It's been a while since I haven't talked to you…


Please…say something…Beowulf…

Anything.

Weeping over the bloody, battered body of her fiancé, Reis Dular was the last person standing in the battle against the devil that the Ivalicians called the Son of God; St. Ajora, the bloody angel. Reis pressed her hand against Beowulf's neck, trying to feel a pulse; moments passed, not a single one felt.

He's dead. Dead. Gone forever.

Rage coursed through the dragoner's limbs. Uncontrolled, wild, destructive. Grasping the handle of Beowulf's rune-engraved blade, she charged at Ajora, avoiding a bolt of dark light by a deft swerve; dragging the sword along the wooden deck of the ghost ship, she suddenly brought up the sword's tip, slashing Ajora's arm.

'You!' Ajora spat, 'I thought I had destroyed you for good when I banished that man!'

'That man! That man you speak of,' Reis shouted through gritted teeth, 'He is my fiancé! And to speak of it so casually, I will never forgive you!'

Cleaving the Bloody Angel's hand off with a clean stroke of her fiancé's sword, Reis swung the blade madly in an uncontrollable madness; every part of her body radiated rage and chaos. Struck in the shoulder by a kick from the fallen saint, Reis didn't care the least about the throbbing bruise now in her arm; it was better for her to avenge Beowulf and die in the process than to save herself and let the Bloody Angel live.

With a decisive swing, Reis had sliced off St. Ajora's wings; the crimson feathers fell to the ground, limp and damp with blood. Now on the ground, without hands, the fallen saint was helpless.

'How do you like your pain to be served, filthy creature?' Reis shouted, glaring at Ajora, 'You'd like to taste something that you like, wouldn't you? Well, how about this?'

A scream split the darkness as Reis sheared off the fallen angel's legs; incinerating them with a fiery blaze, Reis kicked down the limbless body.

Watch your death avenged, Beowulf…Ramza…everyone who died here…

Holding her hand to the Bloody Angel's face, Reis concentrated deeply for a few moments…finally shouting out the death sentence.

'Flare!'

The Bloody Angel screamed as the blast burned away his face; the sheer heat melting away the skin on his face, binding them to his skull…before his entire head vaporised, only ashes left on the ground.

Turning away from the smoking corpse, Reis discovered Alma, lying in a heap on the edge of the rotting deck; hoisting the youngest Beoulve onto her shoulders, she searched for the body of Ramza.

Nowhere to be found…curse that St. Ajora. At least the youngest Beoulve is still alive, asleep and slightly burned, but quite alive.

Picking up the body of Beowulf with her other arm, Reis placed the sword she held back into its proper sheath; caressing Beowulf's cold skin with her hand.

Why did this have to happen to him? Why?

'I'll take you back…' Reis said softly, bending over to kiss him on the cheek, 'You don't belong here, none of us do,'

Even though I don't know how to get back to Ivalice, there must surely be a way back out. As Beowulf often puts it, if there's a way in, there's a way out.

A blue object tinkled out of Beowulf's pocket; stooping over, Reis picked it up.

A crystal. I can feel a strange power emanating from its cool surface; is it…responding to me? Surely…not? I've been saved by the power of the Cancer stone, have I not? Doesn't that mean I can only…

'Your hope and your sadness have called me to you,'

…! What was that!

'It must be hard, losing one most precious and close to you,'

Indeed it is…but who…where?

'Though I cannot raise him up once again, I may at least take you back to the place where you want to go,'

…Where are you? I can't see you.

'You're holding me right now,'

Blinking in confusion, Reis stared at the glowing blue crystal, observing the Aquarius sign glowing in the dim light. Did this speak to her?

I want…to be back in Ivalice. To protect this girl. To let her live a normal life.

'Then your wish is granted,'

'You have banished the evil leader of the Lucavi. It is the least I can do,'

The grim wreckage faded away from sight, a swirling palette of colour and light blending and blurring away into darkness. Reis could feel an invisible force gripping her tightly; binding her hand about the stone and her body rigidly in place. Landing uncomfortably on hard rock, she could feel her senses returning; the sight of rocky highlands, interspersed by tufts of grass, the clear blue skies overhead, dotted by wispy clouds; the smell of meadows.

This is Ivalice…the real Ivalice…oh God…thank you so much, stone…

'It is the least I can do,'

Bending over to pick up Alma and Beowulf, Reis bumped her head against something hard and scaly; something quite familiar to her.

'Hmm, I guess I'm in Bervenia. How are you, dragon?'

'Not too bad, thank you. You are Miss Dular, are you not?' the dragon hissed, 'Why is master Beowulf in such a terrible state? And who is this girl?'

'Ah…' Reis stammered, 'That's…that's…don't worry about it. It is not something…I'd like to talk about…'

And with that she broke down into tears once more; the memories of Beowulf too painful for her to bear. She could remember every moment he spent with her, how he had saved her from a house fire in her youth, how he gave shelter to her in his dormitory of Lionel barracks…it was too much, to remember the deeds of a dead man whom she had loved since her childhood.

---A month after the battle against St. Ajora…---

Reis picked away at a patch of blue flowers in a plain. Living far away from the major cities of Ivalice, she had been branded as a heretic by the church—along with Beowulf and Ramza, as well as all the other people of their group. Alma was still safe, however; Reis' powerful connections with dragons permitted her to make friends with most of the dragons in the high plateau of Bervenia. Knowing the ferocity of the dragons against strangers, she knows that nobody will approach the area.

Gathering all the flowers in her hands, she walked gracefully over to a stone tomb, her eyes dull with sadness. Depositing them over the grave, she collapsed upon the cold stone, crying over Beowulf's resting place. The image of his death haunted her still; that terrible blow to his chest; the knight's ribs crushed by the sheer power of the strike that was intended for her. All those images remained clear within her mind; a nightmarish vision, a cruel vision, haunting her every day. His last words she will never forget, even though it meant torturous hours and days for years on end…she must live for Beowulf.

A gunshot rang into the air, and a youth dressed in yellow, spattered with oil and riding a fine yellow chocobo, approached her, followed by a pair of dragons. Reis stood up immediately, attempted to put on a smile but failed; producing instead a gloomy sadness.

"Mustadio! What are you doing here, so far away from Goug Machine City?" she asked, wiping the tears away from her eyes. She walked forwards and stroked the dragons on the neck, calming them down and sending them gently away.

Mustadio dismounted, bowing to her. He produced from his pocket a scroll, which he gave to Reis. Reis unfurled it immediately, scanning rapidly through the lines of writing. Her eyes opened wide in mixed shock and excitement, a joy that had been inexistent to her for a month.

"Come to Goug, we will allow you to use the machine described there to lighten your worries," Mustadio said, smiling. He pulled out a short stool from the chocobo saddle, and bowed to Reis again, who smiled and climbed on the chocobo, which was then mounted by Mustadio.

--End of Chapter 1--