I in no way, shape or form take credit for creation or ownership of the Final Fantasy series. That belongs to Square-Enix.

If you were here a long time ago, and you have some sort of super-human memory, you might remember this story being known as "Once Again". Well, I essentially gave up on it, out of boredom and lack of direction, but now that I've been gone for a while, have reviewed the plot of Final Fantasy more precisely, and have had the time to think the story out, I'm hoping I might do better this time. So this is truly in both plot and actuality, The Second Fantasy...


"Many, many years ago, almost too long ago to be certain it occurred, chaos engulfed the land.

The earth rotted away and died, fires fell from the sky and engulfed the world. The seas raged without mercy, and even the winds themselves seemed to turn it's back on life.

But then, when the world was dying, and it's destruction seemed at hand...

Four braves souls stood up to the darkness that threatened to engulf it.

Each wielding a corrupted orb of light, the four warriors traveled to the four shrines of the world and brought power to them once again.

Defeating the enigma that was the source of evil itself, and finally bringing a tragic cycle to an end, the Warriors of Light granted the world a long era of peace.

Not caring for fame and glory, they disappeared as quickly as they had come, leaving the world at the dawn of a new, grand age.

But like everything that has ever existed, that was not absolute.

The light of the orbs, which guide the world, slowly wane and will eventually die. Before this can happen, legend has it that one of the four will be reborn, and they will travel across the land to re-light the dying orbs.

And save the world once more..."

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A low grumble escaped the King's lips as he stared down at the pile of work that had to be done in a few short days. Illuminated by the candlelight were stacks of paperwork, some three feet high, which shielded the King from anyone who would've opened the door, as they would have just seen an official slaving away at his hard, wooden desk. The King preferred it that way. While he didn't believe himself to be quite an equal to his subjects, he didn't see himself as superior either, and was entirely willing to work as hard as they did to keep the Kingdom of Cornelia running. So engrossed in his work the King was, that he didn't even notice the knocking on the door until his would-be guest was close to smashing it down.

"What is it?" The King barked, closing his eyes and trying to keep himself from getting angry. He was usually much better at, having a naturally smooth and calm demeanor, but all the work lately was chipping away at his temper.

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you Your Majesty," The Chancellor apologized, stepping into the room. He was a rather tall man, with perfectly straight, neck-length, blonde hair and a long, flowing, red robe that slightly dragged along behind him. "but I was curious as to if you would be willing to accept my meager assistance. You've been working yourself too hard as of late, and you are appearing grow tired and sickly. We grow worried about you."

"No Rairott, I'm fine." The King replied, looking back down at his work. "I appreciate your gesture however."

The Chancellor frowned slightly for a moment, but quickly regained his composure. "As you wish My Lord. I however, bring other news as well."

The King looked at Rairott for a few moments, and then with a powerful, commanding voice asked "Well?"

This time, Rairott was unable to suppress his displeasure. The King however, took no notice. "It would appear the Dwarves grow tired of our war, as they have finally offered a peace treaty."

"What...?" The King sat there in disbelief. After seven years of war, he didn't quite understand how an entire nation of people would agree to a peace treaty, especially one as stubborn as the Dwarven race. "Rairott, sit down."

The Chancellor pulled a seat up in front of the desk as the King cleared some of the paperwork away. The King's chair was intentionally larger than the guest one, but Rairott was so tall that this made no difference. "I didn't believe it at first either Sire, but it seems they are quite satisfied with their decision. However, I feel it is my place to warn you, their demands are quite steep."

The King sat there staring at the Chancellor, urging him to continue.

"First, they request an amount of Gil equal to the damage done to their lands, cities and peoples. I've been told this amounts to well over fifty billion Gil." The King muttered "Preposterous" under his breath as his advisor continued. "And their second term is comparably miniscule, although I believe it to be equally ludicrous. They too believe the Journey of Rebirth will save us all from destruction, and wish for you to appoint their finest warrior as the Chosen Guardian of the Solaced."

"No. I won't have it." The King said with an undeniable tone of finality. " Tell the Dwarves that I will accept peace from them, but not on those conditions. Remind them that they are at equal fault for this war."

"I will Sire." The Chancellor nodded, and then leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper as if afraid the walls would hear him.. "And, if it is not above my place to ask, why do you not just attack the Dwarves? It would be uphill struggle on our own, but I'm sure you're aware that the Elven people have long since resented them. I'm sure that with the proper amount of coaxing, they can be won over to our side."

"The Elves care nothing for our wars or our people." The King said, standing up to pace the room.. "They have long since huddled up within their own lands, fighting only to keep it and nothing more. They share neither our ideals nor our beliefs, and assuming we can even get our men into their castle alive, I do not believe they will come to our aid at any time, under any circumstance."

"Your Majesty, let me speak to them. I'm certain that I will be able to convince them to--"

"And I am equally certain you will not." The King interupted, getting angry for the first time since the beginning of the meeting. "You are not my military advisor, nor my political advisor. Leave these matters to people who need worry about them. Remember your place Chancellor!"

The two stared at each other for a few moments, before Rairott finally lowered his head and mumbled "My apologies, Sire..."

At that moment, the door opened slightly, and a timid voice broke the unbearable silence in the room. "Umm, your Majesty? The council has finally arrived in its entirety, they're waiting for you in the entrance hall. As is that... mercenary you hired."

"Good. Perhaps tonight we may finally come to a decision." The King said as he strode out the door, leaving Rairott with a twisted look of anger and disgust on his face.

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Sweat poured down his face as he stood in a dead tie with his opponent. His deep, blue eyes sending out a metallic glare that assured pain and suffering would soon follow. He let out a labored grunt as he pushed his sword, along with the enemy's whom it had been entwined with, towards the ground on his left side. That obstacle out of the way, he brought his weapon back up in a lightning fast move, aiming for the head, but his opponent saw it coming and dodged low. Swinging his sword and body around in a circular movement of godly haste, the enemy attempted to sweep his opposition's feet out from under him. But he took a moment too long in his momentum-building technique, and the swing was jumped over. Crashing down on his opponent's sword, preventing it from moving, the blue eyed one raised his sword above his head and brought it crashing down with a...

Poink.

"Dammit Jayson!" His opponent muttered. "You beat me again!" Yanking his wooden blade out from opponent's feet.

"Hehe, what can I say. When you've got it, you've got it." Jayson replied with a smirk. Sheathing his wooden sword in his belt, the tall boy reached down to help his friend up. "And I, Firion, have it."

"You have something, but I doubt it's what you are referring to."

Both boys turned slowly to see a well-aged man standing in the doorway. His pale white beard contrasted with the black shirt and shawl he was wearing, and stood out against his bluish pants. A wooden walking stick was firmly placed in his right hand, which was trembling slightly from the pressure walking exerted. The three other pairs of people that were sparring in the large, rectangular training room quickly came to a halt upon noticing the nearly crippled man standing in the doorway.

"M-Master Padrone!" Jayson nearly shouted out of surprise, "I, uh, didn't see you there."

"Overconfidence breeds carelessness. Treat every opponent as if they could defeat you at will. You may be my best students, but that does not give you the right to believe yourself better than anyone else. Is that understood?" The man instructed, staring at the young man through his thick glasses with a tone of profuse disapproval in his voice.

Padrone used to be one of the militia's best men until he grew too old to fight any longer, and settled down to open his own training school. Even without knowing him personally, everyone in Cornelia held him in high regard. So much, in fact, that he was elected to the state High Council, in charge of military operations. It was the High Council's job to recommend actions to the King himself, many of which were accepted, although the Council's purpose was to advise, and they had little significant power.

"Yes Master..." The two chanted in unison.

"Good." Padrone continued on, looked around the room, and let out a loud sigh. "Free sparring time is up, and that was the last lesson I had planned today. You may leave. Class dismissed."

Chatter slowly filled the room as people gathered their things and prepared to leave the finest training school in Cornelia. The two friends headed towards the locker room to get their things discussing the session they had moments earlier, Jayson advising his friend how to improve, much to Firion's dismay.

"Where do you think you're going Kirtus!" Padrone shouted, still standing in the doorway nearly ten minutes since dismissing everyone. Some people had already left, only five people excluding Padrone, whom lived above the school, remained in the small, rectangular building.

"I'm leaving. Where do you think I'm going ya old geezer?" The large, burly teenager retorted. Jayson stepped forward and was about to do something he might of ended up regretting, butFirion grabbed him by the shoulder and held him back. Padrone's body was old, but his mind was still young, he could handle a battle of wits, especially with Kirtus.

"You know the rules. Cornelian law forbids any weaponry outside of these training schools, except under special request by the authorities. You may be the son of a noble, but that doesn't make you exempt from the law." Padrone spoke calmly, un-phased by the earlier attack against his pride. Everyone watched with a slight twinge of satisfaction as Kirtus' gaze shifted from Padrone to the floor and ultimately the window. He was obviously trying to buy some time to retaliate, when something outside caught his eye.

"What about him?" Kirtus questioned, an edge to his voice, challenging the owner of the school to come up with an answer. Everyone walked over to the window, to take a look at the 'weapon wielding mystery' the larger boy had been talking about.

A rare occurrence happened just then, Kirtus was right. Across the dirt roadway was a rather strange-looking young man, looking around as if confused on where he was. A black cloak hung from his shoulders, covering all of his body, save for his front, where the black shirt and pants was wearing could be plainly seen. And just as Kirtus had said, a sheath approximately a foot long was hanging from his waist.

"Sheesh, he must be pretty hot in THAT outfit." Came a voice from the other side of Kirtus, and thus, out of vision.

"Looks pretty pissed off too." Firion commented, referring to the large scowl on the man's face. Whoever this was, he obviously didn't want to be here. "Remind me to stay away from him."

"Damn right you'll stay away from him." Padrone lashed out at everyone within range. "He is an Elven guide hired by the Royal Family to escort the Solaced on her journey to re-light the four orbs."

"Did you say 'Elven'?" Kirtus cut Pardone off, the shakiness in his voice making it clear he was holding back a large amount of anger. It was well known that Kirtus' father had been killed in a battle against an Elf, so not even Jayson could object to his level of resentment. "What the hell is an Elf doing here! They should stay in their own damn country!"

"Calm down son." Padrone soothed, trying to sooth Kirtus' rage before he hurt someone, namely himself. "I don't like them either, but from what I've heard in the council meetings, he is an amazing woodsman, who knows the lands between here and Pravoka better than you know the back of your hand. Say what you want about that," Padrone said just as Kirtus leaned back to whisper something to his friend." but he is also an accomplished magic user, and as far as I can tell, has no qualms about attacking others..."

"Pheh, what's he gonna do? Heal me to death." Kirtus said with a sneer, referring to the fact that Elves could use only white magic effectively, which specialized in healing and support as opposed to open offense. "Bet I could take the scrawny little punk, no problem."

"Do not underestimate him..." Padrone trailed off. Somewhere between his initial warning and the present time, he had locked himself into a staring competition with this person. The brown, spectacled eyes of Padrone cutting into the seemingly lifeless, brown ones of his opponent, and vice versa. This continued for a moment until the stranger, fed up with this little game, turned around and left.

"What was that all about?" Jayson questioned the old man, whom continued to stare at the Elf until he went around the corner and out of sight.

"We met at the Council meeting last night." Padrone explained, turning to face the small crowd of now three people, as Kirtus and his friend had left. "I asked him how he planned to defend the Solaced should the need arise, one thing led to another and we ended up in a rather heated argument. I won't go into the details."

"Speaking of defending the Solaced, you're in the ballot for that Jayson, aren't you?" Eliza, the only female student of the school asked.

"I'm in it too..." Firion said dejectedly, but no one took notice.

"Well, yeah, but I doubt I'll get picked. I mean, it's traditionally a swordsman that's assigned as their guardian right? And there are plenty of better swordsmen around then me. I mean, I'm still in training after all. I just entered because I thought I'd be cool, I didn't really expect to win." Jayson explained, embarrassed that all the attention was being drawn to him.

"Do not be so certain." Padrone cut in.

"What?"

"Yes, there are many swordsmen that are better than you. But you possess something they do not." Padrone explained.

"Like what?" Firion piped in with a smirk on his face. "Not much ol' Jayson here can do that someone else can't."

"Youth." Padrone answered. "The swordsmen Jayson speaks of are slowing down in their older age. They would an excellent addition to battle if it arises, but the Solaced is young, remember, and they would only slow her down elsewhere. I'm not really supposed to tell you this, but from the way the council is talking, you stand a good chance at being chosen."

"R-Really?" Jayson asked, a sliver of disbelief in his voice. 'He's gotta be kidding me.'

"Really, now get going. I have work to do around here, unless you want to help." Padrone said, turning back towards the closet housing the cleaning utensils.

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"So you'll be leaving tomorrow huh?" Eliza asked Jayson as they headed through the city center from a 'Going away party' they had insisted on throwing him. The sun had set long ago, and the moonlight cast some uneasy shadows around the large city. Both Firion and Jayson had agreed on escorting Eliza home, despite her demands that she didn't need it.

"For the last time, I'm not going!" Jayson shouted, profusely annoyed after what seemed like the hundredth time that question was asked. "I have as much chance of being picked as Kirtus has of winning a spelling bee."

"Well, as reluctant as I am to say that Kirtus could do that, I still say it's gonna be you." She encouraged.

"Don't be so sure," Firion said with a smug, little smirk on his face, "he has a knack for screwing stuff up."

"Sh-S-Shut up!" Jayson stammered, knowing full well he was right.

"I'll bet 10 Gil you get picked."

Before Jayson could even respond, his best friend popped in a quick "I'll take that bet", followed swiftly by a complimentary punch to the shoulder. Looking ahead to see if he could spot Eliza's house so he could split up with the two and put an end to this argument, Jayson spotted a strange orange glow filling the sky. He wasn't the only one though, as the small group slowly came to a halt, all three of it's members staring at the aura in the sky. It was no doubt the glow of a fire. And a large one by the looks of it.

"Best to stay clear of that, we'd only get in the fire team's way." Firion said, fully serious unlike everything else coming out of his mouth that night. "Guess I'm heading down Argoth Street tonight..."

"Shouldn't we check it out?" Jayson asked, his curiosity getting to him.

"We'll find out where it is later, I'm ready to turn in..." Eliza said with a long and loud yawn.

Suddenly, Jayson's eyes opened wide with realization. A look of pure fear crossed his face as he realized just what was going on.

"Wait... That's in the direction of Master Padrone's place!"


Oohh, cliffhanger. I'm not entirely sure how good of a start this is, but I believe it's sets the story up quite well. At this point, I'm afraid I must ask you to review this story, thereby allowing me to write better chapters in the future by finding out what people don't particulary like. Anyways, bye for now.