On Our Own

-- Watching people grow up relying on each other is like reliving some type of never felt nightmare. Whenever a damn problem comes up people look to others, not wanting to solve it themselves. That cycle just keeps spinning around and around, going from one person to the next in hopes that someone will solve the problem for them, since they are too lazy to do it themselves. Perhaps if they were tossed out of society and hated, they would realize that, hey, relying on people can really God-damn suck. It's always better to rely on yourself... You can't run away from yourself. And if you do, you're dead.

-- Meander --

Year 1754

The desert's once peaceful face was disrupted, its once lone features now showing signs of travel and fighting. Claw marks, bloodstains, and disturbed sands showed signs of new movement. For in Eoroqu, an unusual population of demons had sprung up. This unusual population caused Eoroqu to take off its illusion spells, and allowed fighters -- demon exterminators -- to come in and get rid of the nuisances. The Dari were no exception, now housing powerful warriors: Burmecians. Regardless of how strange a desert was to them, compared to their home -- Burmecia, the Realm of Eternal Rain, the Lore Desert kept them at peace, particularly since demons were abundant on the desert landscape. Many a Burmecian was gaining strength and money by exterminating them.

But DemChi's life had not been disturbed. It was still as miserable as before. Julius still bullied him, his mother still didn't care, and still no one wanted him. And for some reason, it was bothering him that day. He didn't know why. Most of his emotions he didn't understand. As Julius loved to point out, they were so abnormal, changing so often even DemChi -- the owner of these emotions -- couldn't keep track. It upset him, and his moods seemed to fly about even more. Julius bullied him more often because of it, and DemChi felt even more foreign to the world. He knew not that his unpredictable moods were a cause of mental disturbance -- mental disturbance that could have been further disrupted by Julius. DemChi only knew that was he was weird in that sense.

The ten-year-old sighed heavily as he stretched in a cat-like way, before rising onto his bird-like feet. He was still skinny, still beat up, still wearing stolen clothes that were never clean or mended. His hair had uneven ends from being pulled and torn apart, his black eyes were sullen and bloodshot, and nothing seemed in between his bones and skin. He was a miserable-looking creature, and he felt just as miserable as he looked.

Julius snickered, watching DemChi from a distance. DemChi heard the snicker, however, and soon he and his brother were staring into each other's black eyes. DemChi let out a demon hiss, demanding solitude. Julius only laughed and leapt off the rock he had been resting upon.

"Freak," he spat. "You don't seem to see what's going on around here, do you?"

"Why I care?" DemChi asked miserably.

"Nice rat armies are marching around the desert. They're after demons," Julius explained, walking toward DemChi, who walked backward. "The rats are getting paid for all this. You're in danger. Isn't that great?"

"You are too," DemChi spat.

Julius laughed. "I look nothing like a demon."

"Mother, then."

"She'll be fine," Julius growled. "After all, she's not a slimy little freak like you."

"You right. She dry and huge."

Julius' black eyes narrowed as he rushed forward and tackled DemChi to the ground. DemChi snarled angrily, suddenly angry within a few seconds. His tail lashed out, nailing Julius in the legs. Soon, both hybrids were on the ground, punching and kicking at each other like barbarians. DemChi had a disadvantage from the start, but he did manage to give Julius a few cuts using his tail before he found himself being overpowered. Punches, curses, and kicks rained on the ten-year-old, who tried to curl into a ball to hide, but Julius was too strong. DemChi knew he was at a loss once again.

Then, suddenly, the fight was stopped short when a demon cry filled the air. It was awfully familiar, though the tone was not. This demon cry always seemed so full of power and threat, but this time, the cry was full of panic and pain. Immediately Julius rose to his feet, black eyes wide with horror. He made a dash in the direction of the pained demon cry. DemChi, not knowing what else to do, stumbled after his brother. Another demon cry sounded, this one also full of extreme pain.

Stumbling over a sand dune, DemChi felt a rush of wind. He then yelped with pain as he was sent hurtling backward. When he opened his eyes, he saw a cylinder of wood sticking out of his thigh. Growling, he forced it out, only to find a sharp, metal spike at the end, dripping with red blood. Fangs bared, he rose to his feet, throwing aside the spear as he dashed up the sand dune.

He was met with chaos. Below was his mother, the Demon Queen, with various scratches, cuts, and gashes on her body. None spewed blood, but all spewed demonic energy. Her wings were tattered, and it was obvious the Queen couldn't fly. Part of her tail appeared to be missing, though the rest of it lashed about angrily. One of her horns was broken, and one of her eyes was punctured. A few feet away, Julius was sprawled out on the ground, a massive gash in this thigh. The gash was dripping blood, and no doubt caused by some magical ability. Five other beings were below, and they looked very similar to Dari. But DemChi knew they couldn't be Dari. They were too tall, while their fur was too white. Two of them had black hair, while the other three had brown hair, though of different shades. The ones with black hair both had blue eyes, while two of the ones with brown hair had brown eyes. One of them had hazel eyes. All of them were males, and all of them had weapons, mostly lances, though the hazel-eyed being held a sword. They looked very similar to Dari, but DemChi had seen Dari enough to know that these weren't Dari.

What he didn't know was that they were Burmecians, foreigners to Eoroqu, but not foreigners to fighting.

A hiss filled the air as suddenly the Demon Queen rushed forward, slamming her powerful claws into the stomach of one of the Burmecians. The Burmecian spun his lance around and sent it through the Demon Queen's hand. She hissed with rage, digging her claws deeper into the Burmecian's stomach, but two other Burmecians dashed forward and slammed their lances into her legs. Hissing bitterly, the Demon Queen removed her claws from the Burmecian's stomach. The Burmecian crumpled to his knees, and DemChi watched as another Burmecian helped him up and handed him a bottle. When the injured Burmecian drank the bottle's contents, the wound in his stomach sparkled and began to close.

Julius let out a deadly snarl as he dashed forward, claws shining. He leapt forward, claws ready to strike, but soon found out that these Burmecians were no DemChi. The Burmecian with the sword kicked outward with his powerful, clawed feet, sending Julius sprawling backward and into the sands. The same Burmecian charged up his sword, and it became a white color. When Julius, who was quick to recover from the kick, dashed forward, his arm met the magically charged sword, and soon the child was back in the sands, howling with pain. DemChi couldn't help but grin wickedly, happy to see Julius hurting.

The Demon Queen let out another hiss, weaker but still angry. She staggered to her feet and dashed forward, claws ready. To her surprise, four Burmecians dashed to meet her, attacking her with lances. The Demon Queen knocked one lance away, and managed to side step another, but the other two lances slammed into her right leg. She crumpled to the ground, hissing madly. Julius snarled angrily, leaping to his feet.

"Get away from her, monsters!" Julius roared in the human language.

"Monsters, eh?" the hazel-eyed Burmecian spat, pointing his sword at Julius. "You're the monster, hanging around with demon and not killing her for the sake of your people."

"She's my mother!" Julius roared.

A smirk tugged at the hazel-eyed Burmecian's lips as he muttered, "Even better. No one likes the hybrids."

Suddenly the Burmecian rushed forward, sword brimming with white energy. Julius ran out of the way, only to find the sword slamming into his left thigh, knocking him to the ground. The child hissed angrily, kicked at the Burmecian who only sidestepped the attack with ease. DemChi watched with excitement, happy to see Julius actually being hurt. It was a rare sight and a rare thing for Julius, who looked enraged and scared at the same time.

"You look a lot like a human," the hazel-eyed Burmecian commented, aiming his sword at Julius' throat. "You would've fit in well with society, and no one would've known."

"Mortals suck," Julius spat.

"Oh really? You're part mortal," the hazel-eyed Burmecian spat, his sword brimming with white energy. Even as he spoke, the Demon Queen was hissing with pain. "Part demon, part human. You have many strengths, and you choose to hang around with these hell spawns."

"Don't talk about my mother like that!" Julius roared, preparing his legs to kick.

The hazel-eyed Burmecian slammed his foot into Julius', stopping the hybrid in mid-kick. The Burmecian watched him coldly, while his friends continued to attack the Demon Queen. Julius stared angrily at the hazel-eyed Burmecian.

"Your mother is a hell spawn, hear me? She's nothing but trouble to this world... And so are you," the hazel-eyed Burmecian spat. "You could've fit in fine to society, but you choose this type of existence and for that you have to pay."

The Burmecian spun his sword around quickly and slammed it against Julius' head. The hybrid let out a weak hiss before slipping unconscious. DemChi blinked with surprise. A scream of uttermost death then startled him into jerking his head in the direction of the Demon Queen. He couldn't believe what he saw.

There was no Demon Queen. There was nothing left but eerie red demonic energy that was slowly floating into the ground. The four Burmecians were looking around, clearly looking for another demon. Curious -- and perhaps foolish -- DemChi rose to his feet. Immediately his movement caught the eyes of the five Burmecians. Soon, all eyes were on him, and not anything else. The hazel-eyed Burmecians eyes narrowed while he looked quite disgusted.

"Not another one," he spat.

"I no like Julius," DemChi growled in the demon tongue, the only one he knew.

"Is he threatening me?" the hazel-eyed Burmecian asked, taking up his sword.

"Oh, calm down, Mores," a black-haired Burmecian, older than the others, spat. "He wasn't threatening you. Listen to his tone. He was arguing with you."

"Oh? Just the same as the other then," Mores spat, looking at DemChi with uttermost hate. "Do you act like the demons too?"

"No. Hate me," DemChi growled, shaking his head.

"Do you understand?" the older Burmecian asked, leaning against his lance.

"Yes!" DemChi snapped, nodding his head. He was sick of the questions.

"Understand? But he doesn't speak," Mores growled.

"Yes, he does. He speaks demon. Tell me, fellow, was that Demon Queen your mother?" the older Burmecian asked.

DemChi nodded, but didn't speak; he could tell it angered Mores. It wasn't that he exactly cared about angering Mores; it was that he didn't want to lose his head, like Julius had risked.

"Skinny fellow, though," the older Burmecian said before Mores could say anything. "Did she feed you? Clearly she fed the other."

DemChi shook his head, clearly startling every Burmecian there, except the older one. He merely nodded.

"Right then. Your wounds and scars. Caused by the Demon Queen?"

DemChi shook his head, surprising the Burmecians once more. Even the older Burmecian looked surprised.

"The little brat, then?" the older one asked.

DemChi couldn't help but grin at what the Burmecian had called Julius. He remembered to nod, however.

"What's he happy about?" Mores asked.

"I'm not sure. It's obvious he has no one who cares for him, and he's grinning regardless," the older one said. "Well, no bother. Enough meandering about will put him out of his misery in some way."

"Meandering?" DemChi croaked out, not recognizing the word. He spoke the word to the best of his ability, being he didn't speak the human language often, if at all.

"Hmmm? Meandering?" the older one started, hearing DemChi. He looked over at the child and saw his confusion. "What about the word, kid?"

"Meandering...? What... Meandering...?" DemChi croaked out weakly.

"Oh, the definition? It's simple, kid. Meander can mean to wander in a random, unset path, or a journey or winding of such," the older Burmecian explained, shrugging lightly.

"Let's go," Mores spat, staring wearily at DemChi. "We've got more demons to exterminate."

The other three Burmecians, besides the older one, nodded in agreement. Mores and those three turned around and headed off toward the Doorian Coast. The older Burmecian, however, stared at DemChi for quite some time, watching as the child seemed to think over something. He then turned around and headed off after his companions, leaving Julius' fallen form and DemChi's frail one behind.

Meander... Meander... What was it about that word that DemChi found comfort in? As the ten-year-old staggered to his feet, still thinking, he thought over the word's meaning. He lifted his gaze and looked around the desert, seeing the five Burmecians walk away in the distance. He looked behind him, and saw the Dari Tribe a few miles away. He then turned his gaze away from the desert and away, to a land he did not know. He could see trees in the distance, far away. They seemed like a strange paradise, like a place he would want to head. It seemed comforting, unlike the hot, unforgiving desert.

DemChi began a slow walk toward the trees, still thinking over the word Meander. It meant to wander on a random, unset path... He walked no unset paths. But something still seemed similar between himself and the word... He continued to think it over, even as he began to walk faster when walking became easier.

Then it hit him. To wander a random, unset path was something he did not specifically did. It was his moods, his very emotions that wandered a random, unset path. He went from happy, to hyper, to angry, to sad, to tired, in a strange pattern. No one else had this strange, random emotion problem. No one DemChi knew had this problem.

Meander... To wander a random, unset path... Meander...

Meander! Name. DemChi knew what a name was. He didn't have a name. He knew, just by watching the Dari, that names were important. How could he expect to be accepted by that tree paradise if he had no name to call himself by?

Meander... That was it! Suddenly DemChi smiled triumphantly, his thinking done. He knew how he was related to the word meander. Well, why couldn't he specifically be Meander? Who was there to tell him otherwise? His mother had never named him. Freak, the name Julius gave him, was not a good name. Why not Meander?

DemChi continued to smile, satisfied. There was no one to disagree, no one to care. He knew who he was now, at least in name. He was Meander. And now, he felt, it was off to that paradise. He was on his own...

And DemChi, now Meander, knew where he was going to go...

-- In this world, everyone seems to share a common flaw, there in some way or another. Only a few rare people don't have this flaw, and the rest of the world hates these people anyway, so it doesn't matter that they are unique and strong in a good way. This common flaw is seen everyday, in the way people ask for advice, for help, and then complain when no one else knows what to do either. Only a few people will go forward and be able to do everything perfectly. What is this common flaw? It's not being able to take matters into your own hands. The few rare people who can do this did it to survive something, to make it through life without dying or going insane. These few rare people are a hell of a lot stronger than everyone else is; that's why everyone hates them. And, best of all, I get to join the rare club. I get to be hated. How lovely.

-- Amarant --

Year 1787

It was nearly official. Treno had pretty much gotten rid of its middle class. Anyone who lived in the city for years had long noted how poor the middle class was becoming. Anyone visiting the city noted how there was a rich city, and a poor city, but nothing in between to help combine the cities into one. The poor noticed how they grew in numbers. The rich didn't notice anything except that they wanted fewer taxes, thus bringing more taxes onto the poor (though that didn't matter to them).

Anyone who was poor couldn't afford much of anything. They owned inns and shops that had ridiculous prices that they needed to try and survive. They stole food. They lived in run-down shacks that collapsed during the winter snows or spring rains. Gangs were created and violence came along. Meanwhile, in the rich, grand mansions were built. Spectacular blacksmiths made profits, as did auctioneers. Prices were high, but they could afford it no problem. Guards hired for thousands of Gil protected them, and kept them away from the "filthy poor".

Thus, Salamander's life had reached an all-out low. It had been that way for two full years. Money? There was none. House? If you want to call their one-room shack a house, then go ahead. Food? The few scraps they stole, and the beer his father stole. Love? Forget it. Happiness? None whatsoever. Monk lessons? None of those either. Salamander had long been kicked out for his violent ways. Therefore, he was always stuck in Treno, normally at home, with his wreck-of-a-family.

"You never work! All you do is drink! Don't you see that we are starving here because you can't bother to do anything?" Salamander's mother was screaming that afternoon.

"What about you? Always whining and wailing. There are jobs for women around here," Salamander's father blurted out, his breath once again smelling of alcohol.

"In this city? Are you kidding? Women will never get a job here, particularly poor women! YOU have to go out and work!" Salamander's mother screamed.

Salamander sighed heavily, sitting in a corner of the small shack he refused to call home. The thirteen-year-old was staring at the ceiling, miserably making out ugly patterns in the planks of the wood. His parents' screaming got louder and louder, but Salamander was near oblivious to it. Outside, he could hear angry muttering. Groaning, and knowing the worst was to come, he rose to his feet.

"Where are you going, young man?" Salamander's mother asked angrily. "You're just as bad as--"

"Shaddup, Mom," Salamander spat angrily, heading toward the door. "You too, Dad. The neighbors are pissed."

"Don't talk to your parents like that!" Salamander's father roared.

"I can talk to you in any bloody way I want," Salamander spat, dark eyes cold. "Heaven knows you talk to each other and I in any way you wish, so I can too."

With that, Salamander tackled open the door to his house. He was met with angry neighbors, who he simply sidestepped. He ignored the curses and questions thrown at him as he began to slowly walk down the street, staring coldly at the filthy ground that the poor called their streets. He shook his head, continuing his steady walk. The smell of smoke came to him, but he ignored it. He heard more shouting, more curses, and even the sounds of a fight. Ignorance was Salamander's reply. He had known this would happen. It happened every single time that Salamander's parents began to argue. A gang would come and burn the house down, and he and his parents would be homeless until they managed to get enough wood to build another meager shack.

Salamander was sick of it. He was sick of his parents' constant bickering, and for years his father's constant drinking had angered him. The rich of the town irked him, particularly their ignorance, and the gangs of the poor enraged him, particularly their selfishness. The oblivious tourists to the messed up city of Treno especially angered Salamander, what with the way the tourists didn't notice how much the poor needed help. And finally, in general, Treno angered him. He was sick of his town. He was sick of all that was within it, and all that defined it.

His walk had led him to the streets of the rich. The lovely paved roads were hard yet secure against Salamander's ruined boots. Yet seeing the well-maintained roads only worsened Salamander's mood, and made him hate the town even more. He continued walking, staring at his feet, his dark eyes sullen, though they were partially hidden by his out-of-control red hair.

"Look! It's a slimebag!"

Salamander's fist swung out and clocked the snobby rich kid in the face, sending the child flying into a bush. The child began a fit of fake crying as he ran away, but Salamander simply moved on. He felt strangely better, particularly since the child would have a lovely black eye, and probably had a bloody nose. It felt even better since the child deserved it. Salamander recognized the kid's voice, and he knew the child was infamous for beating up the poor.

Behind him, Salamander heard angry voices, and angry footsteps. He began to run, knowing that a nice mob of guards was charging forward to arrest him for harming a child. It would not, of course, matter if Salamander had hit another poor kid. It had only mattered that he had attacked a rich kid, and had committed one of the most horrid crimes in Treno. You could steal something and not get in trouble, as long as you stole from the poor. You could murder the poor and get away with it.

But if you dared even punch one of the rich nobles, or their kids, you were in hot water.

Continuing his run, Salamander easily out-paced the group of guards. He was a massive child, but very fast regardless, and it wasn't long before he had ran up the flight of stairs and arrived upon the Treno Gates. Salamander came to a stop, staring at the gates quietly.

He had considered many times that leaving Treno would be best. Yet before he could leave Treno, he had always been stopped, whether by guards or his own family. Yet now, there was no one. Punching the rich kid had attracted most of the guards in the entire city, and now the guards keeping anyone from leaving without permission had headed off. Salamander could hear the guards approaching, though they were long way off. Now was his chance.

A chance. For the first time Salamander had a chance to actually leave the city and start a new life. He could leave the stupid city and actually go out and enjoy himself. No parents to bug him, no rich to tease him, no guards to attempt to arrest him. Just he and the wilderness. It seemed like a dream had just been handed to him by God.

Salamander took a deep breath, looking behind his shoulder. No one was watching, though the sounds of the guards were becoming louder. Salamander looked back at the gates. He then rammed them with his bulky body. The gates shuddered, but held. Ramming into them again, Salamander used all his strength in one powerful ram. The gates held again, but one last body slam made him open. Salamander shoved them open and ran through, dashing forward. He soon felt grass against his feet, but that didn't stop him from running as fast as he could. Behind him, the sounds of the guards were becoming fainter. Treno was becoming farther and farther away.

He kept on running, even minutes after leaving Treno. He kept his gaze ahead of him, seeing the ocean where he could not see the mountains. That was his destination. The ocean nearby was his goal. Let Treno be behind him. Let all those people miss him or otherwise.

This was his life now. This was his own life story. And it felt great.

It felt great to be on his own...

-------- That's right, I had this update for months and had forgotten! I tortured you! Hahahaha! But yeah, don't expect any more for a while, and I'm SERIOUS this time.

This story is copyright to me. Final Fantasy IX is copyright to Square-Enix.