I do not own Golden Sun.
-
The mist greeted him like an old friend as he sailed into the harbor below Lemuria. He inhaled it, letting the cool air caress his cheeks and toy with his hair. The scent of salt water wafted through the fog
It had been a while since he had seen his home. How long—months? Years? In any case, the journey had taken him far longer than expected. He had the tendency to lose track of time easily.
But he was successful, after all this time. Hydros would be happy. So would Lunpa, and so would his uncle. What did Conservato matter, in the end? He was successful, and he was coming home at long last. That was enough.
He docked his boat, making sure that it didn't lodge on any boulders, before setting anchor and heading into the docks.
"Piers!"
"Uncle?" Piers asked, blinking. "You were waiting for me?"
"I've been waiting here for practically every day since you left, Piers," his uncle said. "I've missed you—we're all each other have, after all."
"Yes, I suppose we are," Piers said, deciding that now was not the best time to mention his plans of visiting Vale in a few years. His uncle needed him now, and if that was the case, he could stand to stay.
"You—you did it, didn't you? You lit the beacons, right?"
"Of course I did, uncle. I wouldn't have come home if I hadn't."
"Good . . . then things will finally take a turn for the better," his uncle said.
There was a pause.
Piers hugged his uncle, flinging his arms around the shorter man as if he would vanish at any time. "I am welcome here, right? Tell me I'm welcome here."
"Of course you are," his uncle said, returning Piers's embrace. "You're my nephew, and King Hydros himself sent you on the quest. And now that it's over, you are more than welcome to come home."
Piers decided not to ask about Conservato at the moment; it would have been awkward, and likely only would have upset him. So he just clung to his uncle, thinking of how glad he was that it was all over.
After a few more moments, his uncle broke away from the hug, instead slinging one arm around Piers's shoulders. "Come on! Let's go to my place. We'll get you something to eat."
Piers smiled and nodded. "Right, uncle. It's . . . it's good to be home."
And it was. Everything from the cool fog on his skin to the scent of the island air felt like it was welcoming him home with open arms. He didn't think about Conservato or what might happen when they met up again. That would only spoil the homecoming.
He took a deep breath, and smiled.
He could feel the soft Lemurian soil even through his boots; he took them off so he could feel it better. The cool grass tickled his feet.
"You're going to get yourself dirty," his uncle said, wearing a mischievous grin.
Piers laughed—it felt good to hear his laughter echo in the air. "Yes, well, I suppose I'll have to take my time to get used to being clean again. I wasn't exactly clean as a whistle the whole quest."
"Well, you were fighting monsters and the like then," his uncle said. "Now, you're home. There's no reason for you to be dirty now."
Piers kept his boots under his arm and walked barefooted into his uncle's house. It was as messy as it had been last time he was here, with bottles strewn across the floor and clothing littering every corner.
He thought of how clean his mother had kept the house, and smiled, although thinking of her still hurt.
"Hydros will want to speak with you, I suppose," his uncle said, taking off his cloak and hanging it on a peg in the corner. "He'll want to know if everything went well, if you sustained any injuries, that sort of thing." He gestured to a chair in the corner. "Go on, have a seat!"
Piers did so. "Uncle, I hate to ruin the spirit or anything like that, but what about Conservato?"
His uncle shook his head, not turning to face Piers. "Conservato . . . sleeps in the earth now."
Piers froze. "He . . . but . . . how?"
"Some time after you left, the wind grew bitter cold," his uncle said, still not turning to look at Piers. "And Conservato is not the youngest man around. He has been having a harder time breathing every year. When the cold winds came, he could not stand. It was not long until he could not breathe anymore, and he passed."
Piers looked up at the ceiling, gritting his teeth. True, he and Conservato hadn't been the best of friends. But still, he had admired Conservato. And he would never have wished death on the man over something as trivial as an argument.
"It's . . . uncle, I'm sorry."
"Don't be silly, Piers. What could you have done about it?" His uncle turned at last, forcing a smile. "I'll be back in a bit; I'm going to go tell Hydros that you're back."
Piers watched his uncle leave before he lowered his face into his hands.
It was his fault.
He knew what had caused the cold winds. Hama had told them, after all. Jupiter Lighthouse caused an imbalance in the world, leading to cold winds blowing over all Weyard. She had urged them to hurry.
Felix had wanted to hurry. Isaac had wanted to hurry. Ivan and Jenna had wanted to hurry.
But Piers had told them to relax and sailed all over the world, searching for any treasures that might help them on their way. They had gone to various isles, always looking for something that Piers thought might benefit them. But even when they found it, Piers insisted that there had to be more.
Even in the midst of Mars Lighthouse, he had insisted that there had to be more. Now that they had a full roster of djinn, there had to be something they could do with them, he had said. They had used the Teleport Lapis and delayed the lighting of Mars by days, weeks, perhaps even months.
He hadn't known, nor had he cared; after all, he did have the tendency to lose track of time. And the world could last another minute, hour, day, week.
It wasn't until fighting the hardest battle yet, against a headless, armored specter—he remembered it being called Dullahan in old legends—that he had conceded. Only then, after gaining the incredible power of Iris, had he agreed and climbed to the very top of Mars Lighthouse.
You idiot, he thought. How could you not realize that the shift in climate would kill some? Stupid fool!
"Piers."
He shot to his feet at the voice. "King Hydros!" He saluted.
"Sit down" the king said in his rough, aged voice. "And for heaven's sake, don't salute. It is I who should be saluting you, Piers."
Piers shook his head, his arm still raised in a firm salute.
Hydros let out a long breath, muttered something Piers couldn't hear, and gave a lazy salute of his own in reply. With that, Piers lowered his arm.
Hydros sank into the only other chair in the room, in the corner among the dusty wine bottles and mounds of clothing. "Piers, it is wonderful to have you back. And I have something to ask of you."
"What is it, my king?" Piers remained standing, watching Hydros as he spoke.
"Piers. It will not be much longer before I die."
"Don't be silly, your Majesty," Piers interrupted. "You are still in your prime."
The look Hydros gave him was both foreboding and calculating. "Who is being silly here, Piers? I have lived a long, long time. In a few centuries at most, I will die. Perhaps less than that. Perhaps only a few years."
"Your Majesty! Don't talk like that!"
"I do not fear death, Piers." Hydros leaned forward. "And as you well know, I have no real heir."
"Your Majesty, what are you saying . . . ?" The truth was that Piers already knew, but did not want to believe. It couldn't be what he knew it was.
"I want you to be king of Lemuria when I die, Piers."
"But . . . the Senate will . . ."
"The Senate? They have agreed. With Conservato gone, they are in a shambles. And if I were to die without an heir, Lemuria would be thrown into chaos. They know this, and thus have agreed that you will be the new king when I pass on."
"M-me?" Piers shook his head and began pacing. "But I couldn't . . . I don't know anything about how to rule a kingdom! My king, are you sure that—"
"I am sure," Hydros interrupted, and Piers stopped his pacing. "You are a hero to our people now, Piers. We may finally go to the outside world again, once Alchemy takes a firmer hold on Weyard."
"But your Majesty . . . !" Piers could think of nothing to say, but knew that there had to be some other reason to deny Hydros' request. "I . . . I . . ."
"Piers, please. Will you leave our country without a king?"
Piers's mouth formed silent words for a few more moments before he lowered his head. "But . . . I'm just a sailor. I don't know how to . . ."
"You will learn," Hydros said. "I did not know how to rule when I took the throne so many years ago, but I learned. It is the way things are."
He stood and walked over to Piers, putting his wrinkled hands on the younger man's shoulders. "Do not worry. I am confident you will do well."
And with that, Hydros turned and left.
"Piers? He told you?"
Piers watched as his uncle came in, studying him with the yellow eyes that Piers had inherited from his side of the family.
"Uncle, I . . . I . . ."
His uncle nodded. "He did tell you, then. That you're going to be king."
"I . . . uncle, I can't . . ."
"Piers." His uncle walked over to him and took his hands. "Piers, you're my nephew. I have faith in you. You can do it."
"I'm a sailor, uncle," Piers said. "Not a king. Not a prince. Not a leader. A sailor."
"Sometimes, Piers, you have to become something greater than yourself to satisfy the greater good."
"But, uncle, I . . ." The words eluded him. There was no way he could explain his feelings to his uncle. He knew that he would never understand.
If he became King of Lemuria, he could never leave the country unless he absolutely had to. He could never explore the world again, feel the sea air on his face, see the smiles of his friends as he greeted them.
He put that thought out of his mind. Kind Hydros was being paranoid. It would be at least a century, likely several more than that, before he would die. That gave Piers plenty of time to go to Vale and see his friends again.
He was just getting worried over nothing.
"Can I have something to eat?" he asked at last. "I'm famished."
"Of course, my boy!" His uncle slapped him on the back, a broad smile on his face. "Good to see that you're calming down about this ruling business!" With that, he headed out the door. "I'm going to the fish market, I'll be back soon," he called.
Piers sank into a chair and raised his hands to his face. Though they had been still when Hydros had spoken to him, they were shaking now. He couldn't seem to keep them from trembling, and they were covered in a fine layer of sweat.
He wiped his forehead with one hand to find that it, too, was damp. His headband felt warm and uncomfortable against his skin. He took it off. It was streaked with fine lines of sweat.
He rested his head in his hands and attempted to calm himself down.
He was going to be the king. The king.
Mercury! What did he know about being king? What he knew was how to navigate a ship through a storm, how to tell north from south in the darkness of midnight, how to tell which way the wind was blowing.
How to go island-hopping when the world was on the edge of destruction.
He tried to put that out of his mind. How was he to know that the winds from Jupiter Lighthouse would be the cause of Conservato's death? He . . . he had just lost track of time, that was all.
But in a corner of his mind, he was still ashamed with himself for not knowing better.
He spent several more minutes sitting there, attempting to calm the shaking of his hands. Instead of calming, however, the shake spread through his whole body. Deep breaths did nothing to calm his shaking.
Finally, his uncle came back in, a bundle of fish under his arm. Piers turned toward him and smiled.
The shaking stopped, though Piers knew it would come again.
-
Piers had successfully managed to lose track of time again. It hadn't been more than a decade, he was sure.
And that was why he was startled when one of Hydros's aides ran to him and wheezed that the King was on his deathbed.
He got to the palace as quickly as he could, doing a bit of running himself. In the front door, down the hall, stairway to the right, up two flights, down another hall, door at the end.
Hydros was lying on his bed, a smile on his face. He was holding a thin gold circlet in his hands, rubbing it anxiously with his fingers.
"Your Majesty!" Piers ran over to the bed.
"Piers," Hydros said, sounding no different than he did any other day. "Take this."
He raised the circlet, and Piers took it.
"Put it on," Hydros said. Piers did, and Hydros smiled. "It suits you. You will make a good king. Lead our people well, Piers. I know you will not disappoint me."
"King Hydros, I can't . . . I'm not . . ." The panic was returning. His hands began to shake, and he could feel the sweat gathering on his forehead. The circlet felt like it was closing around his head, tighter and tighter with every second.
Hydros's smile faded, turning to a slight frown. "You must," he said. "Piers, I am dying. I have lived a long life." He coughed. "You must take over now. You will do fine."
"But . . . but, King Hydros, I . . ."
Hydros shook his head, and closed his eyes halfway. Piers could see them clouding over as death came upon the old king.
He reached forward and finished closing Hydros's eyes, his hand trembling.
He pulled the circlet off his head and stared at it. Tears blurred his vision.
What was he supposed to do? As king, he was bound to Lemuria for the rest of his life, which would likely be several centuries or possibly millennia. He could only leave if an emergency in the outside world demanded his attention, and the Lemurian definition of an emergency was very vague. Hydros had wanted to leave to help with the lighting of the beacons himself, but it had not been seen as necessary for him to go.
He would never see the outside world, nor his friends, ever again.
Not only that, but he still knew nothing about ruling. What he knew was sailing, not governing. He was sure that if he was to rule the isle, it would sink into the sea within weeks of him taking the throne.
He made his decision, and calmly walked out of the room.
The circlet remained, sitting on the bedside table.
Piers continued walking, not daring to run. If he started running now, it would attract far too much attention.
He walked out of the palace, avoiding any gazes that came his way. He knew he should probably go say farewell to his uncle, but it was too much of a risk. What if his uncle tried to stop him? No. They would see each other again. He just needed to go somewhere. Anywhere. He needed to be away from Lemuria so he could get his head on straight.
It was only when he reached the entrance to the docks that he started running.
The docks were empty. That was good. It would be some time before anyone realized he had left.
He rushed to his ship, the wings of Anemos glimmering faintly in the dim light. Climbing aboard, he ran through a mental list. The black orb was still in the core of the ship. His wardrobe in the cabin held some spare clothing. The hull had some food in it that he had picked up only weeks ago in preparation for visiting his friends.
His friends. That was it, that was where he could go. Felix would understand that he was feeling lost. He would surely give him refuge without hesitation.
With that, he took hold of the wheel. Vale it was. Surely they had been able to rebuild at least some of the city in the five, seven, ten years he had been gone. He still wasn't sure how long it had been. After all, he did have the tendency to lose track of time.
But it couldn't have been that long. And with the Wings of Anemos, he could reach Vale in no time. A few weeks, perhaps, once he factored in resting to let his Psynergy replenish itself.
He could go see the world once again, one last time.
He didn't know how long he would be out there. He had to be careful not to be gone too long, or Lemuria would fall apart without a leader.
Why was he even leaving in the first place? If he was so concerned that Lemuria needed a leader, shouldn't he just stay?
He made up his mind and took a firm hold on the wheel. He had to leave now, before his mind was eaten away with second thoughts and what-ifs.
He led the boat out of the docks with ease, slipping easily through the still water.
Once he was outside, the Wings of Anemos spread and, with a large flap, lifted the boat into the air as Piers called on his Psynergy. The wings flapped a few times more, helping the boat gain altitude enough so that it soared easily over the reefs around the isle and vanished into the misty air.
-
It had taken him longer to get to Vale than he had anticipated. He had forgotten how fast the Wing of Anemos and the Hover stone could drain his energy, especially since he was on his own. The ship had drained him and his teammates quickly enough when they were all together, but since he had been the only one using the Wings on the way to Vale, he had to stop several times. Sometimes his ship was dead on the water for days until he recovered enough to even take the ship through water instead of air.
But now, he was docking the boat in the river a short distance from Vale. The sun was high in the sky, a few grey clouds lingering in the distance. The wind rustled through his hair as he landed the ship in the river, steering it precariously between rocks before letting the Wings of Anemos fold up. He walked to the back of the boat and cast anchor.
He was here, after months of traveling.
The time had passed quickly for him; he supposed it was from being a Lemurian. Years passed like days back in Lemuria. Even the time that he had been home (he had finally decided that it had been exactly ten years) was gone in no more than the blink of an eye.
He had sent a messenger pigeon to his uncle while he was sailing through the Western Sea. It had been a simple message, but he was sure that it would be enough:
Need some time to think. Will come back soon. Don't worry, I'm fine.
He hadn't even signed his name; his uncle would know who it was from just by the handwriting and the fact that he had been gone for months and wasn't likely to return for at least several more.
He climbed into the cabin, pulling a cloak from out of the wardrobe and putting it on. He would surprise them, he had decided. They wouldn't be expecting him.
With that thought, he pulled up the hood of the cloak and tied it tight, shading his face.
He continued climbing deeper into the hull of the ship until he reached the pillar that held the Black Orb. The Orb was glowing with a gentle light, pulsating as if in harmony with Piers's heart.
He pulled it out and placed it in the bag he carried over one shoulder. The boat stilled; he could feel the ancient power of the Orb leaving it.
He climbed back up to the deck and left the ship without another thought.
It was not a long walk to Vale, and no monsters bothered him on his way. The cloak shielded him from the sunlight.
He was startled when he reached the gates to see a large village stretching before him. Yes, perhaps it had been ten years, but the town had been completely destroyed when Mount Aleph sank into the earth after the rising of the Golden Sun. This kind of progress in a mere ten years was remarkable!
"A visitor! A visitor!" a little girl squealed, running up to the gate with a boy on her heels. The girl was brown-haired with wide green eyes, and the boy was a blond with brown eyes.
"Where are you from, mister?" the little girl asked, tugging at the hem of his cloak.
He knelt and lifted his hood slightly. "Somewhere very far away."
"You've got yellow eyes!" the boy said, his eyes shining. "That's awesome!"
Piers chuckled. "Thank you very much. Now, can I ask you two a question?"
"Go ahead, mister," the girl said, rocking on her heels.
"Do you know where I can find Felix?"
The children exchanged glances. "Who?" the boy said at last.
"We don't know anyone named Felix," the girl said, "and we're best friends so we wouldn't lie!"
The logic of little children was an odd thing. But he shrugged. Perhaps Felix had closed himself off from the rest of the village, feeling too much of a traitor to associate with them.
"Thank you anyway," he said. "Which way is it to the ruins of Mount Aleph?"
The little girl clapped her hands together with a smile. "This way, this way!" She grabbed his hand and led him through the town as fast as her little legs would carry her, the blonde boy following right behind them.
They reached the ruins in a short while; the peak of the mountain was still above ground, glowing a soft gold. It was roped off, and a group of statues surrounded it, each carved from a different color of stone.
He inspected them, and felt his eyes widen as he recognized them one-by-one. The yellow statue was Isaac, his scarf flying behind him with an invisible wind. A dark red one was Garet, his arms folded over his chest as he smiled. The third, a deep purple one, was Ivan, holding out his staff and appearing to be summoning some kind of spell. Then a blue statue, Mia, with her arms extended in a summoning stance. The other statues were as easy to recognize as the first four—Felix, carved of brown stone, holding a sword in his hands. Sheba, in a lavender color, the Shaman's Rod raised over her head. A pink statue of Jenna, her arms commanding a stream of pink flames.
He reached out and touched the face of the last statue—a turquoise effigy of a tall man, wearing the clothes of a sailor. In one of his hands was a carved imitation of a Black Orb, and two yellow stones were set in his eyes.
"Who made these statues?"
"Somebody a long time 'go," the boy said. Piers nodded—a child's perception of a long time could be anywhere from a few months on. "My mom told me it was to honor the . . . the . . ."
"Heroes!" the girl supplied. "That's what my mom called them!"
"That's not it!" the boy said. "It was to honor our . . . an . . . an . . ."
"It's all right," Piers said. "May I speak to one of your mothers? Perhaps they know where I can find the people that I'm looking for."
The boy nodded. "Meg's mom isn't home right now, but mine is!" It was his turn to grab Piers's hand and lead him back through the city and into a small house near the waterfall.
A woman was standing in the kitchen, her long red hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a simple red dress that reached her knees, and was humming something as she idly cleaned up the counters.
"Jenna," he said.
The woman paid him no attention, continuing with her task.
"Jenna," he said, louder.
"Mama!" the boy said, running to her.
"Chris?" She turned around, and Piers smiled.
"Jenna," he said.
She said nothing to him; instead, she turned to her son. "Chris, who is this?"
"A visitor, mama. He's lookin' for somebody and said maybe you'd know."
"You don't remember me, Jenna?" Piers asked, taken aback.
"I don't know you," the woman said. "Who are you? Take down your hood."
He did, and was dismayed when no recognition showed in her eyes.
It only lasted about half a minute before she took a sudden step back upon making eye contact. "You—you're the man that the statue was made of!"
That was all she recognized him as. "Please, do you know where I might be able to find Felix, or perhaps Isaac? I need to speak to them."
Perhaps she was deluded, he thought. Perhaps her eyes weren't as good as they had been ten years ago. Perhaps she had amnesia. There were a thousand perhaps-es, and one of them had to be what was happening.
"You want to find Felix and Isaac?" she demanded, pulling the little boy against her body. "Go look in the very back of town. They'll be right there waiting for you!"
He nodded and left, puzzled. Even if she didn't recognize him, why would his return after only ten years scare her so? She seemed to know who he was. And surely his return had been anticipated at some point
He pulled his hood back up and headed north, toward the Aleph mountain range. The wind was blowing hard, and had blown the storm clouds from their distance away to form a nice blanket over the mountain town. The clouds threatened to storm at any moment, thunder rolling through the sky.
He hurried through the city, his cloak flowing with the wind as he started to run.
He passed many houses, and soon enough ran by the Mount Aleph shrine as well. His own statue seemed to watch him run by, yellow-gem eyes glistening.
Right up against the Aleph mountains, he found a cemetery. There were no houses nearby, and nothing up ahead save the path into the mountain woods.
"I must have gone too far," he muttered to himself as his pace slowed. He took a few deep breaths. "Felix and the others must not be as far back as I thought."
Out of curiosity, he decided to take a quick look around the cemetery before he went back into town. Surely Isaac and Felix's ancestors were buried here. Maybe he could have a look at their headstones.
He took a few steps into the cemetery, kneeling before the first headstone. He pushed away some grass so he could read the name clearly.
Isaac Del Leiyan sleeps here
Beloved Father, Dear Friend
He felt a shudder go down his spine.
"Isaac must have been named after his grandfather or something," he said. The grass had grown over the birth and death deates on the stone so he could not read them. He didn't know Isaac's last name (nor any of the others of his party), but he felt it safe to assume that this Isaac and the one he had traveled with were related. He performed a small bow to honor this Isaac, then went on to the next stone. Again, grass had grown over it, and he couldn't push the thickest part away from the birth and death dates.
Jenna D'olvan
Mother, Friend, and Warrior
She Will Be Missed
"Jenna's a common name," he said to himself. "Probably just a citizen of Vale from a long time ago."
He continued.
Garet.
Kraden.
The last one startled him. He had thought that Kraden had many more years ahead of him. Perhaps an illness had struck the scholar?
Every tombstone so far, he had dismissed as coincidence. Isaac's grandfather, or a distant ancestor. A different Jenna. A Garet he had never known—perhaps that was actually the name of Garet's grandfather, the former mayor.
But the idea scared him. They couldn't be. They weren't.
The words of the little boy, Chris, rolled around in his head.
"It was to honor our an . . . an . . ."
He moved on to the next headstone, forcing himself to keep those words out of mind. All the while, the details of his visit haunted him.
The village was too large; it could never have been rebuilt to that size in a mere ten years. The shrine around Mount Aleph was also odd—why would they make a shrine out of such a place if they were busy rebuilding? And the statues! It would have taken years to find the right-colored stone for each one, and carving them would have taken even longer.
He scrabbled at the grass on another gravestone, struggling to read it. He needed it to not be true.
Felix D'olvan
Hero and Villain, Friend and Traitor
Father and Friend, Forever Loved and Missed
The grass on this stone, unlike on the others, gave way under his hands. He stripped it away to read the birth and death dates.
19 BL – 50 AL
He stumbled back.
It wasn't so. It couldn't be.
His hands began to shake as he reached up and lowered his hood.
19 BL. 19 years before the lighting. The lighting had become the marker by which people measured time, and Felix had been born nineteen years before.
19 BL was Felix's birth year.
And he had died 50 years after the beacons were lit.
"It was to honor our an . . . an . . ."
"Ancestors," Piers finished. "Damn . . . damn it all . . ."
He fell to his hands and knees before Felix's grave and swore under his breath as he tried to keep his tears from falling.
It all made sense all of a sudden. The village hadn't been rebuilt to this size in a mere ten years as he thought it had. The statues had taken years to carve. That woman hadn't been Jenna. She had been Jenna's daughter. No, granddaughter. Perhaps even a great-granddaughter or more.
Because now, as he sat in front of Felix's grave and sobbed, he realized that it had not been a mere ten years. It had been ten times that at least. A century.
And he had always had the tendency of losing track of time.
-
Author's Note: I excluded Mia, Ivan, and Sheba from the graves because I thought they would have gone home after it was all over.
Word count: 5367
Reviews are appreciated.