This is the tale of the first Chosen of Sylvarant, Spiritua. Although she is mentioned in the game, they never go into too much detail about her. I was fascinated by what was said, and the many murky contradictions that surround her were enough to inspire this story.

It was also a better choice for me than the traditional 'Kharlan War' fanfic. Don't get me wrong; those can be excellent if approached in the correct way. However, I wanted create something a little more unique for the rest of you to enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Tales of Symphonia or any of its copyrighted characters; the wonderful people at Namco do. However, all characters not in the game belong to me.

Note: Although I will try to keep them to a minumum, this fanfiction will contain unavoidable spoilers. If you have not gotten very far into the game, you may not want to read it until you have progressed a little. However, if you still want to read it, feel free.

Once upon a time, there existed a giant tree that was the source of mana.

A war, however, caused this tree to wither away, and a hero's life was sacrificed in order to take its place.

Grieving over the loss, the goddess disappeared unto the heavens.

The goddess left the angels with this edict:

"You must wake me, for if I should sleep, the world shall be destroyed."

The angels bore the Chosen One, who headed towards the tower that reached up unto the heavens.

And that marked the beginning of the regeneration of the world.

Yggdrasill set down his quill and curled his lips into an intimidating smile. After centuries of boundless toil, two millennium of introducing the Church to the worlds of Tethe'alla and Sylvarant, his plan was going to be put into action. She was finally born.

Gently, almost reverently, the great angel of Cruxis stroked the cheek of the infant girl. Her skin was pale, her brilliant, knowing eyes peacefully closed in sleep. A single cobalt ringlet had fallen out of her tightly wrapped blanket, and it lay across her soft, unlined forehead. She smiled a little in her slumber, and looked positively cherubic. Quite a fitting appearance, considering the circumstances.

Taking the child into his arms, Yggdrasill held her close, studying her exquisiteness. Her face hunched into a frown and her tiny body tensed, as something disturbed her dreams. Then she relaxed, her face radiating peace once again. He smoothed her hair out of her eyes and smiled tenderly.

"Soon, dearest sister," he crooned. "Only a few more years, and my task will finally be complete. Soon, you will come back to me…"

He hovered over to the teleporter and set the infant down on the magic circle. Then, he added the final component. Opening her blanket folds, he found her tiny curled hand. Into her palm, he placed a red, glowing sphere—the Cruxis Crystal, to be hers one day. The little one's fingers closed about it, almost as if she was accepting the role he had prepared for her. He straightened, and backed away from the circle.

Two others came up and stationed themselves on either side of him. One man stared at the infant girl with a troubled expression. The other looked instead at Yggdrasill, regarding him silently. He touched the shoulder of the blond seraphim.

"My lord, are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Yes." Yggdrasill's eyes never left the circle. "Do it."

Across the way, a lesser angel sat in front of a large, complicated machine. At his words, she entered a pass code into the computer. The teleportation circle glowed green, and a cylindrical barrier of light passed around the child. Then her sleeping form faded, and she disappeared.

Thousands of leagues below, in the House of Salvation north of Palmacosta, the acolyte Norythe was lying awake, staring at the wooden ceiling above her. For some reason unbeknownst to her, the Goddess Martel had seen fit to deprive her of her rest, and she had not slept all week. Each night she would toss and turn, staring at the ceiling or out the window until dawn came, and would never doze once.

Tonight was no exception. She sighed quietly and turned on her side to stare out the window. The moon was a slender silvery crescent, and the velvety black of the sky was dotted with countless diamonds. Norythe stared out into the infinity of night and began to think.

Of all the acolytes her age, she showed the least promise, from what she had heard in snatches from the whispers. Norythe was always asking why, never taking something at face value. She had so little faith, they said, that it was a miracle that she believed in the Goddess at all. She could often be seen after Devotionsasking penetrating questions of the pastor; questions such as "What is the purpose of our existence?" or "Why hasn't the Goddess Martel already saved us from the Desians? Why wait for the Chosen One at all?" She knew that she had been different all her life, and that she would never be a normal girl; why else would her parents have placed her in the convent?

Her gloomy musings were interrupted by a brilliant light streaming in her face. She sat up in bed, her eyes snapping to the open window once more. What was once the deep blackness of midnight was now brighter than high noon. Eyes wide with fascinated terror, she got out of bed and rushed down the hall to Pastor Wei'lan's room.

"Pastor!" she cried, shaking her teacher gently. "Pastor, wake up!"

The old man stirred and grumbled. "Acolyte Norythe, what is it this time?" He opened his eyes and regarded the youth sternly. Then he sat upright, staring out the window.

"Could it be…? Goddess bless us all… Don't just stand there, girl, get me my hat."

Norythe quickly obeyed, and Wei'lan stood up, throwing on his robes. "Come outside with me, Norythe. We'll soon find out what's afoot."

The two of them ran down the spiral staircase, and reached the floor below. As the man reached for the smooth wooden doors, Norythe's heart was pounding in her chest. What could possibly be happening?

The doors were thrown open, and a scene of utter anarchy engulfed them. Strong gusts of wind assailed them from all directions at once and yet from no direction at all. Chaotic whorls of light danced about the yard, banishing the darkness as if it had never been, blotting out the stars…

Then, all of a sudden, the movement ceased. The lights froze in place, hovering in midair like fireflies. A different light appeared; a beam that seemed to descend straight from the sky above. And there, inside that wall of light, a small child descended, floating gently down to earth. Norythe watched in fascination and astonishment as the infant came nearer and nearer, the tiny body shining with an unearthly light.

Finally, she landed, and the glow around her faded. Tentatively, Norythe approached, and knelt down next to the child. The baby girl, sleeping peacefully, appeared no different from any other child her age, save for her grand entrance a few moments ago. She had a full head of curly hair, blue in color, and wore nothing but a white cloth, almost identical to a burial shroud. Coming from her hand was a dull, crimson light.

After a nod of confirmation from Wei'lan, the young woman slowly pried open the infant's hand. To her astonishment, a glowing red gem fell out. It began to shine brighter and pulsate almost at once, nearly blinding her as Norythe covered her eyes.

When the light abated slightly, a weary but satisfied sigh rent the air. Norythe turned to look at her teacher in mild surprise.

"It is the Chosen One," said Wei'lan, the merest hint of triumph in his voice. "That is the Crystal of Cruxis, spoken of in the ancient scriptures. Martel be praised, the Chosen of Regeneration has come at last!"

He gently bent down to pick up the girl. "She must be taken to the Cathedral in Palmacosta. The Bishops must know of this wondrous miracle." Norythe nodded, a little sad that the Chosen would not be staying here. "And you and I, Acolyte Norythe," continued the old man, "shall go with her."

Horrified, Norythe began to protest, but the old man held up his hand to silence her. "Do not attempt to dissuade me, child. It was no coincidence that you were the first to see the light of our salvation; Martel has an order and purpose for all that Fate decrees." Wei'lan suddenly looked a little weary, as though his years were finally affecting him. "This the Goddess tells my heart: you were meant to protect the Chosen."

"As for me," he added with quiet dignity, "you're going to need my help. You are not fully to take on these responsibilities alone, whatever the Goddess may desire. You may become…attached, without someone to give you proper objectivity. I can provide what you need."

Norythe bowed her head in shame. He thinks too much of me. "Pastor," she began tentatively, "oughtn't you to choose someone else? The Goddess can't possibly have wanted me. I'm not…not…"

Wei'lan frowned. "You are not what, Norythe? Reliable? Trustworthy?"

"Devoted enough," she blurted out, tears trickling out of her eyes.

The old man looked shocked for a moment, and then began to laugh. His hearty guffaws rent the still air, sounding in every corner of the yard. The infant Chosen stirred fitfully in his arms, letting out a little moan, and the pastor collected himself. He rocked her slowly back and forth with surprising skill for one with no children, sending the baby back into slumber.

"Good girl," he cooed gently. "No need to awaken just yet, Chosen One. Remain in peaceful dreams." He turned to the acolyte, his face more serious than she had ever seen it. "My child, have you been listening to the talk of your sister acolytes?"

Norythe bit her lip and did not answer. He shook his head. "Acolyte Norythe, for once, you are not thinking clearly. Far from it. You are unique, certainly. Intelligent, unquestionably. Eccentric, beyond doubt; few people truly understand you. But," he added, gesticulating wildly at her with his free hand, "the one thing you are not is unfaithful, whatever the others say. You question our way of life, yes, but that is a sign of deeper faith than your sisters will ever possess."

Norythe was startled at the passion in her teacher's voice almost as much as she was at the words he was saying. He continued, "As all of the ministers know, only Martel's most faithful can address what must be addressed: life's questions answered only through faith in Her. Those with lesser belief in the Goddess will not dare to question, for fear of the consequences!" The fire in his eyes cooled, and he said more gently, "I was just like you, once. The only difference between us now is that I have found my answers, and you are still searching for yours."

Norythe understood, but couldn't help blurting out, "But what if I never find the answers? What if there aren't any?"

Pastor Wei'lan held up his hand. "I didn't say the answers, acolyte. I said your answers; every believer has their own. However, do not trouble yourself too much in the search. No matter what the circumstances, you will find your answers, be it in this life or the next." He smiled. "And, who knows? This task may be your path to what you seek. You will never know if it is the right road unless you take it." He reached out his hand. "Will you choose it?"

The confused acolyte stared at his hand, not knowing what to say. She didn't want to disappoint her teacher, but what if it wasn't the right choice?

Martel, guide me, she thought, more out of habit than anything else. To her surprise, Norythe felt her gaze drawn to the Chosen One. The little girl looked so vulnerable in her sleep. The young woman felt a strong desire to protect her, from somewhere deep inside her.

She reached out her hand and took Wei'lan's. "I shall accept the task given me by the Goddess."

His smiled broadened and he shook her hand. "I am glad, my child. So glad. You have made a good decision." Quietly, carefully, Wei'lan handed her the Chosen. "Here—she is your charge now."

Norythe took the little girl in both arms, shifted her into a comfortable position, and gazed down at the infant. Her face was exquisite, carefully molded by Martel into something both beautiful and exotic. Her movements, though constricted by the shroud, were fluid and graceful. The acolyte caretaker was entranced.

She was jerked out of her reverie when she realized that her teacher was saying something. "Hmm? Could you say that again, sir?"

"I asked what you were going to name her," the old man said serenely.

Norythe was startled. "Name her?"

"Well, we can't just call her 'Chosen One' forever," he answered patiently. "The Desians would discover her in an instant, and they must never know that their end comes. Besides, she will want a name; it is human nature to do so." Wei'lan smiled. "As her new guardian, you seem the idealperson to give one to her, do you not agree?"

Norythe had to admit, the old pastor did have a point. She pondered for a long while, but no names seemed to fit the little Chosen. After all, what ordinary name could you call someone destined to save the world?

And that was when she knew what the Chosen One must be named.

"She shall be called Spiri'tua, the Light of Salvation," Norythe announced, her voice ringing in the still night air. "Or Spiri for short, for she is to be our Light."

With those words, the night was banished. The sky became a golden orange as the fiery sun rose over the horizon. It warmed them with its gentle light, and the newly named Spiri'tua opened her eyes. She gazed calmly at them, as if pleasantly puzzled by their presence.

Wei'lan shivered a little. "It is an omen," he whispered reverently. "The Goddess Herself approves. The name was well chosen."

"Yes," Norythe replied slowly, staring into the grey eyes of the little one. "Yes, it was."

With those words, the two servants of the Church turned and went inside the House of Salvation, bringing with them the child who would centuries later become the most revered saint in Sylvarant: Spiritua, the first Chosen of Martel.

The Beginning

If you have read this fanfic, please review. If you have constructive criticism, I would love to hear it, but do not flame, please.

Thank you,

Kaela