Unstable Destiny
Sand poured down, neatly covering the small niche of a cave. As darkness fell, the lone, cloaked figure slipped carefully, cautiously, out from behind the sandfall. If it weren't for what she needed, she might have stayed hidden forever. But she was lonely… and she was terrified, and she was desperate. And she had to ensure her own safety, for no one could remain alone and vigilant forever, let alone the small and the meek little thing that she was.
She could only run so far, so long. But soon, she would at least have strength to lean on. That belief alone gave her the courage she needed to continue.
In the summer's dry riverbed, she found what she needed. The clay she gathered from below the surface, still damp and only so much as she could carry. It never occurred to her to gather her materials all at once, but she would not have – it was too dangerous and the clay might have dried out too soon. Instead, she came back to gather it little by little… summer's night after summer's night.
And by day in her cave, she crafted. Clay took shape under her hands, and the Sculptor whispered the incantations and traditions of old. She spoke softly, lest by some chance she be overheard.
When at last she had finished the image, she stood by to admire her work. Exquisite artistry shone her love of the work. Elegant, heroic… the statue could have stepped forth from the pedestal a living, breathing thing of legend.
But not yet. She was not done her work.
From a ragged pouch, at long last, she drew the last of it. The talisman, she held in her hands before the statue and spoke the words that, for so long, were not hers to speak.
At last – at long last – the clay-flesh turned pallid. Clay-hair softened and went limp, falling over unopened eyes. After all this time, the Sculptor was not alone.
And then something happened. A rock fell, normal under the sandfall. But it fell with a curse, and the Sculptor turned, her solitude shattered in her surprised.
Humans – scruff, rugged desert dwellers. Under the protection of her hiding hole, and in the light of the ritual, she had disregarded her cloak. And the Sculptor's hands immediately rose to conceal, modestly, the gem imbedded in her flesh.
"See, I said to you I'd seen som'thin'," the first said.
The second grunted his approval.
The third, a shapeless form in a cloak, remained silent.
The Sculptor's core shimmered, and she gasped.
"What's that, pr'tty thin'?" the second man asked, reaching for her. She stepped back, but the cave was small and there was no room. The statue and the cloaked figured stood silently as the Jumi woman was held bare to see.
"Just like you said," the first man spoke, awed, "But it's stuck in her!"
He had never seen a Jumi, nor heard the tales. He was a simple man.
"Then cut it from her," the third spoke. At this, the Jumi trembled, and with the strength she never had defending herself, she struggled and pleaded – not to the men but to the statue.
"Help me!" she cried, "You are my knight, you must help me!"
"Please!" she screamed, "Protect me! Save me…"
"Ah…Lazul!"
Alas, the sculpted clay only stood, softening in the starlight gleaned from gaps in the stones above. The core of his Sculptor was cut from her, even as his ears began to hear.
"Save me…"
The new Jumi opened his eyes.
"Protect me…"
The small niche of a cave was nearly empty. At the foot of his pedestal, there lay a petite body, limp… an alabaster doll.
Who am I?
The memories of words… heartfelt and kind…
"Lazuli."
"Ahlazul."
Elazul?
What am I?
Words to a statue. Knowledge of a race.
"Knights protect their guardians."
"You will protect me when you are ready…"
"…Maybe someday we'll find other Jumi… Won't that be wonderful?"
"You are my knight…!"
The woman was dead. Elazul was alone – a newborn in a wasteland, in a desert, and in a world.
The End
Working Title: Statue
Inspiration: The Knight-Guardian Key-to-the-Heart ceremony thing in the game.
Noteworthy: I'm not sure where Elazul came from, tell you the truth...
Disambiguation: The general idea was that Jumi are born of statues, for whatever logical reason I'd come up with at the time. Something, also, to do with cores being recycled and reborn and some random stuff like that.
Derivative work of material © Squaresoft, Square-Enix. Reformatted to abide by 'site standards. None of the original text has been modified, 'cept in case of typo.