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Final Fantasy VI: The Sands of Time

Book 1: The Beginning

Chapter 3 - For the Lovers

One of the oldest works of literature to survive to the present day is the epic opera known as 'The Dream Oath," or simply, "Draco and Maria." Whether the events portrayed in the opera are real or fictitious is unknown, but it has garnered immense popularity over the centuries, and has become a national treasure of the Jidorikan people. It is not surprising that the oldest work of fiction on record has its home in this region. Long has this country been a haven for playwrights, artists, and musicians. But if this ancient rhyme is any indication of the truth, the relatively quiet rule of the current aristocracy belies a bloody history of civil wars, forgotten in the greater wars that came after.

-From Regions and Cultures, by Cid del Norte Margeuz, 1000 PW

Part 3.1 - Field of Battle

Far away from the peacefully slumbering city of Narsille, a savage and hopelessly one-sided war is raging between two countries. Despite Narsille's best efforts, the entire world is not a single perfect united society. The Committee's reach can only go so far, and there are those who are not yet happy to give up their power to another, even for the sake of world peace. East Jidorik is one of those countries. A final strike against the much smaller and less powerful neighboring country of West Jidorik is currently under way. If all goes according to plan, West Jidorik will be wiped off the map by sundown. Many of the West Jidorik soldiers have already been slain or fled, but there is still one faction of brave souls who are intent on fighting to the bitter end, and giving the Easterners a fight that will be remembered in song for generations to come...

"Dammit, where are the reinforcements! We're being slaughtered like lambs out here!"

"Don't worry, they'll be here. Just be patient, the General knows what he's doing. We'll make it through tonight and see at least one more sunrise, I promise."

"...I guess you're right. I trust the General with my life. If he says we have a chance, I believe him. I've seen him come back from worse battles than this. I've never seen a finer soldier, or human being for that matter. It's just that we're so hopelessly outnum-look out!"

A sudden explosion rocked the front lines and the two soldiers were thrown back several meters into a nearby ditch where the bodies of their fallen comrades were being lain. Bodies broken, neither of them could move, and they both knew what was in store for them. Gunfire continued to rage over the heads, and the screams of war could be heard coming closer. Intermingled with the death throes from their fellow soldiers were the war cries of the Eastern Army, making its final assault on the camps of the West. In a few minutes it would all be over and the West would be defeated. Both soldiers knew the end was near, but they refused to go down without a fight. They had seen this war together from the beginning, and they were going to see the end together as well.

"I think this is it for us, friend. Both my legs are broken, and you don't look too much better. How long have we know each other out here? Six years? God, it feels like it's been forever since I saw my wife and child. I guess now I'll never see their smiling faces again. For all I know they're already dead. I heard from the higher up's that the East has started firing their missiles at the outlying territories and that many homes have been already destroyed. Aliya, I'll see you soon..."

"Hey! Stop talking like that! We're going to get through this, you'll see. Listen, you can still move your arms, right?"

"I...I think so."

"When the soldiers come marching past us they won't be expecting any survivors lying here in this ditch. Just look around...the stench of blood is everywhere, and I can see at least ten of our comrades' bodies piled in here. This may be one of our death pits, but I bet we can add at least a few Easterners to the pile before they make it across." At this he halted, giving one last moment of silence for the fallen around him. Their sacrifices would not be in vain.

After a moment, the second soldier spoke up in disbelief, "You can't be serious! There must be a hundred troopers above us. we'll never make it out of here alive!"

"Just grab that sword over there and hack away at them as they cross over us. I still have a few bullets left in my gun, so I'll cover as best I can. Hah, we'll give those Eastern scum one last surprise from the West!"

With that, the two warriors steadied themselves for the last stand of the West, or so they thought. The sickly crunching of boots on bone could be heard approaching them as the East marched across the path of flesh they had cleared with the explosion. It wouldn't be long now. Sword and gun in hand, the two men readied themselves for the kill. Their breathing was staggered, but silent; their weapons poised for the coming carnage, each with a cold death grip. In this pit of death, the two would have passed for corpses as surely as the men beside them. One lone drop of sweat streaking down the nose of the gunner was the only sign of movement from them. The enemy was excruciatingly close now. Muscles tightened and senses heightened. The killer instinct was fully awake now. The drop of sweat hit the ground with a deafening crash, then a flash of metal overhead and the trap was set.

With one deft movement, a glowing blue blade rose from the unseen darkness and two Easterners fell with a cry of surprise, their legs hewed at the knee. Before the others could react, gunfire erupted around them, and the battalion scattered, fearing an unseen counterattack. In the confusion the sword found many easy targets. It sung with glee as it bit into the flesh of three more unsuspecting victims who had wandered within range. It wouldn't be long before the Easterners figured out what was happening, so they had to make every strike count now. The swordsman had managed to crawl out of the ditch using the bodies of his victims as a ladder, and was carefully hacking at the legs of anyone foolish enough to mistake his prostrate form for a benign corpse. The lone gunman had stayed behind, hidden in the ditch, watching his prey like a sniper for any signs of recognition amidst the chaos. The moment someone noticed his ally's ruse, he would fire a carefully aimed shot into their temple, quickly silencing them and allowing the game to play out a little longer.

Over twenty men had already fallen to the well-executed ambush, and many of the rest had broken rank and scattered. The two soldiers where quickly depleting their last surge of power, and both knew they each only had a few kills left in them. Hiding in the shadows would do them no good now. Within minutes the enemy had realized where the attack was coming from and started to reorganize, although they would never have believed it was merely two badly injured foot soldiers keeping their entire battalion at bay. Knowing the game was almost up, the swordsman summoned the last ounce of his strength and reared himself up to take out the commander of the troops, who had entered the fray to try and regain order.

"For Aliya!" he shouted with a vengeful howl as he rose up from the earth like a specter from the grave. The commander whipped around, shield in hand, just in time to block a ferocious slash from the swordsman that would surely have cut him in two. The swordsman held his own for a few rounds, but the commander was the superior fighter and in better condition, and soon held the advantage. Before the swordsman could make his third strike, the commander swung his shield arm and let loose a vicious blow with the shield's face, knocking the swordsman to the ground from whence he came. He raised his sword high into the air to deliver the stroke that would end this bloody conflict once and for all. The blade began its descent, but was quickly halted as a bullet ricocheted off the hilt, the sting of the blow momentarily numbing the commander's hand. That was the gunman's last bullet.

Their fury spent, the two soldiers all but collapsed where they lay. The commander had recovered his posture swiftly, confident that the last of this miserable rabble had finally been defeated by the superiority of the East. He arrogantly swaggered to the fallen swordsman, his own sword in hand, and spit in his face.

"So this is how the West ends its days. Cowardly hiding among its dead, vainly lashing out in wretched desperation. I will put an end to your suffering here and now, you miserable cur. Feel the Might of the East! - Augh!"

A powerful blow from behind separated the commander's head from his neck, cutting his words short. His body unceremoniously slumped to the ground, a pool of blood welling around the cleanly severed head and body. Behind him a man, clad in shining gold armor and wielding a huge sword that looked as if it were made of solid crystal, stood silently, a look of disgust on his face at the unworthy opponent he had bested. At the sight of their commander's death and the grim figure of the gold-clad man, the remaining soldiers fled in terror and the battlefield was emptied of all but the three final bastions of the West.

"Never turn your back on your enemy, fool. Did you really think I'd let you get away after that cowardly retreat from our fight? That was for Piette and Nida. My friends, you have been avenged." The man stood for a moment in quiet retrospect, then knelt and carefully wiped the blood from his sword, sheathing it with equal care when he finished. The swordsman struggled to move his head to get a better look at his savior.

"G..General...you came..."

Surprised to see the battle-torn soldier still conscious, the gold-clad man stopped his kill-ritual and addressed the soldier.

"Hey, you there, are you alright? I thought for sure you were dead. Here, take my hand."

"I'm afraid I can't stand, General. Just...leave me here...I'm of no use to you now. My friend...over in the ditch..."

"Hmm, there's another one of you here? Ah, yes I see him now. I caught a glimpse of the show you put on while chasing down that fiend. You two are quite possibly the bravest men I have seen in my long career as a soldier. I would be humbled to learn the names of the two noble warriors before me."

"Wedge, First Rank Ground Assault, sir. My friend over there is Biggs, First Rank, same as me. It is...an honor..." The strain of speech had sapped Wedge of his last ounce of strength, and he was washed away into the silent sea of unconsciousness.

The general leaned over and whispered into Wedge's ear, "No, it is an honor to serve with such fine men as you, Wedge and Biggs. I, Draco Christophe, General of the Western Allied Forces, will make sure your struggle is not forgotten. We will see the end of this war together."

With those words, the general lifted Wedge onto his shoulders and walked over to where Biggs was already passed out. He lifted the badly wounded comrade onto his other shoulder and solemnly walked off the battlefield, the red sun slowly falling behind him, bathing the ravaged field in the blood-red hue of a dusk that promised one more sunrise for the weary West.