Kafra Chronicles by TensaiMan
Act I - Awakening
Chapter 1 - Memories
They say that ignorance is bliss. It could not be more true, right now.
As I stared into the huge dark room, I staggered back, clutching my stomach. I felt sick. Really sick. So this is the truth? This is what I am? This couldn't be real. No...I...
My vision began to fade as I crumpled and collapsed, kneeling on the cold stone floor, memories of the past month washing over me like a calming rain.
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"How may I help you?"
I gave the bronze-haired hunter a smile. I loved my job. I am a Kafra. In a few seconds, I had cheerily warped the now-impatient man to Geffen, and stopped to brush some imaginary dirt off my white apron. Have to keep up my appearance, you know.
Oh, let me introduce myself. I am Amelia Cilfhod Tidsyne. That's my full name, anyway. It's really Amelia C. Tidsyne. That's tide-sayn. Don't say it wrong. People often misspell or mispronunce it, or even both, and it gets on my nerves. Kind of. You can never tell. Just call me Amelia, okay?
Soooo. What was I doing again? Right. I was disowned by my real parents nineteen years past, when I was just born. My adopted father found me near a river in Prontera, bawling out loud within the thick grass. Aside from the glaringly obvious fact that I was left at that place, there was a letter attached to my neck, from my real mother. It told the tale of why I was there the first place.
My growing up years were pretty boring. As time passed, it became more and more apparent that I was not their real child. I knew this from the start; at the moment I could walk and talk and comprehend, they told be all about it. I didn't care. All I knew is my papa and mama loved me, and that was what mattered.
Like normal children, I played, skipped and...what? Why was it apparent? Sorry, I forgot. My hair and eyes were different from my parents. My papa and mama both had brown hair, while mine was light blue. Closer to white, actually, since my hair only has a small touch of color. I often wore it in twin ponytails behind my back. I wish mine was jet black. It looked sexy. I have this friend who has that kind of hair, and she's very pretty. I want...huh? Eyes? Oh yeah. Oops again. Sorry. I have these dull yellow eyes, sparkling but dull, mama always kidded. My olive skin and soft facial features also set me apart from them. And my rounded lips were forever curved into a permanent grin. My papa's are always flat. He seems cold, but he's really loving and caring.
I admired the Kafra girls I often saw when my mama would take me on shopping trips downtown. In the middle of all the merchant's stalls, between the men negotiating over a rare item, near the novices asking everybody on the street for some zeny, was her.
People called her Miss Jane. I'm not sure that's her real name, though. Just a gut feeling. She is always there, as constant as the sky, the street and the noise. I dunno how she can manage to stand there literally twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, just stopping long enough to eat something. She was also pretty. Her long silken red hair, her cherry-red lips, her alluring blue eyes and her oval face were, to me, a paragon of beauty. I looked up to her. No matter how much she was yelled at, verbally and near-physically abused, mocked and laughed at, she always smiled. Her smile could light up a dark room, filling it with happiness. And her laugh. That laugh. It easily filled the air, a glaring beacon despite all the noise around it. It was also as infectious as a disease. Even those grumpy knights would smile whenever they hear it.
Once, I had a chance to ask her how could she keep smiling. How could she face all that abuse and not flinch. She smiled once more and gave me a simple answer.
"A smile always gives hope."
That was food for thought.
As I entered my sixteenth year, I had decided that I wanted to be just like Miss Jane. Normally, a father would be appaled that her daughter wanted to be a Kafra, which is considered to be simply everyone's maid. A lowly position. Not my papa. When I told him about it, he placed a large, callused hand on my shoulder and nodded. I hugged him with all my heart.
My friends were not so forgiving. They called me an idiot, a fool, an ambitionless moron. I didn't care. I took it all, with a smile. I'm sure Miss Jane would have been proud. All of them abandoned me. I just smiled. Just keep smiling.
I sent a letter to the Kafra Corporation, and I quickly received a reply. They instructed me to go to the local Kafra Office, in the southeastern part of the city. I still remember that day. I was dressed impeccably in a ginger blouse with slightly puffy sleeves, white ribbons holding my twin ponytails in place. My mama escorted me to the place, a rather modest two-storey building which looked more like a worn-down inn than an office. After a few compulsory gulps of air, I stepped in.
The interview took less than ten minutes. I can't remember what they asked at all. I was nervous as heck. All I recall is that the entire time, I was smiling brightly.
It was only a week later that I recieved the notice to report for work, as a trainee. I vaguely remember screaming my head off the entire day.
I picked up the uniform that afternoon. I held the package, sealed with brown paper and string, like a priceless artifact. My mama helped me try it on. It looked good on me, she said. All I could do was smile. Really really widely.
I was assigned to the North Gate. A rather boring spot, I suppose, but I was merely a trainee. At least no seniors were watching me. Or not. Maybe they have this magic spell which shows a vision of what I'm doing. Hahaha.
...I'm scared.
So, where was I? Right.
Everyday, I would get up at six in the morning, make breakfast, be in time to report at seven, stand there on the same spot until twelve, go home and eat, come back at one and stay there until five. Then I could go home. I never saw much of Miss Jane, my so-called friends, or...well, people anymore. The place was too empty. And it was near the castle entrance! Where do all the people enter the castle, then?
This same, boring routine went on for three more years. I've noticed that, as a Kafra, the longer you stay in the same place, the higher the chance is that people will come. Right now, I service about one person per five minutes, on average. It was less dull than when I first started, believe me.
That ends my past. Am I supposed to bow now? No? Okay. I was getting tired anyway.
I leaned against a nearby posy in the heat of the Pronteran sun. The castle lay behind me. It was high noon, and it clearly showed. A novice was even cooking a Pecopeco egg on the sidewalk. Wonder if he'd eat it.
I looked up to the sky, watching the clouds pass. It was the waiting part that was hard. When you're busy, you barely notice the heat. I took a hankerchief from my apron pocket and wiped the sweat off my brow.
I wish my life was a little more exciting than this. I like working as a Kafra, but maybe my friends were right when they said that I'm missing out on life. They, by the way, started talking to me again only a year ago. I'm a bit jealous of them. Many had become adept warriors, who would tell me their tales as I placed their items into the Kafra Storage. Which is pretty cool. I don't know how that cabinet manages to hold all that junk, or how its contents change depending on the person I'm talking to. It will forever be a mystery. It's still something that keeps me awake at night.
I shook my head, my twin ponytails flying, snapping myself out of my daze. Have to pay attention. Never know when a customer might come.
On second thought, I wished nobody would come. Not right now. I looked like a dolt, whipping my hair onto my face.
At that exact moment, a letter arrived at my house, from the Kafra Corporation. That letter, the piece of paper that started everything...everything.