It was not to find his friends. No, that would simply have been a boon: at current, he looked instead to witness the lay of the land, as it was apparent to all, now, that the world had changed greatly. Things had to be surveyed. The situation investigated. No battle against the newly anointed god of the world would go forward properly without such preparations. But it mattered not, as Locke did not encounter a single former ally in his travels anyway.
His travels carried him further south, and brought Locke to the spot where a bridge would, within a month, connect one continent to another. At current it was only half complete. Most onlookers considered the architect mad, as he spent his days in the wilderness, tools in hand, steadily constructing his masterpiece while vicious creatures roamed to and fro around his hastily assembled shack of a dwelling. Locke bypassed him with an outwardly spoken word of encouragement and an inwardly whispered comment along the lines of "you crazy bastard". He would rescind this opinion when next he returned.
Travelling east next – as it was, indeed, the only available path – Locke spent a long, trying twenty days picking his way through the relatively barren wastes of the serpent's tail. There was little in the way of hiding spots, thus forcing the treasure hunter into more battles than he would have preferred. Had it not been for his knack of locating good shelters to dwell in for the night, ones obviously safe from harm, Locke would never have completed his journey in one piece.
On completing a short, northward hop, Locke came across the shattered ruins of Mobliz, still steaming from the swathe cut by Kefka's 'Light of Judgement'. The children of the town hid so effectively that he hadn't the slightest clue of their existence, and simply considered it a dead town. Terra had yet to take up residence amongst them, though Locke only missed her by a span of two weeks and four days.
Upon learning that Mobliz was, effectively, the end of the road, Locke was heard to curse mightily. The noise managed to attract a very ugly local, the emerald demon Phunbaba, who drove Locke back onto the road with a considerable bellow of his own.
And so, trail-weary and tired, Locke started back. Now strengthened with both foreknowledge of the dangers ahead and a new sheath of muscle on his arms, he managed the trip in a scant seventeen days. It was a decided improvement over the original twenty-four days.
Upon witnessing the bridge, Locke was seen to boldly kiss the architect, a greying man of fifty who, much to Locke's chagrin, jovially slipped him the tongue and grabbed a hold of Locke's buttocks. This conveyed upon Locke a maxim that he retained to his dying day: "beware the lonely artiste". Freshly robbed of his homosexual innocence, or at least a portion of it, Locke continued across the bridge.
Following a path that had since become fairly distinct by the pounding of Chocobo feet, Locke wandered along the curve of a newly formed lake, coming upon Tzen within two days. As luck would have it, he managed to involuntarily avoid Relm, who, astride a Chocobo, was headed north to Nikeah.
Throughout his many journeys, Locke maintained relatively high spirits. That was quite an accomplishment, considering the world in which he now found himself. He managed this through maintaining a sense of purpose: it was his duty, for the good of the group, to create an account of all that he'd seen. Perhaps, he thought, he'd be the first man to successfully map the new world. And wouldn't that just line his coffers with gold? Oh yes. People would kill for that kind of thing.
Yet, underneath it all laid a sort of constant ache, indescribably nagging. At times, walking in his lonesome, Locke would become incredibly depressed. He would think of all those he'd left behind, all those he'd failed, on that bloody, gruesome day. . . he'd been walking for months now, it seemed: how had he not found any of them? Was he really the only one still alive? Logic seemed to scream nay at that thought, but. . . was it possible?
Had he failed those two that he'd promised to protect yet again? Terra, who he'd come to see as a sister, the essential part that he'd never known before. . . and Celes. . . what was Celes? Was she another Rachel?
And when he thought of Rachel, and then Celes, both converging together into the same spot in his mind, he felt himself a traitor to both at the same time. To whom were his loyalties due? Frustration ran rampant. He didn't know, and figured he'd never be completely sure. It was all he could do not to break down and cry amongst those endless fields of ruin, brain torn.
So he just kept walking. Surveying. It was his endless cause, to provide information for those allies who may not even have been alive.
But, when the allure of potential reaches one's nose, they feel compelled to follow it, particularly if they are of an enterprising nature. Locke fell into this department. And so it came to pass in Tzen that a fellow "treasure hunter" by the name of Keye Onex – a wiry man with an eye patch and long, oily black hair – came into contact with Locke. Acquaintances of old, they managed to spot one another as Keye danced atop a table at the 'Sinful Tzen', drunk out of his mind. Upon sobering up an hour later, the two sat and reminisced about the good 'ol days, and of ventures both gained and lost. It was Keye who had introduced Locke to the Returners, as the decidedly less scrupulous man had gouged the small rebel group for his services as a spy and saboteur. And, as the night waned, Keye allowed Locke into his confidence – knowing full well that the occasionally naïve younger man would not break it – and described his current venture.
It had become readily apparent to almost every person on the planet that the geography of the planet had been irreparably changed as a result of Kefka's meddling. Continents, once few and large, were now split and divided; mountains had fallen, seas emerged, and towns shifted; and as a result of it all, the world was now a place of magic, and demons long thought dead. All in all, it seemed a wholly negative change.
However, from the stance of the profitable, circumstances were different. A plethora of once obscured locales, hidden under the recesses of the earth, had emerged into the red light of day once more. And with them invariably came their age-old treasures and secrets, secrets from the War of the Magi and beyond. Being a treasure hunter in this era of radical change was an incredible boon, so long as bold hearts stood firm and braved the dangers of the darkness.
Keye, bearing contacts throughout the world – being a professional thief with forty years experience inevitably granted one considerable resources – had come to know of a recently unearthed cavern near Thamasa. Once considered a mere myth by the locals, the so-called "Fire Caves of the Magi" was proven as fact when the earth covering its entrance gave way as Thamasa sailed out into the midst of the ocean. Several locals had already entered the cavern; not a single one, according to Keye's source, had re- emerged. Naturally, Keye chalked this up to a lack of caution, or "professionalism". Such a cave should, by all rights, bear considerable riches.
Locke was uninterested. Completely and utterly. He had other work to do. And he said as such, citing the fact that both he and his friends were currently engaged in kicking the ass of the world's newly self-appointed deity. Keye inquired as to his friend's whereabouts; Locke simply replied with "I'm playing scout right now".
Keye had long since realized that he would need a partner in his newest endeavour. He'd long since known that Thamasa was the town of the lost Mage Warriors; and if such people were having difficulty with the cavern, then a mere thief would be hard pressed alone. So running into Locke turned out to be a stroke of luck. But all would be for naught if the little punk were unwilling.
So he decided to toss in another incentive. Something too tempting to pass up. He knew of Locke's woeful past – Keye had long since made a point not to take on any partners whom he hadn't checked out – and was fully aware of his complications with Rachel.
Local legends had long since pinpointed the cavern as the birthplace of the legendary Phoenix, master of death and rebirth. Whether it could incite others into a similar process of resurrection mattered little to Keye's plans, as he knew tossing this particular bait in front of Locke's nose would get a response.
His plan worked perfectly. Locke immediately leapt at the prospect, without Keye even having to so much as hint at the repercussions of locating the Phoenix. Whether or not Keye would actually allow Locke to use the Phoenix – if that was, in fact, the treasure of the cave – was not, at current, an object. For his own part, Locke managed to maintain at least a token amount of scepticism in regards to his new business partner as he heartily shook hands. His mission, his purpose, had suddenly been swept aside, all for the sake of his old love.
They set off the next day, making tracks to Albrook on Chocobos. Through mutual agreement, they gave Kefka's grotesque monument to his own enormity an extremely wide berth. It had been rumoured that bizarre demonic concoctions kept watch at the base, and neither thief particularly wished to verify the claim. Within a day they made it to Albrook. Throughout the trip they planned and schemed, either exclaiming excitedly that they'd become the most renowned treasure hunters in the world with the haul they were bound to find in the cavern. Neither Locke nor Keye decided it worth mentioning that they had no intention of sharing: Locke if it were the Phoenix, and Keye if it were absolutely anything of abnormal value. Chartering a boat to Thamasa – it had taken nearly a month for the adrift town to be rediscovered – by the rest of civilization – the pair steamed their way to the mage town. The journey took three days in all, the passengers weathering choppy waters and several fierce encounters with sea serpents and other aquatic fiends. The end result was a disgruntled crew of cranky seamen who, before allowing their charges to disembark, demanded double their fare if they to be convinced to wait around. Wishing only to get off the damned boat, Locke and Keye agreed to the conditions, also secretly agreeing between themselves to rob the crew blind after the entire job was done. Though a man of morals, Locke was still a thief.
After a brief stopover in Thamasa – Locke, much to his dismay, found Strago's house to be ominously vacant – they started out towards the cave. Led by a local guide, they made good time, traversing the sparse forestland of the continent and coming upon the mouth of the cave within a few hours. After being amply paid, their guide, a jittery youth with quaking limbs, beat a hasty retreat. They expected not to see him on the return trip, but that mattered little, as Locke had always possessed a good head for geography. They would not get lost.
Granted, Locke may not have made it back, had Keye anything to say about it. His onetime friend meant nothing under the weight of riches.
The Fire Caves, for their part, lived up to the name. Huge clouds of billowing sulphur regularly issued forth from the split crags in the rock. The heat, even in the entrance, was well nigh insufferable: both men opted to abandon their less necessary garments, keeping only the protection of light armour. Locke, too, kept his bandana, as it had become a staple of his character, and he was loathe to part from it. Thus prepared, they began a tentative descent into the bowels of the earth, Locke with his daggers ready, and Keye bearing a wicked crossbow, complete with magically infused ice arrows.
The going was tough. Clean air was sometimes lacking, leaving both men wavering and weakened. The monsters, obviously not afflicted as such, were surprisingly powerful, and Locke had to make use of his woefully poor restorative abilities often in order to keep them both going. Fortuitously enough, however, his highly destructive spells of ice and cold proved highly effective, especially alongside Keye's arrows. There were times, however, when the heat and air made both aiming and concentrating tough – and the long, winding tunnels of blackened rock and dirt made the entire trip seem excruciatingly long. There appeared to be no end to their dolorous enterprise.
After nearly an hour of slow progress, however, the two emerged from the tunnel, coming upon a hugely emptied space of cavern. At the bottom of it all lay the source of the heat: a gigantic inferno of ash and magma, boiling incessantly and sending cloudy steam up into the heavens. Considering how far down one had to go to reach the magma, Locke surmised that it had to possess an unfathomably high temperature. Amidst the lake of fire, raised high upon an outcropping and extending back into the wall of the cavern, lay a highly ornate temple. Huge pillars supported the roof from caving in, neatly framing the swirling arches that topped the door of the place. But none of this caught Locke's eye in particular: rather, he looked at the decorations that lined each work of stone.
There were birds carved into everything. Huge, sweeping birds, with gigantic tails and gaping maws. Judging by the shape of each bird, moreover, Locke could not help but conclude that this was the temple of the Phoenix. And such a thought brought to him incredible excitement, as he seemed to hold the salvation of his beloved in his hands.
The memory of Celes, whom he had slowly come to love, slipped through the cracks, and vanished. Now there was room only for Rachel.
Like any ancient ruin worth its salt, the entrance was guarded by fiery demons. But, well tempered by their previous encounters and suddenly flushed with the thought of success, neither Locke nor Keye felt the least bit intimidated. They'd grown quite used to their circumstances. Consequently, said demons soon found themselves either pinned to the walls of the temple, or sent plummeting to a blazing death. Not even monsters bred amongst fire could withstand such heat as was emanating from the bowels of the cavern.
The doors to the temple were huge, and wrought out of thick metal. As such, they were incredibly hot, thus requiring the pair to look for a means of opening them. Locke hardly wanted to introduce such a drastic drop in heat from using his ice spells on the doors, as doing so would probably invite a catastrophe. After ten odd minutes of searching, Keye located a large stone button, offset from the door by about ten meters and hidden under an ornate carving of the Phoenix. A single push flung the doors open.
Thus they entered, both more than a little weary, into the halls of the birthplace of the Phoenix. Only one would emerge from those same doors come the eventful climax of their adventure.
NOTE: This. . . is getting long. So I'll split it up into two chapters. No harm in that.