Chapter I : Amid the Pyreflies

The destruction wrought upon Kilika was immense; the entire village had been left in tatters –– trees and houses had been flung to the ground and into the sea. There was smashed wood and splintered glass everywhere, as were bodies. So many corpses. Some were floating in the dark waters, others were laying amidst the ruins of what had once been their homes. No clouds stained the sky this day; it was an immaculate canopy with a warm and welcoming sun. What mockery.

I remember lying there, gazing up at the sun. I could feel how it caressed my skin, yet I was trembling and embracing myself, trying to keep warm. Completely incapable of fathoming what had happened, I just lay there. There was a sickening stench riding the air, something indefinable. Something I had never experienced before. Somewhere off in the distance –– or maybe it was nearby, and it was my senses that were all jumbled –– people were crying. Heavy tears of lead that struck the ground, made the world shake. Tears filled with sorrow and years of oppression. What had happened? Why were they crying?

In bursts it began to return to me, every diffuse memory driving another nail into the coffin of my mind. Sin. The tempest it had unleashed. Bodies flung right and left. Houses vaporized and razed to the ground. Glass splinters and blood painting the air and ground. Lives destroyed. Families shattered. Wind slamming against my back. Hardwood greeting my skull. Huts collapsing. Nothing.

Then it swooped down on me, the thought and name which hurled me to my feet : Nayla, my sister. She had been with me when the torrent tore through Kilika; both of us had been hauled into the air by the shockwave, but there had been no edifice of wood to catch her. No planks for her to break. Of course, this I did not know then. Clutching my arm, the skin of which had been torn open in the fall, I began my search.

I emerged from the hut and witnessed what had once been my hometown. There were still bits and pieces of it left, but nothing more but sporadic fragments scattered here and there. A scarlet film covered the ground. In the distance, I could see the dreaded silhouette of Sin before it slowly descended into ocean. All around me I saw people with fates similar to my own. They bemoaned their sorrow and cradled their loved ones, or what was left of them. Some, like myself, were still trying to find them

Frantically I searched the village; I ran until my legs ached, tore through rubble until my fingers bled. Nothing came up. It would take hours of searching before finally I found her. By then, the sun had already sunk beneath the horizon and into the ominous blue; clouds had obscured the stars and blotched out even their faint glow. Only the torches, which were few and far between, provided the mourning hamlet with light.

I found her at the beach, almost fully submerged. Only her head was visible, floating just beneath the surface. Eyes which had once been compassionate orbs, so similar to my own brown ones, had been transformed into soggy and empty spheres which glared at me accusingly. Something deep inside of me just snapped then; no tears were shed. No screams. I never even quirked a brow. I just waded into the water and cut her loose, inspected the body.

A wooden plank had torn through her calf and anchored her roughly to the ocean floor. Seaweed had enveloped her form and entangled her limbs, an animate coffin. Whether it was Sin's blast which had taken her life, or if she had drowned I still do not know; there were no physicians left alive who could examine the body and conclude what had happened. However, her body showed no signs of physical trauma other than a large bruise on her right thigh and the shrapnel of wood which had pierced her and rooted her beneath the surface.

Numb and jaded by the shock, my world a haze, I carried her back to what was left of the settlement, where she was taken from me by the other survivors. A few citizens had shouldered the cloak of responsibility and risen from their despair. They walked amid the mourning, whispering soft and comforting words to those who grieved. They draped blankets over our shoulders –– warmth for both body and soul. My wounds were tended to. In the end, my corporeal self came out surprisingly unscathed. Six stitches blemished my arm, but other than that, I required no medical attention.

I saw her dancing : Yuna, daughter of the highly renowned High Summoner Braska. Her white garbs tossed to and fro as she whirled, her arms weaving through ancient patterns meant to liberate and sooth the spirits of the dead. It was on the ocean's surface that she danced and around her the water rose in columns, twining about each other in a timid and seductive ballet. Pyreflies were everywhere, their diminutive bodies illuming Kilika if only for a while. She was sending the dead –– the restless ones whose spirits still lingered, refusing to let go –– to the Farplane. It was beauty and misery entwined, seeing her dance. No. Seeing any summoner dance. But things were not as they should; the ice still festered in my chest. Watching her dance only served to magnify my apathy. I trembled where I sat, limbs shaking slightly but violently. I quivered, but I did not mourn.

My mother and father had both still been living in Kilika, alive and well, when Sin struck. I never even spared them a thought during that entire day; somehow, the shock and the terror must have phased them out of my mind. Or maybe I was just naïvely expecting them to make it. That day I never realized who I had forgotten, who I had never searched for. Who I had allowed to die.

It was here that I met Nathalie for the first time. The beaming pyreflies had evanesced, and Kilika was once more dark and dreary. The mourning continued. She sank down a few feet away from me on the bridge, took a seat. She was a frail shell of a woman. Whether it was emaciation or just thin bones which was the cause of her spindly appearance, I still cannot tell. Her clothes, as well as her short-cut hair, hinted at distant traditions, a distant heritage; nobody innate to Kilika wore clothes quite as perplexing as hers. My first guess was Bevelle, but as time drew on I came to doubt that guess. She never spoke of her past.

In silence we both sat there, watching the sullen waves as they languidly rolled against the shoreline.

"Pyreflies. We're all goin' to end up like that, y'know? Kind o' hard to imagine, ain't it?"

Her voice was much like her appearance, rough and unkempt –– darker than most women's. It carried a different accent, one which I could never quite place. Another one of her oddities. She pressed on when there came no response from me. "Ya're Thanial, ain't ya?"

She knew me? I had never seen the woman before, yet she knew my name. How could she ...? Wordless and still trembling, I inclined my head in a brief and slight nod. No words were necessary.

"Thought so. Vedva, he came with the same ship as Braska's runt. He sent me to fetch ya; said somethin' about wantin' a chinwag with ya in the mornin'."

Silence.

"Listen, I can understand what ya're goin' through. The lot o' ya. Killika's been through one hell o' an ordeal. But ya'll rise from it. I know ya're goin' to. Dun' let it –– nah, dun' let Sin –– beat ya down like this. It's just what it wants. Got to fight, y'know. Fight and ..." There was a tentative pause. She pursed her lips, seeming to weigh the words delicately in her mouth. "Fight and ... atone."

I gazed at her through my glaze. Her words were a thrum; half of them were lost to me. Why should I care? Everyone was dead. Nayla was dead. No, no. She was not dead, just sleeping. She would wake up soon, everything would be alright. Everything would be just fine ...

"Thanial, listen to me, a'right? I know ya must be mournin' yer sis, but y'know, in some twisted way, she got what she wanted : to die at sea, that was her wish."

If there is such a thing as a god, or a divine being, this is where it plucked up the mullet, smashed the dam inside of me. The unselfconsciously raised barrier gave a quiver, then it burst. A torrent of emotions tore through me, branched out into every single corner of my being. The shock was subsiding, being replaced by something far, far stronger. Far more volatile. Anger. Frustration. Hate. Sorrow. Pain, pain, pain. With a sob I crumpled forward and wrapped my arms around myself. There was no end to my tears. Nayla. My sister, she had been a star swimmer. She had even practiced Blitz Ball (and after two broken ribs realized it was nothing for her). The water had been her element, and many a time had she proclaimed that if she got to choose, she wanted to die there.

I do not now how Nathalie reacted at first to my breakdown, but I would wager that for the longest of moments, she just stared at me, aghast. Later on, I came to learn how she despised dealing with the sorrow of others. Their pain. It only reminded her of her own. That aside, I know that she came to my side. She coiled her sinewy arms around me and held me tightly, soothed me with her presence and with gentle murmurs. Arid lips pressed tightly to my ear, pressing the words home.

In Nathalie's arms, crying my heart out, I took the first few hesitant steps of my journey.

Vedva, who was a friend of the family, was a defector in the eyes of most. In his youth he had been a summoner, but he had turned from his path when a guardian had been mortally wounded. The reality of the excursion had shown its visage to him first then and he had found it far too horrid for him to face. Later on had he wed the guardian, and this had of course lead to another surge of loathing and gossip. It was obvious to everyone : he had not only forsaken his duties, but done it out of purely egoistical reasons.

It had been twelve years since last we met and my memory of him was slightly diffuse. I remembered his appearance, but other than that, it was all a blur. A few hunches lingered, as did a general mood. With a slight tingle of curiosity in my stomach, I dragged my sleep deprived self through the settlement, heading for the ship from Besaid on which he currently stayed. Funny, is it not? That curiosity is such a strong force that it can peek through, even when sorrow coats you.

As I glanced around, I was ... surprised. Empty faces and toiling bodies greeted me wherever I lay my eyes. One day of chaos, then everything had slowly begun to return to what it had once been. The day after Sin's attack, after the near obliteration of Kilika, the repairs began. Man and woman alike forced away their sorrow and their pain; they tried lock it up and seal it away deep in their hearts. It was the only way to survive, I realized. Either you chewed through the pain, or you perished.

Once at the ship, I was shown to Vedva's quarters by a sailor with bland eyes. I pushed through a thick door of solid wood, and accompanied by a loud creak I entered a well-lit, heavily decorated room. Apart from the snowy additions to his hair and the increased amount of wrinkles creasing his brow, the wizened summoner looked the way he always had. Twelve years had neither altered his appearance, nor his alleged love for sprawling out in vast futons –– something which had been mentioned to me once or twice. The latter he was busy indulging in, as I entered his quarters.

Vedva was a sturdy man who had eaten maybe a tad too much; his arms were thick, his face bloated. Steel-grey hair framed his face, both in the shape of hair and a full beard. Notwithstanding his rough appearance, there was certain atmosphere about him –– something gentle and welcoming. His eyes were large and kind, almost like those of a puppy.

"Thanial, my lad. Great to see you, just great," boomed the soothsayer and surged to his feet to greet me. The grin which he displayed was no slight accomplishment and he grasped my hand, shook it firmly. Still at a loss for why exactly I was here, I bleakly returned the smile afore sinking down to sit on a table in the centre of the room.

"You'll excuse my bluntness, but what're you doing here, Vedva? Why'd you send for me?" My voice was low, weak and devoid of actual interest. I just came here because I had been told to. I was too tired to think, I realized. The curiosity had dispersed as soon as I entered the room.

"What are y–", the old man cut himself short, and then started anew. "We saw the destruction long before we anchored. You were the only one from your family we couldn't find, so I sent Nathalie to look for you."

My vision darkened as I mouthed the question which had just popped into my mind : "My mother and father, are they still ...?"

The summoner sombrely shook his head. He never had to speak the painful words. I grasped the table tightly, as if to keep myself from falling. My fingers dug into the wood and my nails scratched at it. I bit down on my lip to keep the scream which threatened to well up at bay. Soon metal filled my mouth. They too? My entire family, wiped out. Murdered by Sin. Log after log was added to the pyre of what had once been my life, and blaring in front it stood the man which I had once been.

"Why don't you come with us, Thanial? There's nothing here for you anymore. Nothing but memories."

I opened my eyes to regard the elderly one, who now stood reclined against one of the walls. There was something about him which had changed, something I had not been able to notice when first I entered. He seemed more confident than that broken and haggard crust of a man I had known as a child. His eyes burnt with a new glow. A new purpose.

"The pilgrimage. I'm attempting it again. You can come with us, until we reach Bevelle. Your uncle lives there, doesn't he?"

My mind was still wading through the same hazy mire as before when I silently nodded my acquiescence. Then it was settled. I was heading for Bevelle together with the summoner who had been labelled a turncoat.

Author's note : There it is, ladies and gentlemen. Chapter I. It took longer than I expected, but hopefully my fans (all two of them) will enjoy it still. Kudos to HybridRainbow, for plucking my review-virginity. As always, I long for reviews and constructive criticism.