To Commit Heresy

by Frantic Author

Tanya Degurechaff wished for simple things in Ivalice. A warm bed, a fine meal, and a roof over her head. And that's just what she was after when she joined Gariland Magic Academy.

12. 12: The Lion The Witch and The Auracite

This is certainly, definitely, absolutely on time. In my defense, I got a job. Also I now have more free time, because I no longer have to look for work.

Sorry boys.

xxx

"If there is a God in those heavens, Cid, he is as depraved and unjust as the people he created."

- Balbanes Beoulve to Cidolfus Orlandeau, after the sacking of Nelveska.

xxx

Chapter 12: The Lion, The Witch, and The Auracite

Dark winds blew cold at Ziekden, Wiegraf had known that well before he had arrived. Winter's lips sighed cold breaths, the howls of wind echoing across the fort. Barren as it was of useful things, long-emptied out after prior conflicts between grander powers, it only made it feel all the colder to Wiegraf. A poor hideout, but one of the few that the Brigade had remaining to it - one that few men knew of, and fewer still could lead others to. Ziekden Fortress was trapped betwixt two mountain ranges on either side,and the footpaths leading to it were treacherous. To lead men here required skill, to lead an army was nigh impossible. Wiegraf had no fond memories of Ziekden, only of the bitter cold and bittersweet glances stolen between him and a woman that was now in a grave.

"You crossed swords with them, did you not?" Gragoroth said, a lazy smile on his face. Gustav was looming nearby in the room. Wiegraf had never liked the man, as competent as he was. Gustav Margriff was a butcher by any other name, only let off because it was in a time of a war. "They cannot be more brilliant than the Ser Wiegraf Folles, knighted by the Siegebreaker himself."

"You value my blade too highly," Wiegraf said, running a hand through his blond hair. "That time was like…"

It was like a dream that Wiegraf Folles was never able to forget. Balbanes Beoulve, the leader of their command. Cidolfus Orlandeu, the leader of the other troop. Nobility and commoners alike, laughing in their camaraderie as they ignored the spectre of death that loomed over their heads.

And it all came crashing down faster than Wiegraf could have ever imagined. A girl, a castle in disarray, and an unforgettable duel.

"There is no need to speak, Wiegraf," Gragoroth waved a hand, his grin stretched across his lips like a mask. "When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end, the Goddess descends from the sky - wings of light and dark spread afar, She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting."

Wiegraf's lips curled.

"That play is scarce worth the paper it's printed on," he said, looking at Gragoroth. "Why do you persist in spreading its message? It's words are-"

"-Heresy?" Gragoroth smiled. "Are we not heretics already, Wiegraf? My friend, do you fly away now? To a world that abhors you and I?"

"We are men of justice, Gragoroth," Wiegraf said with a frown. "Proven in battle, and fighting for our rights."

"Our rights? What rights do we have, but to scrabble at the feet of our betters?" Gragoroth laughed, standing slowly as he unsheathed his sword, examining the blade. It flickered in the torchlight, the flames dancing on the edge of its steel. "I followed you, Wiegraf, because I believed you had vision. A future that I could not see. A purpose that I could understand."

His face grew dark and bitter, and he gnashed his teeth like a beast.

"But that is not true, is it? There is nothing that separates you from I - except power. You had power over me, over Gustav, over the entire Brigade, who so desperately clung to your precious vision of justice. And where is it now, Wiegraf?"

"It lives in our hearts, Gragoroth," Wiegraf said, his hand reaching for his sword. "Do not overstep your bounds. The Brigade is not a band of despoilers and blackguards. Would that I had knowledge-"

"-And yet you did not," Gragoroth said, standing up from his chair as he leaned over the table, his swordpoint placed into it. He lifted a single foot, and placed it on the edge of the table, his smile now bright and eerie. "And so your precious band of justice crumbles to naught. It is not your Brigade, Wiegraf Folles, that sits at Ziekden Fortress."

His grin was so wide it could split his face in two.

"It is mine. My blackguards. My despoilers. My killers."

Wiegraf drew his sword, bolting from the chair to the door behind him, flinging it open as he stepped out into the icy winds, his feet slamming down onto the stone bridge. He made to move, but he could already see them.

A mage, stepping across the stones, a spell of time woven in her hands. An archer, his arrow nocked and pointed at Wiegraf's neck. A dragoon, his spear already in hand. And a dozen more, all circling and surrounding the fort that he had been forced to escape to.

"Your Corpse Brigade is no more, Wiegraf," Gragoroth said as he exited the building, Gustav at his side. He threw out his hands wide, and laughed, a disturbingly high pitched sound that echoed even through the shrieks of snow and ice that swirled around Ziekden. "In its place is my Corpse Brigade."

Wiegraf let out a sigh as he sheathed his sword, raising his hands high.

"And what does your brigade plan to do, Gragoroth? Steal from the rich and give to yourselves?"

"Finish the job given to us all those months ago, Wiegraf!" Gragoroth drew his sword, his eyes dancing with an emotion Wiegraf couldn't describe as he did so. "Don't fret - this is just business."

He drew his arm back, and Wiegraf looked to the sky to say a prayer.

The loud clap that echoed throughout the yard made everyone freeze. Gragoroth and Wiegraf both turned, looking downwards towards the sound, and there was a girl. She was too small to be called an adult, yet too large to be called a child. Her face had noble features - high cheekbones and a delicate nose that arched upwards, a heart-shaped face surrounded by unruly golden hair, but those eyes were ones he knew. They were narrowed like a snake's, and wrath burned like fire deep within. She smiled, a bright thing that sent shivers running down his spine, her eyes half-closed like slits as she tilted her head against her enclasped hands.

"Now," the girl said, a single eye opening slightly as she glanced at the men around her, "Let's start the negotiations, shall we?"

A smart man knows when to fold, and a clever man knows how to bluff. But Ramza Beoulve was a fool.

And fools go all in.

It was barely even a surprise to me that Ramza had agreed to aid a woman who had tried to kill him without even a second thought or hesitation. In a way, I admired that naivete - the same way that you would admire an abused dog for constantly expecting more from its owner.

In all honesty, it was sort of a blessing - we could not return to Eagrose with our mission unfulfilled, but nor could we advance without any information so to speak of. A bargain made with blades in hand was fair fortune at this moment; particularly if there was no real consequence for me. Oh no! A competent coworker of mine has offered to take interns under his wing, and sequestered himself in another department! Whatever shall I do?

Naturally, I will continue to act as I always have, unperturbed by my coworker's foolish belief in others. A person should never willingly or willfully demand more of a workload placed on their backs - it is simply asking for trouble. Asking for more work is a deceitful act. While having drive and ambition is naturally encouraged, requesting work that you may not be ready for is how you fall from great heights to shameful lows. As a former manager of human resources, I could understand Ramza's plight, at least a little bit. The Corpse Brigade was a half-competent force with some semi-competent leadership. Ramza, as is only natural, wanted to steal the competent ones and leave the incompetent to rot. An acceptable proposal, but to separate competent bodies from incompetent ones would be a difficult task, that would require many months of going over their work, checking in triplicate that they would not succumb to laziness and lackluster ability.

To find a way to separate them at all was slightly impressive, I had to admit. I was fully prepared to carve the Corpse Brigade into pieces until the mission was completed, and I dare say Ramza would have had little to no problem with doing the exact same, had Milleuda not shown her face.

Ziekden, Milleuda said, was where everything would come to a height. The rest of the Brigade's men had stationed themselves there; the others had fled to the winds, fearful of retribution from the Order. It seemed that our actions at Dorter had not gone unheard amongst the Brigade, and men were inclined to cower in fear before standing bravely in the face of injustice. With Dorter as a statement, why would they stand and fight? Better to bleed ignobly and lick your wounds in private then to die a noble death.

Obviously, this devil that has tricked my precious subordinates and coworker is insidious. I don't trust her one bit. Her every action makes my skin crawl. A thief that claims to be kind as he steals from you is still a thief.

I squinted into the distance, biting my lip. We had marched for a day or so now, and yet Ziekden seemed no closer on the map then it had before. Tucked away between two mountains, the fort would have been of massive importance back in the days before the unification of Ivalice. On one side, Gallione, and on the other, Fovoham. Even Eagrose itself was relatively close to Ziekden; such a fort would have been a huge coup for Fovoham to seize, for skirmishes and for war before the unification.

And yet, nothing of the sort had come to pass. Ziekden, even during the Fifty Year War, was a relic of a time that none alive could remember. A hold to nothing but ice and darkness. Nowadays it was mainly a bandit hideaway, or used for brief training exercises in the Order. This was a bit more unorthodox than either of those; a half-trained crew of cadets going to save the leader of an insurgency group simply because the leadership was foolish.

Ah well. As a former corporate slave, I am all too used to leadership that has no idea what the ordinary office worker thinks. The entire point of corporations is to become irreplaceable - but not so irreplaceable that you actually have people gunning for your position. The goal of anyone in the workforce should never be to become an executive, but a manager. In the end, capitalism is all about accruing capital for a person, so that way said person can live a life of leisure. Work until you die? What a ridiculous notion. Don't ever do something as stupid as working yourself to death - work until you can choose when and where you die.

"Vinya," I grunted, and the girl turned towards me, her brown eyes wide. "How much further must this dreary trek take us?"

"We passed Eagrose a few hours back," the girl informed me, and I could vaguely remember the shape of a castle in the distance, but all of them look relatively similar to my eyes. I'm sure a noble could go on at length about the differences between Eagrose and Lionel, but the only castle I've ever really seen is Eagrose. "Another few leagues and we should see the fort, Commander. Can't you feel the chill starting to settle in, even now?"

I could. The normally mild winds of Gallione were starting to chill me through my robes, and when I took a breath, I could see a small cloud, almost like cigarette smoke, waft from my lips. I let out a sigh, watching the breath drift in the cold.

"Well, best not to get too comfortable, then," I said as I nudged Vinya in the shoulder. "Did anyone bother to bring warmer clothes?"

Vinya looked at me with confusion.

"Commander," she said quietly, "Nobody was planning to go to Ziekden."

Ah. Damn. I suppose I will have to suffer in silence then. Robes were not the warmest thing in the world, and did little to keep out the icy chill that was beginning to swirl around us. I fell into a silence, my feet moving without purpose, forward.

To Ziekden.

Ziekden! The devil's fortress! The place where the Siegebreaker and the Thundergod themselves trained! That barren fortress was where they had supposedly honed their skills against each other for months - crossing blades endlessly, until they had emerged at the forefront of the war, a pair of sword saints that carved the battlefield asunder until the last combatant fell. What a joke.

There was no way that Balbanes Beoulve and Cidolfus Orlandeu had reached that height at Ziekden Fortress. This was something that came to me, three days into the march, as weariness began to sink itself into our bones, and we could see the castle in the distance. It was a wreck, a forgotten era of a long lost period of time. Perhaps - before the unification, before the wars, before the bloodshed - it had been a place of honor, where men and women fought to retain their rightful birthright of freedom; but now it was a shell. Just as barren as the icy plains that surrounded it.

Ramza held up a hand, and we halted. He turned to Milleuda, an eyebrow arched, and the girl hesitantly nodded.

"Aye," she whispered, her hand clenching around the blade at her waist, "That is where they'll be. Those bastards, they always loved it here. They always loved to steal precious things from my brother."

I could not fathom why, for the life of me. Even for brigands, there were better hideaways. That rat's nest in the desert, or any number of forts, or a countless slieu of trees - there were a massive amount of superior options to this deathly cold and stillness.

"Do you perhaps," I said, as we stared at the fort, a shiver running through my body, "Have a plan of attack?"

Milleuda drew her sword, and took a step forward.

"Head on! I cannot spare a second more of my brother's life to these devils! We will strike at their hearts, and free him from their clutches!"

I almost wanted to clap, it was so sickeningly heartfelt. However, it was an absurd idea. Completely divorced from reality in every way. It reminded me of when a new hire in engineering attempted to get the company to swap to a superior form of software. While our new hire was correct, it didn't matter. All the heart in the world is nothing in the face of empty-headed leadership.

"Perhaps…" Ramza said slowly, glancing at me, "We plan a better strike. It makes little sense to throw away the advantage of surprise with a head-on assault."

My jaw dropped a little as I turned my head to stare at Ramza with wide eyes, before shaking it and regaining my stoic expression. Inside, I was gleeful. My methods had finally beaten themselves into Ramza's idiotic head, meaning that the safety of my person was more assured then ever before.

"Little sense?! My brother could be dying as we speak!"

Ramza clicked his tongue, biting his lip as his brow furrowed. It was unsurprising, really - Ramza was far too soft to make a decision such as this. Naturally, as his coworker, it was my job to aid in his decision making process; for my own advancement, if nothing else.

"Do we really need surprise?" I asked, looking up at him. Ramza's eyes flicked down towards me, and he turned away from Milleuda, looking into my eyes. "How many times have we clashed with the Brigade now? Have they even a single victory to their names against us?"

Milleuda bristled with indignation, but Algus laughed, drawing his sword and tapping it against his shoulder.

"Aye," he said, giving me a smile, "Degurechaff's words ring true. These mudrakers have naught in their brains but blood and steel. Is it not our divine right as their betters to cut them down, before they can harm anyone else?"

Ramza's eyes flashed, but he remained silent, his head turning towards Delita, who looked at him with a hardened gaze. The auburn haired youth took a step towards Ramza, clasping a hand on the blonde's shoulder.

"Do what you must, Ramza," he said, his grip tightening on Ramza's shoulder. "Regret is best left after you bury the dead."

Ramza took a deep breath, closing his eyes. The wind whipped around us all, snow rushing over our boots and sending bedraggled cloaks flying. It was like a ghost of ice that cut through my flimsy robe with ease, and it whispered death in our ears. Ramza's eyes opened, and he looked at me.

"Degurechaff," he said with a half-smile, "Would you mind opening a line of negotiation?"

I looked at him, arching an eyebrow.

"Your usual sort, if you please."

I saluted him with a nod, and turned on my heel smartly.

Walking into the fortress alone, I looked around. Ahead, atop a single rickety bridge of stone, I could see two men - one staggering, the other holding a sword high. As one looked to the sky, I clapped, taking a step forward. The sound of my hands meeting echoed through the fortress, and I could see various heads turn to look at me. I kept a smile on my face as I walked forward, my feet crunching in the snow.

"Now," I said, smiling bright and wide, "Let's start the negotiations, shall we?"

"Negotiations?" the man holding the blade asked, hoisting on his shoulder. I recognized that voice, much to my shame. Gragoroth's incompetence grated at me yet again. "And pray tell, Miss Beoulve, why would we ever need to negotiate? Do I not have all the power here?"

"Your power, Gragoroth," I said with a drawl, drumming my fingers against the katanas attached to my waist. "Is an illusion. I'd almost be embarrassed if it wasn't so sad."

"Illusion, Miss Beoulve? Do I not hold Wiegraf Folles before me? Do I not surround you with my men?"

I could see some of them starting to emerge from the shadows. Two archers topped the roofs, and a string of mages emerged from doors. Knights carrying swords and crossbows appeared on the ground, and Wiegraf's face was one of shock.

"All of you… Why?"

Gragoroth laughed.

"You simply took too long, Wiegraf!" He said, a fire in his eyes. "Your dreams of the future - your desires of equality - what good are they, when the coffers are empty? What use are they, when our brothers starve? Justice is all well and good, but you cannot drink your fill on dreams alone. I merely showed them… A different path."

Damn. It appeared that Milleuda had been telling the truth. Well, fair fortunes to Ramza then. I have never been a lucky person, in either this life or my previous. The one thing that I have learned, in all my years, is quite simple:

People lie.

Constantly. To themselves, to their coworkers, to their superiors, to their subordinates - sometimes small lies, sometimes larger ones. Something as simple as "I'm sick today", or something as complex as "I didn't kill him". Lying is simply in human nature. We lie as easily as we breathe. Whether it is due to societal factors, or personal ones, this sort of deception is second nature to humankind. Because of this, is it not natural to treat others with suspicion? You can never trust what they say, after all.

"I'm only late because my wife is sick." Your wife has been sick for weeks. Is it not your duty as her husband to solve the issue?

"I'm behind because the project keeps changing every day." You were behind before the changes began. Is it not your job as a corporate slave to keep up with the nonsense that our superiors craft?

"I want a new position because our bosses treat everyone terribly." And what is so different between our superiors and your new ones? Are they truly going to be so different that you threw in the towel before the hard work even began?

"A different path?" I asked, arching an eyebrow and folding my arms. "Turning men into cutthroats and brigands is nothing so grandiose. Corrupting honest men into blackguards is nothing impressive, Gragoroth. You are merely taking the easy way out instead of putting in honest work."

"And what honest work is there for us in Ivalice, Miss Beoulve? We fought for king and country, bled for king and country, and were thrown away for being inconvenient."

"Are you not breathing? Do you not have the air to say such absurd statements with your own lungs? How inconvenient for you, Gragoroth."

Gragoroth's eyes narrowed.

"You are alone, Miss Beoulve. What gives you the right to treat us like so?"

"In a word, Gragoroth-"

I smiled, and mana flared around me.

"Talent."

His eyes grew wide, and he raised his sword to strike Wiegraf down, but it was too late. Teleportation, as it were, is a fairly complex piece of arithmetic. Look into the distance, and find a point. What are the coordinates of it? Is it higher or lower ground then others? What is the difference in ground structure? Is it a stable landing point?

None of this matters, strictly. It's simply easier. Half-fudged calculations will inevitably result in your body being ripped into the void. As such, it is far simpler to add an additional calculation at the very end - a simple plus. Your coordinates, plus a bit on the Y Axis.

My katana smashed into Gragoroth's longsword with a shriek as I appeared five inches above his head, Gragoroth's eyes burning into mine with a fury that I relished.

I grinned at him.

"Legendary sword that ki-"

He grit his teeth, and twisted, his body shifting out of my way, causing me to stumble through my incantation, my feet tapping onto the snow. Wiegraf was behind me, and Gragoroth ahead. I clicked my tongue, and pointed my sword at him.

Time is a tricky thing, easy to slip past. Stop flowed from my lips, and he froze in place. Turning around, I could see that the rest of my wonderful subordinates and comrades had already begun rushing into the fortress - an arrow from Algus flew by my head, straight into the eye of one of the mages behind me.

"What the devil are you doing?" Wiegraf asked, looking at me with narrowed eyes.

"Charity work," I replied with a sigh and a roll of my eyes. "Beoulve is soft-hearted and empty-headed."

I kicked him off the bridge, and watched him fall down, arms flailing into the snow. Already, I could see Lily and Amelie making their way towards him, with Milleuda not far behind. I turned back to Gragoroth, seeing that my spell was already wearing off.

"I," he began through gritted teeth, his arm shaking with effort as the magic wore from his body. "Tire of nobles. I tire of children. I tire of these games that they play with people's lives."

"Are you not playing with lives yourself, Gragoroth? Don't be so hard on yourself."

"It is not the same!" He roared, his sword swinging wildly at me. I dipped my head as it flew past, taking a small step back on the bridge. "Were you not told to be honorable!? To care for those weaker than you?! What bravery is there, in slaughtering us like hounds, Beoulve!?"

I don't even consider you hounds, Gragoroth. You and yours are simply trash in my precious working environment. Get out of it, you're making everything more bothersome.

"Your men are murderers and oathbreakers, Gragoroth. I see no need to treat them with honor."

Gragoroth gnashed his teeth, his sword shaking in his hand. I watched him with interest, more curious what he would do than anything else. With such a close range, it was almost impossible for me to find the time to calculate a way out; by the time I was half finished with the math, I'd have had to move again. The physics of dimensions are simply not easy to follow along when you're already moving.

Gragoroth suddenly went quiet, and his eyes bored into mine.

"I'll have you, then."

Oh?

"Your brother is still out there, is he not? Killing my men. But if I have you - he'd never strike me. You may be a devil, Alma, but Ramza is no such thing. He's weak of heart. So if you're in my grasp -"

Ah. I could see where he was going with this.

I took another step back as he struck at me. On the left, I could see Delita engaged with a knight, prodding the man's guard with care as he advanced. As Gragoroth's arm went over my head, I went for it - piercing his gut with my blade. I heard a grunt, and looked up, but Gragoroth's face had not fallen.

It was as if death itself had taken hold of him. His eyes moved rapidly, and his lips were stretched eerily far, showing far too many teeth - a grimace that fit more on a skull than a man. One gauntleted hand was clasped around the sword that I'd stabbed through him, and his other reached out.

His hand closed around my arm in a vicious grip.

"You may have talent, Alma Beoulve," he said, dragging me closer to him, even as my katana was thrust deeper into his gut. "But do you know what you lack?"

I tried to break his grasp, but it wasn't possible. I was a half-grown, undersized girl, and he was a man full grown. His grip on my arm was like a vice.

"Conviction," he hissed, blood on his teeth as he dragged me back along the bridge, red dripping onto the snow. "Now come!"

We moved, or more accurately, I was dragged towards the middle, and as I looked out, I was quite satisfied. It seemed that I had delayed Gragoroth long enough that the fighting was almost over - their mages were no match for the onslaught that Amelie, Dirk, and Algus were capable of unleashing. Gragoroth's archers had fallen, and all that was left was the man himself. It was a pity he still had so much left in him, it meant I'd have to suffer his presence for a little longer.

"RAMZA!" Gragoroth roared out, and everyone stilled. I could see Ramza's head turning with a curious expression on his face towards the bridge, his spear half lodged in a knight's arm. "I have her once more! Surrender, and I shall let her live!"

Ramza let out a barking laugh, removing the spear from the knight with a grunt. He turned towards the bridge, examining the two of us with distaste.

"And how, pray tell, do you plan to kill her while bleeding yourself dry?" he asked, his spear hanging loosely in one hand as he sheathed his sword. "Your lifesblood drips on the snow, Ser. I fear you will not live to see my surrender in the first."

Gragoroth smiled again, blood dripping down his white teeth. He rummaged around in his pockets for a moment, before pulling out something. I looked at it with curiosity - it was a simple thing. A piece of fire magic, trapped inside of a token. Nothing to worry about.

"The entire fortress," he said, "Is filled with explosives! Surrender, or she dies Beoulve!"

I could see the half-opened doorway at the end of the bridge, and I nearly let out a curse. Gunpowder, or something close to it, was barely visible at a glance. I looked at Ramza, who seemed hesitant. Delita was inching towards him slowly, and I bit my lip. I didn't want to die, that would make all of the work I'd done a complete waste. But putting my faith in Ramza seemed like a terrible idea!

"Let us not make hasty decisions, Ser Gragoroth," Ramza said slowly, his grip tightening around his spear. "Lay down your arms, and I will allow you to die with dignity, as a knight should."

"Knight?! I'm no knight, Beoulve!" Gragoroth threw back his head with a laugh, before he sputtered, hacking up a globule of blood. His eyes glared balefully downwards at Ramza, who stood staring upwards at the two of us. "All I wanted in this world was to live! You say you give me the freedom to die?! I spit on that freedom! Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul! Pride is lost, wings stripped nigh!"

The spell card started to glow, and I panicked, screaming at Ramza with a roar. "What are you doing, Ramza?! Throw!"

"Tanya, I-"

"THAT'S A GODDAMNED ORDER, YOU BASTARD!"

I saw a flash of agony rip through his eyes, as he drew back his arm, lightning crackling along the lance he was holding in his hand. Delita looked on in horror, and I grinned like mad. Don't you dare miss, you idiot prodigy. The timing on this is so exact it scares me. The stone in my robes began to pulse, glowing with light, and I looked to the heavens as the snow fell, the hatred in my heart only matched by the hatred in my eyes.

"O Lord God of infinite mercy, we humbly implore You to look down on the nations now engaged in war-"

The spear began to pulsate with energy, shaking with the power Ramza was throwing into it as Gragaroth's grip on me began to loosen, his hands shaking.

"No! There's no way! He wouldn't dare, would he?! Such a thing-"

"-Do not count Your people's sins against them, but grant them true repentance-"

Delita's hand finally clutched at Ramza's arm, and he shouted something I couldn't hear. The auracite's glow grew even brighter. Being X, you devil, how dare you make me rely on you! I'll live, and live well, even if it's only because of you! Your plots can't hold me back, do you hear!?

"You bastard! You're just like the rest of them! Larg, Goltanna, even that devil who claims to be our king! If you throw that, how are you any different!?"

"-That the lust of human hearts may be conquered by Your Spirit of gentleness and righteousness-"

Ramza tore his arm free with a curse, the spear shining with energy only matched by the light of the stone clutched in my hand. Gragoroth let go of my arm, and yet I stood as still as a statue, a golden light flowing through my body and filling it with an energy unfathomable to man. I could feel it encroaching into my brain, the tendrils of Being X slowly extending their lecherous fingers to grasp at my consciousness. Part of me wanted to scream, but I bit it down. I needed this power. In order to not die, I had to grasp at it, even if I despised it.

And it was loathsome indeed.

"Look in mercy on those immediately exposed to peril-"

"Are you praying, you devil!? Don't think that prayer will save you now!"

Gragoroth lunged, spell card stretched in his hand.

Ramza's spear flew like the wind, slamming into Gragoroth with such force that he was knocked off the bridge, a golden sword exploding from it that sent my world into light.

"Comfort the prisoners, relieve the suffering of the wounded, and show mercy to the dying."

Ramza had already burst into a sprint towards me, and I smiled kindly at him, opening my arms wide.

"Amen."

The sparks from his spear brushed the card.

My world turned to fire.

The snowfall of Ziekden was punctuated by a boy holding the body of a girl. Although, was it snow or was it ashes? The fires that consumed the fort were too encompassing to tell. A hand reached out to touch the boy's shoulder, before withdrawing itself, its auburn haired owner clenching his fist and walking away.

Eventually, the smoke stopped, the ash falling so fiercely that it might as well have been the snow, and the boy stood, the girl's body still in his arms. He walked away from the fort, with shaky breaths and a dark look on his face. He looked to the sky, as if God would have an answer for why such a thing would happen, for why this wretched fort could only steal hope and give nothing in return.

He placed her down, his hands barely steady as he opened her palms, feeling the heat of her skin as he brushed his hand against hers, seeing the shining light of a golden stone inside. He grasped it, tears in his eyes, as he looked towards a murky sky.

"Oh Lord," he said, his voice shaking like a leaf reed, "Is this truly your will? Your desire? To destroy her, for the crime of being born?"

There was no answer.

The sky was silent.

"Is that fair? If a thing can be endeavored… Hah. Is this what you think is righteous? This is justice?! This cruelty… I can't stand it."

The stone glinted in the light.

"I can't believe in it! God, why do you forsake those who care for you?! The weak shall inherit the earth, but all I see is strength destroying those beneath them! Your world… This world…"

A tear fell from his eye onto her body, and a raspy breath burst from his lungs, as the girl at his feet slumbered in silence.

"I've never once questioned your will. My father, my honor, my friends… What else do you desire to burn before my very eyes?! What else do I have that you won't take away!?"

He gnashed his teeth, pulling a dagger from his belt and hurling it into the snow, where it stuck - quivering in the ground.

"There is blood on my hands…" he whispered, as he tucked the stone into her pocket, lifting up the girl who was barely breathing. "How long until it lies on my heart?"

He looked to the sky, towards a silent God, and let out a shaky breath. And then, he walked.

He walked until he found a church. Inside, there was only an old man and empty pews. He looked at the boy with shock, and then at the girl in his arms. He welcomed him warmly, offering him bread and shelter, and then took the girl gently from his arms, placing her in a bed before quietly asking the boy what happened, and yet he refused to answer. But the priest was kind, and they were God's children in the end.

There they stayed, for a time. The boy did not pen his letter for longer than was polite. As rumors began to coil their clutches around Ivalice - whispers of the Beoulve prodigy's death, the murmur of the Corpse Brigade's fall, and the sight of Ziekden smouldering in the distance - he still did not write. His mind was wracked by thoughts. To run, and live? Or to stand, and die?

In the end, his decision was made easily. It was not the decision of a moment, but the decision of a hundred moments, all leading up to one. In another time, and in another world, Ramza Beoulve might have died a quiet death, as his friend's sister burned to ashes. In his place, Ramza Ruglia would have appeared; a mercenary of little renown who merely wanted a quiet life, but was dragged into impossible turmoil. This, however, is a different tale - and the boy took a quill and some parchment, his thoughts rampaging like a storm in his heart.

As he penned his letter, he thought.

I had lived my life the only way that I knew how.

But when the pillars of that life came crashing down, I could not stand and watch them fall.

I turned -

And walked back into hell.

END OF PART I: THE PRODIGIOUS.

xxx